Fearsome, was I; a model saint
Forged in anonymity and shadows
Fastidious in dawn’s prayer closet
Fragrance of fragapani and myrrh
Forgettable, forsaken; a sinner
Famous in the Book of Life
Forever, Christ’s wings lift me, breathlessly
fastidious Freddie Farnsworth forever finicky,
favored fourteen fixed formulas for fur-making.
Foregoing fantastical features, fiendishly finagling
fine-tooth-comb formulas, flabbergasting a five-star
fleet of flim-flam fellows from Finland.
Gods and angels went away
For an indefinite vacation
“We’re mere ideas anyway
Dignified by population”
Says God, who asked not to be named
“Nowadays it turns ridiculous
Politicians took our fame
Made up maliciously fastidious
All the simple laws we set
And this farcical state of affairs
Is the one we must protect
Though the mess they made is theirs
We, Gods, wash our hands of this
Devil’s game the people play
If they want us Gods be missed
Let them pave their hellish way”
Spoke the God, whose name’s not known
But one angel smiled and said
“Here’s my email and my phone
Ping me up if something’s bad..”
So I wrote her phone and email
Down in my book and slept
The wild wind lashed at our sail
All the way to my homeland.
Fastidious to a fault
Precise to a point
My accountant thinks
he owns the joint
Yet he forgets, so easily
how he got his job
My customers pay his salary
though from them he’d steal and rob
I’m becoming more religious
My god is a man of wit
And his people aren’t fastidious
In the prayers they commit
Everybody understands
Well aware that the trials
Cannot make a better man
From a rancor we acquire
Being tested all the time
With no promise of reward
Being told about the crimes
Of the past we must pay for
I’ve no time for moral babies
I am living for myself
And for my most precious lady
Who once told me I’m her elf
With my god we laugh aloud
Breaking loose from any cell
I have grown from tiny sprout
To dismiss the man made hell.
We must be fastidious and particular,
our sidewalks, strictly perpendicular -
and we must sternly ask, who would be so crass
as to cut across our new mown grass.
This despicable heathen can't be one of us.
He can only be Pythugorus.
They're smiling leniently don’t be silly
You can’t be apolitical these days
I’m smiling back I don’t trust them initially,
It doesn’t fall under a criminal offence
I’m fascinated by the incongruous lines
Just look at those familiar shapes, distorted
The early cubist paintings make them shine
Not blindingly, but just how you would want it
Ambiguous light of green and brown hues
Strict and fastidious lines, this is my politics
No one’s deprived, humiliated or abused
You’re in your favorite chair watching pics
It’s a spiritual job, not quite a passive leisure
Those pictures move in time can’t stay the same
They grow on you without any measure
Until your mind will get the best of frame
You hang out in the school of old escapers
The shooters cannot see us with their drone
Tomorrows ash deploy yesterdays papers
Don’t ask of yesterdays old girls – all gone.
Picky just like an old school pin up,
easily a trendsetter with scope.
Registered at first glance a star.
Strutting she knows what sells,
notorious for that catchy slogan
‘I won’t ever provide an alibi.’
Cute with a mouth that’s caustic,
kerchief in her hand style attack.
Each detail devastatingly divine.
Tantalize with the tip of a secret,
yes she’s a fastidious fantasy.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her skin's mahogany, not regal white.
She slaps on paints and fillers by the ton,
and has the dress sense of an anchorite.
Fastidious? Only in her brand of beer.
Brash burger joints are where she likes to dine.
She'd rather look at Fonzie than Vermeer:
thinks maybe vampires dwell in Wittgenstein.
It's Oprah Winfrey over Orson Welles,
and Justin Bieber beats Thelonius Monk:
she'll read "Hello!" before the Book of Kells,
and Chateau Margaux's just for getting drunk.
A fiery, funny, perky popinjay?
I wouldn't have her any other way.
follow the poolside shadows
Venus of Delphi
daughter of bitter waves
peek through the peephole
of my glaucous thorax
open your byzantine eyes and
spurn your locomotor ataxia
one glance at our vitreous hands
– a sight for blind sore eyes
one brush of our riveted lips
– gone astray in malformations
one ponderous confession later
– immaterial as a shadow of the lash
let the weeping corpuscles lie
swarm and jostle in the grotto
rattle and blather away our days
I’ll wait for your recriminations
fall asunder under your touch
fastidious in my entomology
let the bouquet glide downstream
the scytheman is still in his kingdom
then we rejoice in endless daze
the lingering beaten with bravura
So conservative the wild animals habits are
And the birds are behaving traditional
But there’s a one animal who’s gone too far
To show off he progressed from original
The results that were reached are impressive
No one dares to deny the Man’s genius
Man was destined to become progressive
Self-boasting and often fastidious
Though his tastes can be fickle at times
He owns one or two constant traits
He kills other men for the reason he likes
To get what he deserves, then he bates
So a Man seems a bit contradictional
In comparison to other animals
Whose behaviour still goes like traditional
Withing their own kind, they’re not enemies
Hear the Orangutan speaks to his son:
“Seen a man, then rush quickly to hide
They spoil what they touch, and they cease everyone
Man’s a killer, who haven’t yet died”.
I hid me some of the stones for they were mercurial
and fastidious- not withstanding shadow or some
thus I felt, thus I didn't hersistate to do
thus I smothered, thus I bellied or meme or more or yes
accept a gift from me
thus the bed, thus did the limbs weakening and
pretending and wishing and wishing and wishing
through?.
I hid me the moon and tis sort of claims and tis sort of
repeatations and fumblings and tumblings and
resournances and flatterings and grosteque pictures
and nightmares.
I hid me the moon
lest trees drape them or otherwise sometimes water?.
Time sat with her antinomic daughters two :
Destiny the elder, tall, fastidious and hard ;
And Luck, the merry, playful conjuring guard
Who averts the pre-ordained, out of the blue
The old lady crocheting together events odd ,
Twisting her head ,opened up the dispute :
'Why need you meddle with and transmute
'All that ensues along Fate's heavy, firm plod
Considering the plight on the marked path ,
"Mom " , said the other with a wry smile
" I let my picks find the vicissitudes wile
"That favour the brave who bear Life's wrath".
Thus went the dialectic , neither did concede ;
Striking an attitude, blurted the one serious ,
That every act has its effect due and various ;
The other winked and shrugged, to plead :
Hope induces vigour in crisis and breakdown
As morbid defeat glides like an avalanche ,
And committed strife finds enlivening chance
If death is certain , survival is winner's crown .
The moments you can never
quite inhabit.
Floating and dodging
attempts to clutch and hold.
As if to savor, remember the taste
exactly. As if stories are heard only
through fastidious interpretation.
As if Divinity were careful. But even if
I lost you, these moments still I’d hold
above all else like worship. Like an Idol
abolishing a church-ship.
And in this you’d inhabit myself.
And not a thing can hold or keep this.
Dangerous Fools and Evil Idiots
They agree to disagree
Always spitefully fastidious
About each other’s pedigree
Always at the war, that goes
With no hope to prove who’s right
There’s no right, because it flows
Through their fingers to the light
Of forgotten source they knew
In the times of childhood years
When the mornings looked brand new
And they lived knowing no fears.
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