Facula, flash fulgorous.
Chime, chorus, sharply in.
Pumice stone, rough and porous?
Blood below the skin.
Mantle of the harpsichord?
Wraps around the core.
Reptile complex, tooth or sword?
Either way it's gore.
Moreover, hellfire. Killing fields.
Floor slaughterhouse, tiled.
Yield or come home on thy shields.
As before, poor. Riled.
Hurricane, thy beginning.
What will seed thee, storm?
Ululate, underpinning.
Lava, keep them warm.
Rush. Volcanic power, crush.
Dragon, heard that thrush?
Crocodile, wildebeest. Such.
Cloud, the rainbow's touch.
Fire in my heart, burn ice cold.
Ashes, fall around.
Trillium flower, poison sold.
Salve healing, thy bound.
Gadarene, black gabion.
Galant, galago.
Gallimaufry? Gallion.
Goetic the grow.
Fulmineous, fumarole?
Not exactly matched.
Ground to powder, golden bowl?
Toll the tallest thatched...
Sun reflect—
soporific effect
of sultry, languorous afternoon.
A photo album, open in an attic room,
of my family and dear friends gone all too soon.
Phantasmagorically fey—
gallimaufry in stray
disarray.
At the risk of coming off turgid
I offer this tale esoteric
Hoping it’s not found insipid
Nor causes one to be apoplectic
But rather received with alacrity
Without the need for paroxysm
My word there’ll be no chicanery
And avoidance of anachronism
Far from being sesquipedalian
Nor need for any razzmatazz
The tale of the slubberdegullion
Who thought himself full with pizzazz
Though being so supercilious
His affect stirred only dudgeon
Any good was so very fugacious
From this untoward tatterdemalion
Yet still he persisted a mumpsimus
If you will, and worse a panjandrum
So aggravating and rumbustious
Redeeming qualities not a modicum
An unquestioned snollygoster
Given to being quite vagary
An ill-reputed hugger-mugger
And a voice of such cacophony
But I see that you are insouciant
And consider my warning malarkey
Since you wish to be recalcitrant
My apologies for being persnickety
I end my tale of the rapscallion
Without further ado or rigmarole
Avoiding becoming ultracrepidarian
I have met my supererogatory parole
In my deaf and time-closeted
pockets unpack pockets,
string bags hang under the closed eyes
of all-seeing watchers.
Eulogies for the living
are etched on wet lips and kitchen towels.
Owls as mute as hollow urns
turn to flute their mournful why, what,
and who’s.
The edge of IF, is most hard to see;
‘if’ is a lobster pot full of moonlight
woven to waylay and trap the long drowned.
Gutters coughing in a midnight summer
these glad me not,
yet are kept like the sly smiles of devilish women.
In my book of lies
there are truths still worth distorting,
times killed by a compulsive retelling,
fields plowed over too long
where the dead are uncovered
only to dance again on their own graves.
The drunken gallimaufry of head-games
left unfinished
pace back and forth,
yet here I am, the one person,
still blinking my way through a black-light sky,
while majestic wings hover over
to grab me up;
yes let them come,
for all glad gods have wings.
Though my faith in God is firmly entrenched
still rainy days serve to get me down,
"What's for Supper?" like continual downpour
bears down on four-o'clock like I've been drenched.
God, my thirst for this rain to quit, be quenched!
Home from school at three, three kids start asking
"What's for Supper?" while in poetry I'm basking.
#Gallimaufry had brought to light - heavenly hash
when searching online I'd used the hashtag.
Hallelujah! tonight's supper I'm unmasking.
Loosing the fridge door I look around
Leftover roast beef looms round about
which brings smiles as my delight shuts it.
My prayer answered, a meal that cuts it.
Thank God, Sunday's feast becomes my whatsit.
In my galley I forage for food I can fry,
pantry reveals four spuds not sprouting eyes,
two lone onions and garlic in plain eyesight.
The extras I am needing sit on standby.
Praise God who does my hope supply.
August 4, 2022
Greedy goats were invited to the Wednesday feast;
They foraged their dinners ahead of the sly wildebeest.
Quenching their thirst with quail juice alamode.
A gallimaufry of raindrops stirred within a commode.
I asked who invited these creatures, and of course it was Tom.
He did not realize they were all related to my husband’s mom.
I thought they were gone, I said as they came through the door.
My ex and his mother, what a mess, huh, Lenore?
Desiccated mice thus far do gnaw shreds of scant regret.
Good and bad love, honey-dew in a salty brew.
In my closet, pockets unpack pockets,
bags billow under closed eyes,
eulogies for the living etched on wet lips and
kitchen towels. Owls turn to cry
their mournful ‘why’s’, more kitchen towels
to mop tear stained flops.
One horror story lives on, much chewed over
by skeletal moths.
Pots of peeled moonlight inhabited creaking lungs,
their beams slowing curdling.
I still store a few pickled smiles for saucy women.
In my book of lies there are half-truths worth more distorting,
fields plowed over far too long,
fallow earth where the dead are uncovered
only to dance again on the graves of the long entrenched.
Those drunken gallimaufry of games left unfinished,
great works that now slack and dodder, sent unfixed
back to the soured whirlpools from which they sprang.
Yet here I am, this spark in a potash of smuts
a mite of light twinkling its merry pip and squeak,
while majestic beings hover
to grab up my rash stash of tawdry self;
and I say:
Yes let them come, and god help these,
my patched and paltry wings.
Chalk up the above
tummy knocker round
motley fool whimsical caprice
forever one generic
(ewe among us) scapegoat
bullied, lambasted, ostracized...
simian still silently suffering
life threatening wounds
since no protective Jason,
nor the Golden Fleece
shielded me against
Tormentors of Torghast even after
becoming gratefully dead,
struck by lightning bolts well greased
they will still increase
only difference when nonexistence prevails,
versus while given lease
as run(t) of the mill mortal
doth finally welcoming peace
of body, mind and spirit.
Aforestated gallimaufry mishmash
hoopfully doth explain
tangentially, loosely and amazingly
one after another graceful linkedin refrain
now heeds intuitive trumpeted
clarion call moon faced
cybersurfer to wax and wane.
Roll up welcome Harris tweed
Scottish tartan mat after
lame attempt bing witty and wise
fame and fortune elude,
nevertheless logophile continuously tries
this April 6th, 2022 no surprise
quotidian series of Lemony Snicket induced
unfortunate circumstances did rise
every hour these myopic eyes
blinked cognitive depth youthfulness belies,
when dawning consciousness did arise.
Chalk up the above
tummy whimsical caprice
forever one generic
(ewe among us) scapegoat
bullied, lambasted, ostracized...
simian still silently suffering
life threatening wounds
since no protective Jason,
nor the golden fleece
shielded me against torments even after
becoming gratefully dead,
they will still increase
only difference when nonexistence prevails,
versus while given lease
as run(t) of the mill mortal
doth finally welcoming peace
of body, mind and spirit.
Aforestated gallimaufry mishmash
hoopfully doth explain
tangentially, loosely and amazingly
one after another graceful linkedin refrain
now heeds intuitive trumpeted
clarion call moon faced
cybersurfer to wax and wane.
Roll up welcome Harris tweed Scottish mat after
lame attempt bing witty and wise
fame and fortune elude,
nevertheless logophile continuously tries
this February 28th, 2020 no surprise
quotidian series of Lemony Snicket induced
unfortunate circumstances did rise
every hour these myopic eyes
blinked cognitive depth youthfulness belies,
when dawning consciousness did arise.
Dancing
abandon
nascent
cadence
imagine
nirvana
glade,
Writing
rapt
imaginative
tales
impressive
narratives
gossamer,
Photography
hankering
obsession
taking
obscure
gallimaufry
renderings
absolutely
perfect
heartbeating
yearnings.
__________________________
January 22, 2019
Poetry/Acrostic/Dancing, Writing, Photography
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1107-236-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Word Play
sponsor, Bobby May- Theme - What you love to do
First Place
Morning opens its sleepy eyes to find
spring has made its debut on the world.
A gallimaufry of tender sprigs and shoots
lie beneath the soil, waiting to be unfurled.
Rain is determined to wash the earth,
and sunshine moments are but a boon,
April flowers need life’s watery kiss to
grow strong, blooming time is soon.
In a familiar pattern as old as time itself,
life renews - eager for a brand-new start.
each a treasure of beauty traced by
God, with nature ready to do its part.
A bank of clouds shows rain apparent,
as a jet on high combs through their hair.
Inside the diffuse light, rainbows are born,
with pots of gold, if you know just where.
I put my hand against the earth and feel
God’s heartbeat singing against my palm.
Then raindrops spit themselves out of the
sky with fury - the storm before the calm.
Turkish Delight Jumble
‘Glorious’ gallimaufry
crumbles confusion in vain
entrenched in Gallipoli
still no sense derived from pain
27th March 2017
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Hodgepodge Of Words
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014
Words, words, words,
a hodgepodge
of
incongruous
words -
annoying words,
I can't stand you words,
He said, she said, words
fighting words...
Just a hodgepodge
of
unwanted words,
disturbing words
Flying through
the air....
like
No respect words,
I don't care words,
How could you words,
Damn you words...
It's a Forest
within a
jungle of words,
without a compass words....
It's a shame words,
I'm leaving you words,
I don't give a damn words...
What is this words,
I'll never forgive you words...
Is there any wonder words,
that we are lost words,
in a gallimaufry of words...
Words, words, words,
a hodgepodge
of
incongruous
words -
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