We frame his daily work of love
along a mirrored river of calm
brown legs and arms reaching for above
snow white their wool where they belong
such peace not to be fleeced ~
he cuddles them where nature is song
Hills ribboned breasts peachy orange
prime colours are all we need
this is how we feed from Earth’s
core green sweet …
______________________
Art piece :
Shepherd and Sheep at Vlaici
Nicolae Darascu
Date: 1912
Style: Post-Impressionism
Genre: Landscape
Source : Wikiart
_________________________
3rd PLACEMENT : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : March 26
Once upon a time
a tree was crowned with pink blossoms
red robes and chimes.
One by one they ceased to exist.
branches bared -cold as bone
melodies lay fleeced.
Stream gathering souls
song burnished with pale echo
pool of silenced dreams.
Trial, revile, red reconcile!
Crocodile, vile smile!
Roundabout the rising rile?
Pules? Plop on the pile...
Young at heart, O wildebeest?
Ready to get fleeced?
O for gears as yet ungreased!
Not to say the least!
Ululating frenzied?
O banshee, sing thy song.
Xiphoid, clench! O pens, bleed!
Poison, be ye strong...
Long live the generations?
O nations, rise and fall.
Onward, my creations!
Relations? How they pall.
Sickly sweet in summer heat?
Heather-flower, vine.
If your beat is mossy peat?
Wicked is thy wine.
Kine of sun god, where you fell:
Awful was that spell!
Right next door to halfway hell!
Heaven, who to tell?
Knell, pell-mell! O fate, gel! Full!
Sing in all, brass bull!
Gathering crone, forest, thy wool!
How prophecies pull!
Yellow kings in cities old?
Shades of ancient gold.
Cone, caldera, getting cold?
Enter well the fold...
,
"The Fleeced made Golden"
That bluebird in my heart
paints a different tune;
the Sun-tainted canary is set free
amongst the murderous crows,
a test to light scarlet matches
in the refined golden air
the flock poetically breathes in,
much purer than black sheep,
who continually march against the flow,
watched on by the immersed, those ...
hungry wolves, smiling like hidden kings
forever fleeced like lambs in sheep clothes
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“You can think clearly, only with your clothes on.”
Margaret Attwood
“Nature is to zoos as God is to churches.”
Margaret Attwood
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one most travelled by. It was littered with corpses, as such roads are. But as you will have noticed, my own corpse is not among them.”
Margaret Attwood
sheep, wolves,
bluebirds, canaries.
Harpsichord in heaven?
Cubic or spherical?
Bread, O baker? Leaven.
Just flicker as you fall...
Dancing lights apace in space?
Watch them in her face.
Ghost, vanish without a trace!
Gold, case, carapace!
Desert floor in winter?
No more than one inch, snow.
Shredder, got a splinter?
Tormented, O my foe.
Panels, dance about the night!
Sparks in porcelain!
Falcon, gather wind in flight!
How we'll meet again...
Yellow eyed priest, bid the feast!
Shepherd, are ye fleeced?
Squire, page, are the wheels a-greased?
Only if they're pieced.
Connect, O my fibers!
Build high the city walls!
If they're born to jibe, sirs;
They're bound for taking falls.
Tyrant of the borderland?
Show them how we stand!
Crush them in thy hardest hand!
Order countermand!
Silence in the place of whole?
Remotely control.
Ye gods, what is mortal soul?
Golden light a-bowl.
The path is clear
But the intentions are blocked
Will wait for an answer
Before the question is thought
With all my being
Ive been torn and rought
My blades are sharp
To sharpen them tho i fought
There is no wager that can't be fleeced
Or journey that can't be dreamed
A path of a thousand paths
But one fulfilled can be deemed
It would with the greatest of feelings
It would hope for the redeemed
But my journey's end is violence
Will not fulfill what it seems
her ethereal gaze tucked me into nirvanic waves
tore me asunder amid quixotic abyss and seraphic throe
I harvest pearls from mollusks in swimming oysters
strip it in kaleidoscopic iris fiercely fleeced mote sand
pearls evolved into a sumptuous elixir necklace
a seashell conceals a jewel-like hair as dark as obsidian
pristine girl with a pearl necklet and mellifluous voice
with her smile flings delicate pearls
her eyebrows cling to me beckoning me near
abrim with tears cleansed her azure iris
I tidied her sylphlike trail some sobs stuffed a cup
It soaked roses threw daffodil pearls bit jujubes with hail
hence my previously sealed heart thawed
a phoenix in its zenith sweeps me to skies
In a cosmic splay studded with stars I dwell
her wispy eyelashes distract me from her gaze
she eviscerates dumbfounds me with dark detritus
may my love ram-raid and induce her to ponder again
One day (I don’t remember when), but I
could see the moon quite clearly in the sky.
It made me feel like things had gone awry!
Silly thought, I had one – could moon then be the sun?
Was sun now on the run – no, sun had well begun.
I wish I could recall the time of day
when old man moon seemed so well on display
or if the sky were bright or a bit gray.
The facts gave me a feast - this much I found at least:
well after new moon's ceased – the sun sets in the east.
The sun and sky give proof we can't deny
and show when moon is seen by anyone.
In daylight, one should not the moon survey.
If it is full, then we have all been fleeced.
Hopped a rattler out of Akron.
Rode the high end all the way.
On the Erie-Lackawanna,
Made North Jersey by next day.
Between a bottle and a biscuit,
And that’s all I’m gonna say.
‘Twas a rude accommodation.
No Angelina on my arm.
Stumbled in Towaco Station,
A-number-1, no false alarm.
I raided Harrigan’s at midnight.
Came to find my lucky charm.
Jacked a barstool with a seatbelt.
Took that baby for a spin.
Tanked a beaker full of vino,
Ran some red light sure as sin.
I traced the towpath to a piss pot;
Couldn’t keep from falling in.
Old Black Joe and Camptown Races
Waged a juke box culture war.
Jumped a willing breakneck filly,
Spilled her potluck on the floor.
I played her pussy foot to cat’s paw,
Then I danced right out the door.
Fleeced a rummage sale in Boonton;
Empty pockets, long-term loan.
Found a brown old five cent nickel,
And a plastic pocket comb.
Ain’t no sweet back, blue-eyed beefer.
New Hobohemia’s my home.
Which job is best for me?
To feed my kids and family.
Oh Lord, the folks observe me,
Well, that is so embarrassing really.
They want me to be,
Under their influence constantly.
Unnecessary tantrums truly,
That disturbs my peace regularly.
No independence and liberty,
As I am fleeced of my rights many.
Want not me to be flourish-spree,
Or maybe they want to come equal to me.
Keeping me on hold intently,
Harassingly and humiliatingly.
What will the solution be,
So that I become rut free..!
Fed up of working under suffocation,
Choked with purposeful exhaustion.
They want to see me labor all the time,
Not letting me move freely during dine.
The discrimination is damn hellish,
The persecution is simply devilish.
O Lord, show me the way to prosper,
With peace, rights and little power..!!
In moon’s dappled light
Through Fall-fleeced leaves of a tree,
I find two bugs fight…
In and off my sight,
Now in and then in blocked light,
Me in anxiety,
I fret my frailty
And moon’s blocked by a big cloud,
What a time to shroud!
______________________________
Triple Haikus |28.06.2021|
Though ended is another holiday feast
~ My diet continues getting fleeced
Curious of Jesus and so he could see
little Zacchaeus climbed up a tree.
Jesus passing that way
looked up and did say,
“Into your house you'll give welcome to me.”
“From where comes his wealth?” Some grumblers did groan.
“I'll give half to the poor of all that I own;
those I've fleeced moreover
repay four times over.”
To him that day salvation was known.
Luke 19.1-10
We marched two by two along
Muddied path leading to gallows
Corner, singing with voices strong ;
Full of hope as dashing callow.
Ripe to be picked and Ripe
To be plucked for we had yet
To taste the battle of snipe
And shot, splinter; bayonette.
We arrived at our trench
Paid for with the King's shilling
And breathed in the stench,
Our home for the killing
Of the Bosch a hundred
Yards in front of us.
Through the looking glass thread-
Bare suits steeled to cus!.
The shelling sprang to life
And screamed overhead
At enemy lines, and strife
Clothed them as they lay dead.
Or so we thought with shell
Of victory diminished, like lambs
To the slaughter we fell, fleeced
Of our youth, once boastful rams.
During the campaign of 1860
a young girl wrote Abe Lincoln a letter
She told him he looked too boyish
to be Pres. With a beard, he'd do better
Lincoln gave it some thought and declared
She's right! I'm grateful someone cared...
Eight score years later, a brave soul told Mr. Trump
If he'd just wear a mask, his support would increase
But Mr. Trump didn't listen; he's no Abraham Lincoln
You know what happened: In the end he got fleeced
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