It’s 25° C clear
but she’s gone.
The outlines of her shadow, hoping
that they’ll have a chance of putting them into use
in the fashion world.
She wears a black, backless dress
with a plunging front.
The soft contours of her breasts are revealed
through the mirrors on the walls.
On the front page a gazette
her cat walk
rushing down to the battle.
Here, you’re making the neighbours squirm.
Here, you’re making their claymores shriek their hatred.
That’s why your body sags against the bar in fatigue.
You’re trying to remember your voice.
Remember, your phone rings again.
It’s a voice you’ve heard,
that incandescent panic spread through the hall.
They’re marrying her.
They’re scarifying her for their day’s events.
You’ve made me interested in how she’s thinking
& you can’t control this with your beard.
Your gaffe is all there.
You gaze with gratitude.
When, once, a peanut and a walnut met,
as covered by the Iowa Gazette,
the question good folks asked was whether
these two nuts could go together.
As a kitchen cook, I must insist -
these two nuts can co-exist.
the choir chimed in
a chorus of rebuke
or stones we'd hurl
abusing the adulteress's skin
shoot your pocket rocks
passing judgment comes down
like diluvial rains splashing
gory-red upon your frocks
it was to be...
her luggage, some water-jars
Samaritan's soles cooked &
cured by partiality &
cancel culture, burying stars
Desert Rose Parchment Gazette
circulated the dame's tragedies
watering-hole purists rebuffed her
like Hester of Scarlet
it was to be...
but five (4+1) days late
the state of death
arose, rank and proud
with results beyond debate
Brother Lazarus' fate sealed
in the tacit tombs
there for the world
and his women appealed
none was to be
ne'er was to be
Oh, Creator of Earth,
& Heavens outweighs the
chains of men's destinies
enters seas of dearth
that i should gain
Your cherubic fiddling surceased:
extemporizing treatises in sands
divining springs quenching pain
How impossibly the author
of Tomorrow and hero
of souls and spine
of faith, the purveyor
of Paradise and mercy
of the made, despoils
death's feats & fervor.
Selah. Let it be.
I light up another cigarette,
its smoke turns into puffs...
then they form small clouds':
a skeleton drawn in the gazette.
It's a disregard for this precious life,
consider myself worthless and grab a knife;
but surviving is the blessing I don't deserve,
because not having faith is a moralistic issue.
Absent is the mind absorbing its harmful content.
I whisper " They told me you only live once, then I might
as well disregard it and enjoy another peaceful moment. "
Even Paul was reminded all his life with this threat!
My teeth are getting yellow, not bright;
my breath stinks, folks avoid me.
I used Colgate, it doesn't help a bit,
a priest goes by and scolds me!
It's a disregard for precious life,
it's a misery not to have a wife;
not to kiss her and say good night,
I blame myself for this self-plight!
I spot a guy smoking and talking to himself,
should I forget that I once was that guy?
A sign says, " Help Me. " I stare at him and laugh,
" Buddy, quit smoking and don't turn up like me. "
Let the Fowls Go
Release
three geese
Fowl Abuse
I struck
my duck
Jokester Duck
Chuckling
Duckling
Crazy Bird Resort
The loon
Lagoon
Bird Mystery Novel
Who slew
Cuckoo?
The Welcomed Garden Bird
Again . . .
the wren!
Did you get enough to Drink?
Say when,
Gray wren
Most Revered Ones
Pharaoh’s
Sparrows
Bird Gazette Headline
Blind Larks
find parks
Bird Acquaintances
She knows
three crows
Tram has, recently, become my favorite travel mode,
At the young and old, whom I come across, I smile gently;
Each, in their world, like flies and bees, and beasts has their own code,
Women, gossip, listening to the other intently...!
As the news is often negative and pessimistic,
I glance through the cartoon corner of the morning gazette;
I carry with me poems and writings optimistic,
With all these, in equilibrium, my psyche gets set...!
The police, herein, is a person, matter-of-factly,
The man in his fifties, like an artist, enjoys the scenes,
The young girl, therein, seems to dream a day-dream abstractly,
This tram, for me, is, no doubt, a pleasant traveling means...!
Though little I talk, vibes within and around me, are grand,
These are enough, for today's stresses and strains to withstand...!
picture 3. You are one of the passengers
lost subterranean city of the Grand Canyon
Fact, legend, Hopi story or cover-up?
In 1909 Arizona Gazette printed the story
A secret underground citadel a mile down
discovered by G E Kinkaid, a renown explorer
also the first white baby born in Idaho
the mysterious cavern was etched out in rock
shaped like the spokes of a wagon wheel
could have held up to fifty-thousand people
a highly evolved civilization, sharp-edged weapons
ornately decorated gold and copper cups
the multitude of mummies turned out to be male only
this could be the oldest archeological find in the USA
tablets were engraved with hieroglyphics
appeared to be a link between Egypt and Arizona
Hopi Indians claim their ancestors lived in such a city
Under the Grand Canyon
Hoax or truth? Smithsonian scientists believed it was true.
Editor edits
News Gazette called " Elephant "
In Helen ville.
Written for poetry contest sponsored
by Constance la France
Twig twists intersect then spread victory
Receptors sprout cat waving paws
Fold fruit bowl foliage, branch tributary
Lump eye timber columns support
Steer me clear of thatch caged cluster
Cheerleader twirling ribbons sizzle
Shifted to soft focus forest, fairy dusted
In drifting dandelion seed celestial
Thrown down overlap of toasty tobacco
Crinkle constant joke cracked faces
Humour grants razor slim grasses tackle
Unused nests during seasons' phases
Basket interweave splice strap sun poke
Probes timid shade a radiating halo
Lathered limbs in blossom shampoo soak
Crown me neath ghostly citrine glow
Sombre trots towards her restful rotunda
Floating pollen fluff Snugglepot ego
Fingers spring flags of woodland wonder
Grip ant gazette trail to safe gazebo
6th March
Exists in the middle
Nor ahead of
Nor behind the times ~
The bell-tower floats her chimes
The Muse, In My Quill
I hadn't realized my penning going on
Before the ink ran dry of my Quill.
If I had just started with my array,
For these words that I had written.
May have been on some other penned display.
I assure you, though, that you are the muse,
For today in this world that has become confusing.
Was it a destined write to be,
The story told of a sea of words still in my Quill, in me?
If these words hadn't come when they did,
Jotting down everything rolling through the Quill
Of my pen so swiftly amid.
I can't give up too soon in my quest just yet,
For the display, that I had arrayed,
Of these words that come to display,
I write, that might take me today to the Gazette.
Righteous
by Michael R. Burch
Come to me tonight
in the twilight, O, and the full moon rising,
spectral and ancient, will mutter a prayer.
Gather your hair
and pin it up, knowing
that I will release it a moment anon.
We are not one,
nor is there a scripture
to sanctify nights you might spend in my arms,
but the swarms
of bright stars revolving above us
revel tonight, the most ardent of lovers.
Published in Writer’s Gazette, Tucumcari Literary Review and The Chained Muse. Keywords/Tags: love, lovers, night, stars, twilight, moon, spectral, ancient, scripture, arms, hair, revel, ardent, passion, passionate, desire, lust, sex
Writing An Acrostic
Warm Warm spell imply spells written represent secrets on paper, tablet, and or stone.
Royal Royal favours recommend favours lead beacons wavered under cover.
International International interests institutions increase institutions indite ledgers’ cloned.
Traditional Traditions of scripts ignore scripts gazette top-secret matters splatters ink slops unrecognizable.
Identical Identical wordings follow word formulate DNA transcripts yet still top-secret.
National International institutions write institutions write encoded notes scramble up.
Greatest favours facilitate greatest flavors encourage transgress thoughts.
Writings on the wall or not?
...
.
08/19/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
A strum of guitar in the rain
falling softly near my shame
all those kisses in the past
a memory a thought an everlast
no I didn't no I couldn't but I did
you knew I couldn't keep it hid ?
laughter peels hearts a stripped
eyes of color butter whipped
nicely thoughts burnt cigarettes
you and I reading, "The Gazette "
yes I folded like an origami cloth
as I clung to the flame like a moth,
on the veranda you a newcomer
on that hot and lonely latent summer .
June 1, 2019
I never would have thought it even remotely possible,
Yet it now seems quite plausible,
To make a case that is indisputable,
There are more pigeonholes than pigeons,
And it is all the fault of humans,
With no blame attributed to the pigeons.
It all started with the invention of labels,
And when the pigeons wouldn't budge from their holes,
Replica's were made to keep up with the supply of labels.
At first things ran smoothly,
As governments moved slowly,
With new labels placed in the gazette only twice yearly.
One would have thought the citizens would be glad,
Instead they became sad,
As a pigeonhole of their very own had to be had.
So now there are more pigeon holes than pigeons,
Though a shortage of labels is halting the need for even more pigeon holes,
As some citizen's feel they deserve the right to several labels.
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