jousting silver knights
drunken maidens staggering
here come the vikings
At the grand old Springtime Mingle Fest,
Folks arrived all groomed and dressed their best.
One wore stripes with dots,
One brought fifteen pots,
And one came in pajamas for “comfort and rest.”
A banker discussed gourmet cheese
With a pirate who sneezed in the breeze.
A poet nearby
Recited to pie,
While bees chased a man through the trees.
A lady named Myrtle from Maine
Danced wildly like runaway rain.
She twirled with a mop,
Knocked over the punch pot,
Then blamed it entirely on Spain.
A shy little fellow named Clyde
Tried mingling but mostly just sighed.
He smiled at a chair,
Spilled soup in his hair,
Then proudly announced, “Socialized!”
Two cats crashed the gathering hall,
Ignoring good manners and all.
They stole half the fish,
Licked every dish,
Then napped on the mayor’s best shawl.
The music grew louder at nine;
An uncle attempted to shine.
He moonwalked too hard,
Fell straight in the yard,
And rose saying, “Just part of the line!”
By midnight the minglers agreed
That chaos was all they would need.
For though things went wrong,
They laughed loud and long—
And friendship grew faster than weed.
Words seen through the inspiring eyes
Emotions during the assembly
Intervention phase
The when, how and shall
Wisdom mount
Unknown sentences through the horizon of their own
Assurance in knowing
Bulls eye target
Thrown through catch
Past into present
Poet in represent
Circles and squares
Caution in beware
Time set
The effect
Poet test
If Harris chooses to have beer,
They hoist a message more than mere,
It’s like October Fest
In November, no haste!
Sails rudderless poll boat,
Who knows how people vote?
Guesses gallop, go in top gear.
_____________________
Tongue-in-cheek |10.10.2024| humour, political
Poet’s note: Kamala Harris in a media blitzkrieg on late night TV chooses to down a folksy beer to ‘send a masculine oriented message’ (in competition with Trump?). And poll analysts go in a top gear to derive its impact on Nov election results in US of America. So much focus, so much significance of that one can of beer!
One Saturday in a fest
I met an old buddy in a vest
Who was mighty grateful to bond
At the side of an old pond
And tell stories of the wild west
Long awaited day of feasting- celebrating tom turkey
It sheer is nice to munch all night
and all day, too, with Byron’s crew
of sheep, that is, that wander ‘neath
his walnut grove, that’s old and true.
Hey, baa baa Babe, don’t you run away
you’re missing tons of fresh, green hay
meanwhile baa baa Bob, whose teeth are long
wanders in circles ‘cuz he has brain fog.
Poor baa baa Ben is growing rather bored
he nibbles walnut shells for show and tell
‘cuz he wants the lady sheep to know
he’s available to frolic for a spell.
Yep, it’s real nice to meet and greet
at this sheep convention across the street
to congregate and shoot the breeze
until they get hay fever and suddenly sneeze…
…achoo, baa, baa, achoo!
The tattooed drunk
With the expensive shoes,
And a desperate look
Of having nothing to lose,
Barracked me at the microphone.
I was so glad he was on his own.
A single drunk is easy to quell
More than one can be a hell.
I finished my spot, went for a beer
Turned around to see him
Standing quite near.
He looked at me with pin holed eyes
Then he said, with anguished sighs
I may look young
But I’m seventy two
Nano bots in my veins
To make my body renew.
He said this was done
Just to keep him alive
Because he was a spy for MI five.
He said there was danger
In everything he did
Then he tried to tap me
For twenty quid.
I’d no idea what he’d been on
But bottled and sold
He could’ve made a bomb.
I didn’t bother to tell
My aspiring mate
That, for a few years
I’d worked for MI8.
We left him there mumbling away
Sometime these characters
Can make your day,
And sometimes, and it could be worse
Provide some fuel for dodgy verse.
Harvest Fest’s Annual fair is the place we are heading today
Maisy my dog is totally excited, she loves the children.
My own are grown and have moved to cities far away.
Where the jobs are, away from their cousins and us.
The smells of fall are in the air – pumpkin, cinnamon, applesauce.
I am bringing homemade cider, apple cobblers and pumpkin pies.
Knowing that some customers will be eagerly looking for me.
I love this time of year, when I do not feel alone. Maisy wags her tail.
Colors in the trees
They're decked out for summer fest
in raspberry days
At last the get together
Seasons come but once a year
Here comes red robin
for the sunshine singalong
as jay sings the blues
amidst dark berries galore
in the middle of the year
Fresh to this world, we have learned all things new.
Luck and fortune only smile on a few.
As death would sneak up bestowing our rest,
chasing windmills of mind we should askew.
Our life lived will be put to a strict test.
Conditions propitious for a gabfest.
Secrets we argue over and debate
will be made clear; astound the very best.
Live a life of renown and be first rate.
Our allotted time is our earnest fate.
But at the final curtain call they drew
of the same Cup of Life we’ve supped of late.
Strong winds are blowing in from the west
As dark storm clouds gather overhead,
Threatening our celebrated Summer Fest.
Thunder and lightning increase the dread
Special events will need to be canceled,
Months of planning could not see ahead.
A stage for musical acts has been disabled
Disappointment reigns throughout town
The city planners are feeling very unsettled,
The revelers are simply feeling let down.
Written June 23, 2022
Sun-Dried Rain
David J Walker
Following the path of
Southwest winds
Carving canyons
Starving clouds and land alike
Making sand of topsoil
As pilgrims pray for rain
staking a claim in blowing dust
In bilingual refrains
of long missed moisture
and drying rust
Sun-dried children cleansed and swaying
on backyard clothes lines
dying for a drop
of Sun-Dried rain
Who will be selected Queen of
This year’s Dust Storm Fest
Schools of fish in this lake seem to hold a fest
Fishes of all sorts swim in an august zest
Shining in spotted, striped, silver, and gold vest
Schools of fish in this lake seem to hold a fest
Carp, cod, hake, jack, shad, and sole in blest best jest
Flexing and gliding through the calm water crest
Schools of fish in this lake seem to hold a fest
Fishes of all sorts swim in an august zest
21 November 2021
First it was the bats, who came buzzing by, on a spin.
Hot on their tail the hawks were flying again.
The ravens were stirred up, but they stood their ground.
Crows were eating the corn; clever and sound.
It was Hallows Eve, a time for children to feel dread.
Most of them were not asleep, but sitting terrified in bed.
The bats landed in attics, and caused chains to clatter a bit.
The ghosts were hot about it, but that’s about it.
The hawks kept on coming, they came from the east.
They came from the south, and the north for the feast.
They had heard that the witches were creating hog brew.
They loved to eat this even more than beef stew.
Gargoyles, ghosts, and goblins tried to crash this big do.
Who do you think you are? The witches asked, who?
Ghosts asked to be the entertainment, to bring out their biggest boo.
They were sent to the factory to be made into glue.
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