Fond of spicy food this smart man called Bart
Alone he loves to hear his tuneful fart
But on romantic hot date
Foist is his sole option straight
For him to break silent wind is an art.
A carpenter for a clean job poised
And for a new ceiling I rejoiced.
Like soldiers' flag he did ceiling hoist,
His eyes of full true confidence moist...
A carpenter who knows a good joist
upon him you can't a bad one foist,
From afar would pick its sad fake smell,
Long before his hammer hits the nail.
The poised I had his price paid fully:
All that he'd asked for brought duly,
Pledge to not kill his time made truly;
Orders for his drinks given coolly.
A paid carpenter, I know, just works,
For if he does not his bottle corks.
Moth and mist kiss her lips
her loneliness from the dark dew
And how she grips nomadic clouds
As if that was her only foist.
I ache for their sighs and songs
her strong want to embrace the welkin
But when she reached the tempest
It hugs her deeper than my embrace.
Written: October 16, 2022
Idlers, paved paths with active energies, purloining, feigning amity.
Dodgy & concealing past immoral dregs by comradely, waspish mien.
Obdurately empowered by this stranger plucked from their nocturnal fantasies
Wanton mistresses of countless broken walls in desperation for time.
Unbridled intrusion cloaked in religiosity vexed by undefined arrogance.
Oft, in pretext, manipulating, with energies stronger than the POPE.
Habits of a thuggish intervention foist on bewitched “soul tie”
Ill-beseeming nuances summoning this Stygian to their unsealed brothels
Obvious cliquish vindictive venom of a barrage of past bed felon.
Zestfully compelling, violently intrusive and surreptitiously preying.
Ending the farce, Rapscallion oozing countless entries on the rotten hole.
I really oughta drink my waughta
Since it’s so darn hot.
I’d prefer iced cawfee
But this waughta’s all I’ve got.
Still, it is impawtant,
In the heat, to quench your thoist.
Other drinks can wait, but waughta
You should drink up foist.
True, a Myth-and-a-half ever since dim Antiquity
“Breathes there the Man with Soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said
This is my own, my Native Land”
True, a myth-and-a-half ever since dim antiquity
Who breeds and holds the brood in binding sanctity
Isn’t s/he who sows and let grow blood ties in family
Don’t leaders all use the ruse of saluting country
La Patrie is never the suffering Peoples’ victory
They lay their lives down for their leaders’ greater glory
The plot of land’s where the Soul ignites anonymity
In the au-delà is not country mere pure vanity
Leaders lay wreathes at monuments for tv publicity
Upstarts win lone battle or two through freakish strategy
And let expanding borders be besieged by many enemy
Yet end-up somehow by losing the Imperial Army
Shouldn’t he who seeks to foist himself on a polity
Be required to pass the test of Ego-immunity
No vaccination nor re-inoculation would be free
From an overdose of megalomaniac frenzy
© T. Wignesan –Paris, April 9, 2021
Never Never ever will I query…by T Wignesan
For Andrea MOTIS and the Joan CHAMORRO Jazz
Band’s version of Nancy Wilson’s « Never Never will I marry » (Original lyrics by Frank Loesser)
https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=mKCdi71MRi4&list=RDAMVMmKCdi71MRi4
Never Never ever will I query
What lies beyond the Dead
No race No religion not Country
I will blindly not be duped or led
Born to one Mother and lone Father
Long bred from Dark Ancestor
Neanderthal or Fontéchevade Brother
Will I let some god put asunder
No doubts No fears nor Myths
To keep this World in one Family
Never Never will I ever blunt Truths
Split countries to foist ethnic party
One father-mother One brother-sister
No nose No chin No brow Nor skull
One from the other higher or better
What Just god would want us Hell
No more wars to boost economy
No more lurid lies to breed enmity
No more priests dividing Almighty
No more excuses to halt equality
Never Never ever will I bury
The Dead in shrouds blood red
Gone to worlds far from envy
Gone to worlds where gods aren't bred…
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, December 7, 2020
Today ignorance uttered words in the court of kings,
as we waited too long for coruscation of brilliancy,
serendipity smiled on nescient,
and crowned rebellion for one hour.
utterances from idle lips ,
foist on passerby along nature’s path,
As filthy rebel from the woodcock progeny,
Spoke with grandeur of betise.
suspense graced the rage of arrogance,
Today in the prison of the khaki boys.
cast amongst quails and punks.
This punky nurse of innocence.
what?
Ask me not, for I will not like this,
bandy with Rampallian .
You got your patsy finger
pointing at me,
but what about your
other three pointing back
I don’t have to be
a math genius
to thumb my nose at that
Always trying to spittle throw
the dung blame my way
Funny how it Pinocchio nose
blows back in your face
Foggy be the pale moonshine truth,
misty spoken by you
Ear noise, so 100 decibel fool proof:
Murmuring telly boo
Wave the crooked finger,
lip foist the fall guy
Foul windpipe harbinger,
guttural gloomy sky
Pirate odds is pigeon dropping,
parrot dice blowback
Polluted cheeks botox flapping,
brumous noise attack
Disingenuous index keep spinning downward,
how retrograde
does your ill swarm tongue flies
But[t] the puff evidence is blowing backward;
murky lip trade
always traffic in constipated lies
Snaking through rocks, flowing on sand
The river sings charm and charity
Infesting the cosmos and the land
The ill-disposed breathe barbarity
Like an orchestra, man’s life may seem
Easy or hard, some keep the accord
For want of goodwill, ethos, or esteem
Playing virtue, some cannot afford
Yet faking and playing, others can fulfill
Masks of goodness they wear only to
Foist on you and me some sickly swill
If only motives, we could see through
Aged men often think that their vision
will survive them with utmost precision.
So they foist on the young
obsolete moral dung
which the young then subject to excision.
Imp-Each-Ment-Air-Ditty
Once peach of a Teach on beach tried to preach
The art of closing the reach in a breach
The Coast-Guard drew his gun
Shot a hole in the bun
Now Teach leaks through breeches during Speech
Teach then placed bets on a horse called Leech
Before Whistle-Blower could cry « Impeach ! »
Leech took off in anger
To smite Whistle-Blower
House closed down for lack of bets on Leech
Whistle-Blower held breath to teach impeach
Upper House closed the breach to foist Leech
Said Teach : « No more bets, please ! »
Leech learned to trot with ease
Then Teach rode Leech without a screech
Teach then said : « Place all bets out-of-reach !
This race will take first place : Each-to-Each ! »
Twenty-two trillion debt
The pit is full and wet
Whose finger will dam dike in the breach ?
(to be continued)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, December 17, 2019
Push-Pull leaders
demand your gripe
at either end of their
hangman's rope
Your willing hoist
of their own petard,
the Devil's foist
of his own retard.
"retard" in this sense="delay," as in delaying tactics.
1John 5:19.
Luke 4:5-8.
John 17:14-16.
Daniel 2:44,45.
"For tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petar, and't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines
And blow them to the moon"
Hamlet.
Why the mangled lines upon your face?
What agony has you in this state?
Do you blame the one you chose to mate?
Or should we condemn all the human race?
Why is there no smile on your mask?
What events find you in this way?
Do you believe ill fates are in play?
Or is it you refuse to relax?
Why do you claim your life is a mess?
What forces align against your joy?
Do you perceive a Devilish ploy?
Or might it be bad luck you confess?
Why are you puzzled at my inquest?
What would you have me do, just forget?
Do you think it would be for the best?
Or is it my pity that you request?
Why swollen eyes and cheeks all moist?
What deception does your mind foist?
Do you not hear His voice and rejoice?
Or did you not know? Joy comes by choice!
I am American as long as I have any choice
from the Mississippi to Illinois, I share my voice
an immigrant’s son, a mother’s child
from sea to sea, the last frontier smiled
A twinkling eye, political liberty rejoices
a democratic life takes morals and active voices
don’t feel in group, I think and defile
I am American
I love my country for more than the illusions of choice
or the foundation of rights that we at intervals must foist
from great east and west we reconciled
not in symbols but chains and exiles
I am American
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