a puppeteer marches in the parade
always with unpleasing gasconade
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
a puppeteer marches in the parade
always with unpleasing gasconade
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
a puppeteer marches in the parade
always with unpleasing gasconade
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
Marly’s gasconade about her chalet in Switzerland was not braggadocio
I sat for two hours keen to see it all, stunned by the dazzling clear water
Captivated by the lace topped Alps, the air was crisp and clean.
Her description of a delightful dazzling scene was not an embellishment.
Ravishing flowers beside the cool bench where I sat were vibrant
within the Alps I heard the crisp tweet of a songbird.
This was an innocent place, I was keen to see more.
This gasconade does not do this alluring scenery justice.
A ravishing, captivating, enchanting, marvelous wonderland
the gray green frogs
that often
silently squat as still as bricks
and blocks
around the pear-shaped garden pond
are frisky
restless
they plop in and out of the weedy water
boasting bigly as they billow out
many a full-throated croak
- a raucous gasconade
that both far and near
splashes upon the ear
they declare
a coming of a wetting
as bimbo thighed
legs akimbo and wagging
they swim
through cloudy waves
of mincing midges
- and other madcap
bity water-skimmers
a sure telling of a drenching
with a later drip
of rainbow glimmers
Newness of spring’s manifestation,
efflorescing motifs of flowery guile,
views of the gregarious vernal rev,
eviscerating the macabre haste of time
rapidly flittering as orange eye-thunder...
Enlaced halcyon trees to ponder in a birdy glee
No longer barren, they sing a gasconade silken
Oh robin on your perch precarious, stay still so!
Under the preeminent flurry of you,
glowing petals snow my gazing...
How fast your breast flashes by my lost breath
(2/20/2021)
In a beautiful springtime cocklight
I woke up into a sweet daydream
Damsel of God dancing in delight
Staging her grace, an elegant theme.
I was called to hug her in love
And showered with her aspergillum
Then a soft breeze to give a shove
Urging me to dance with the rhythm.
In a gasconade greenish dress
Painted in flowers and flying birds
Her ups and downs are in depress
She a beauty, waiting to embrace.
Out of the blue, woke from my dream
I saw my sweetheart sprawling naked
Her dress was torn and stolen in a gleam
By a group of lusty crooked.
They cut her ornaments – trees and meadows
Her flowers vanished and so the birds
She laid as a desert weeping endless
Her tears dried up and so the lakes
Fallen on knees I cried with her
Nature and me, ready to revive
A piece of cloth gone from the attire
To be returned, for us to survive.
Submitted on December 16, 2019, for STRAND SPECIAL 3 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
The house struggles
to keep its roof above water
The Gasconade river
smashes it into oaks
that slash the walls
slice the roof
The house thrashes
rips a telephone pole
out by its root
crashes
boards swirl
splinters in brown sludge
The round eye
of the satellite dish
does not blink
before drowning
5/2/2017
we're wrapped in each others arms
sans clothing discarded our peculiars
I'm filled with testosterone she has lured
as would a snake charmer robed
our fires supply our individual piaculars
seeking to find its concluding flameout
we clench, saliva kisses; they are our mettle
my chest pressed into her soft woman's pride
her tongue, searching, finding, teeth biting
her mouth to my thoughts conveyed
pleading to reach the destination as one
concerning the all-consuming fires down below
my quivering soul overflows with love
from my Goddess' devilishly kisses and nips
I hover o'er the suspended brink of bliss
her hands busy with reckless extravagance
fluttering, seeking my soul and my heart's core
enough! enough! I dissolve within myself
head held high bellowing with gasconade
sounds from her brought on by new sensations
and the collapsing corridors within her
the night is ours, love is rambunctious
©September 10, 2015 / Jerry Pat Bolton
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