He showed her around his studio
An artist’s working place
Then he took her hand
Looked her in the face
He said I don’t wish to trouble you
And I don’t want to intrude
But you are so young and beautiful
May I paint you in the nude
She blushed so delightfully
Uttered a pleased embarrassed yes
Then stood there in amazement
As he started to undress
He stood there at his easel
In the cool light of that morn
As unashamedly naked
As the day that he was born
Acrid smoke in the scientist’s bell jar
Blankets of chenille-covered snow
Crystalline carbon diamond star
Drips forming stalactites grow
Effervescent waterfalls’ dreams
Frothy-topped cappuccinos
Gelid surfaces of lakes and streams
Halos of angels in holy repose
Icebergs splitting from their source
Jasmine-covered pergolas in Spring
Knuckles clenched in fear or remorse
Love’s purest form sobering
Mandala patterns on frosted window
Newly-born flamboyant flamingos
Opalescent lustre of pearls on show
Pineapple-licious snow cones
Quills of the porcupines’ defense
Ringlets of great-grandparents’ hair
Steamy hot springs vapor intense
Trailing wisps of London fog air
Undulating winter foothill maze
Veils of fine tatted lace purity
Wieliczka Salt Mine passageways
Xilinous spider webs artistry
Yahrzeit candle flame in memoriam
Zephyrus ballooning sails on a whim
The snow has turned dirty.
Exposing the filth of man unkind.
One year later, still in our corners, chained.
At the Wuhan masquerade ball.
Six hundred sixty-six feet apart.
The Xi virus, whirling in the middle.
Making red froth out of his favorite pawns.
SCORES OF SORES AND SORRY POURS
ALL FILLED, BOTH UP AND OUT
TO BALANCE SCALES OF EMPTY PAGES
TIPPED FROM BOTTLED BOTTOMS END
POURED FROM MOUTH TO SPOUT.
TIMELESS AGES TALLIES MADE
HALF EMPTY BY OUR FOOL
PAGES STAID AND TURNING LAID
WHILE DRAUGHT OF DROP-LESS DRINK
IS SAVORED COOL.
DESTINY OF MAN TO MEASURE
INCH TO FOOT AND DROP TO VAT
VACANT SPACE NOW DRAINED OF AIR
AND LIFE SO FULL WE OVERFILL
WITH ALL OUR MONEY, GUNS, AND STRIFE,
AND ALL OUR TIT FOR TAT.
Holy men anguishing over holy words.
Predicting the return with arithmetic.
Swinging revelations like a medieval sword.
Recalculating when the day passes like a billion others.
They disappear for a while, thinking we'll forget about their false prophecies.
I haven't forgotten.
I remember their red, hot-bloated faces pointing pointy fingers at me.
Somewhere in their ego's froth, they've forgotten the passage from Mathew
24:36.
1.
Bubbling with laughter…..
The blissful profile,
Scrutinizing the milieu…..
Oh! The wondrous optimism !
And here am I,
Stressing over the entity,
That would have no gravity….
A momentous thing more or less useless
And here is the irony…
The optimistic fades away
It lasts for a second
And then is gulped away!!
Oh the froth…. The bubbles,
Paving the path to success,
Rising up and out
Into the clutches of death
And so is the story
That ended too quick
Of the optimistic froth and the bubbles
that brings about a hick
“And so here you go….
Now gulp it down!”
Said the bartender….
With a convulsive frown
20-octocber-2019
[This poem is based on 2 forms: Lanterne & ABC]
Air
Bubbles
Coalesce
Drifting down to
Earth
- - - - - - - - - - - -
© 10th April 2019
Crab Froth
Smashed crab, in corn soup.
Just grab with tiny pieces
of green chili soaked
in vinegar to taste best.
Relish slowly: Make no haste.
' WK 4 MARCH, 2019' Contest by Brian Strand.
11/09/15
The sun-kissed water,
Effervesces and sparkles:
Over craggy rocks.
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