FASCINATIONS
monumental
variations
to
extoll
great
passions
&explore
provoking
interesting
parallels
to
share
imply
&
suggest
detailed
contextual
displays
of
intriguing
coincidences
in
complex
explicit
auras
concluding
the
distinctive
designs
Who was only one inch tall,
raised in a lab since he was, well...small,
doped on phenobarbital,
escaping o'er his prison wall.
Tell me friend, can you recall
King Mouse?
Who lived in a tidy little hole,
knew when the cat was on patrol?
Though cheese and crumbs he stole,
he never lived on the dole.
Let's sing praise and extoll
King Mouse!
Who was diminutive in size,
told the truth and never lied,
had big ears but never spied,
nor squealed, just squeaked and sighed?
All expectations he defied -
King Mouse!
His body small, his soul immense,
big ears heard every offence,
and you, who wanted to dispense,
are now awash with penitence,
as you consider recompense
for King Mouse.
Who knew the secrets that we kept,
never told, just cried and wept,
before he laid on the floor and slept?
At discretion he was adept.
You struck him with the broom while you swept -
King Mouse.
The coo of a mournful mourning dove
reminds us of the guy in the sky above
who we wouldn't touch without a glove.
But now as push comes to shove,
we realize we really love
King Mouse!
As you paint your songs with colours divine
And words you so assiduously mined
You leave me standing breathlessly behind
Your visceral emotion hypnotically opined.
Mesmerising destructive bewitching my soul
Wreckingly angelic your voice takes its toll
And leaves me in wonder at feelings you extoll
And tears into pieces the form that once was whole
Just wrap me in your exquisite tones tonight...
A tarriff should be earned..When freedom is
Spurned, maybe for a year? A while.' A time.'
Till free speech and expressions can again
Here chime..Can ring..Can raise valid points
Extoll..Quite a blunt weapon, to let commerce
Take its toll.' Still by any means.' Unstifle the
Tounges, that would build and strengthen
All truths true daughters and sons.!
This morning 25/12
We got up late, the night had been mild
No, wind is making a noise attacking the building
I have to go out to buy petrol and to find
An Indian grocer which is open
My wife had bought a classy wine, which I found too strong but had a fine reputation from a professional winetasters
I think those winetasters are secret drunks ready to extoll any wine for a free bottle
I drink wine sold in cartons, it is cheap and not
Strong, one can drink a few glasses without getting pissed, the taste is more and less the same
Drinking morning coffee, I thought of the races of the people I had met
They are the Chinese, the Japanese, and the Indians
None of them are what we call white, but their culture is more fine-tuned and they are smarter than us.
But that is not why I’m driving to the Chinese grocer he is a businessman and doesn’t bother
About what day it is
For crying's sake,
If I could cry,
I'd take a break,
Yet eyes stay dry.
I'll stem the tears
With laughter droll,
And halt those fears
I bane extoll.
The honeysuckle’s symphony
of fragrance meant for you and me
Escorts my stroll through blooming grace
as I extoll this lovely place
To start each day in nature’s glen
and contemplate my morning pen
With inspiration all around
each rose to pluck, conception found
A fluffy tail of pure delight
a feathered song to greet the light
A neighbor’s smile to catch the sun
My day has once again begun
My morning glory is for me
though simple in its mystery
A meditation time to call
my very favorite time of all
Adorable, enticing as beauteous glance,
Engaging, evocative as a ballet dance
Luring passions flaunting moody stance;
Poetry is music strumming from heart,
Lyrics of life emblazoned in poetic art.
It’s a smile of Venus on moonless night,
Ruby rose abloom midst wintry plight;
Verses of harmony embossed in rhyme
Of wisdom, witty words, eternal as time,
Expressions of mind streaming sublime.
Poetry is nourishment to vacuous soul,
Meaningful words inner voices extoll,
Metaphors, simile, elusive moods cajole;
Musings inimitable~ we cannot clone,
Neither can we cage, nor can we own.
Endearing, amiable~ it’s ballad of love,
Pure, passionate, as cooing of a dove;
A lighthouse guiding ships through dark,
On vacant thoughts, enlightened spark,
Charming dismal morn, a song of lark.
We put it all down
drifting lightly over the faceless,
those days between joy and doom.
Looms the write
seeking to thread a life
through a needle.
The print not ink, nor blood,
but only a lip-reading
of the hours.
Events are picked
like ripe or dangerous fruit,
the dull stays stored
in moldering boxes, or nailed
into the escutcheons of rusting locks.
The specificity of a moment
is given a greater gravity than it ever had,
yet we put it down
fasten it to strings of sounds
and then extoll or deplore
once more.
Don’t forget what has been said to men stoiC
It is a shame to not reach the highest you can gO
Some slide into laziness, seal a future bleak and griM
Growth in others calls them to greatness as they rise uP
Refusing to die having not earned their crowd’s extolL
All should strive to see the greatest beauty as they livE
Conquer yourself and win your inner fightT
Ever always straining to be the best you can bE
CHICKEN GULLET DESTINY
(or "The Trouble With Radishes")
The memory of things that will be
usually fades into the haunting melody
of a life reduced to picking the easy fruit
of future history.
Never more the blue-sky dreams,
Living low, deep in the dirt,
careful to not look up and see
what may become of me.
Extoll the virtues of the radish!
In harmony with nature he is, returning all he takes,
bissfully blank, nary a care
for whom his creator may be …
… or his chicken gullet destiny.
Perhaps I'm not fit to be master of this contented menagerie,
cursed as I am with words and tools and this fine pair of shoes.
However, crawling and squawking don't come naturally
despite the earnest promises of the well-wishers of humanity.
Gears and pulleys to and fro, yet radishes have their static charm.
But motion's the thing!
Not the clinging memories of planets yet to be
and the eventual end of me.
Such a sparkling belle awesome
With aura spreading winsome
A fabulous fragrance so tempting
A fantastic parlance enchanting
Amazing beauty so beauteous
Astounding mien very precious
With a certain lilt in her voice
Besides the pleasant tinkle nice
Makes me verse an epic prolific
On this superb savoury topic
Super looks of super diva
Resembling the Lord Minerva
In this season of pure poetry
Well with all new symmetry
I just venture on to extoll
The gorgeous damsel tall..!
Bards and society
Poets are gentle people who like to form a group for writers
with an eccentric title, “a thousand poets against war.”
Poetry is only useful for dictators and those who like to demonstrate how literal they are.
Dictators find them valuable if they extoll the regime
If not, you are exiled or jailed.
Poets are subjected to flattery, the lucky one gets a medal before they die
of consumption.
I was thinking of this when lost in a city, with many statues of generals riding an iron horse.
And a bust of the sensible poet in the entrance of a downtrodden hotel.
The killing of a poet
There are many sorts of poets those who
extoll the sitting regime tell of order it has brought
their words are recited they win prizes but few, today remembers their names
Federico Lorca was not one of them.
He wrote the truth of the brutal fascistic nature of the state and what
it had become.
He was a man they had to kill.
He tried to flee but on a side road he was stopped by assassins, at the time
he was in the company of a one-armed priest a communist
They had to dig their own grave.
Since Lorca was gay, they shot him in the rear “you like this sort of things
they laughed, these cruel people were killing art.
They also shot him in the groin: squealed like a pig they later said.
This was a Spain of old but the ghost of fascism is still among us we have
To be vigilant.
The Russians are coming.
Listening to Portuguese Tv, there is talk of a third wave
of the coronavirus, it is not a wave that flattens out like the calm sea.
It will strike when people get careless and insist on celebrating
X. mass (Jesus can do without his birthday for once) can you?
Then there is the pesky New Year, food, alcohol and dancing
oblivious of the virus that is looking in ready to strike.
The best we can do is to wear a mask, stay indoors and
If you must have a drink with Facebook or the skype.
The Russian has a vaccine that is good and powerful but
we are so Russia phobic we think of lies told by the press
that extoll an American vaccine that the makers of the
the vaccine is not sure of if it really works.
Coronavirus has become politics, and that is gloomy
For us all.
Sub Categories
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