I played the flute for a rampaging elephant
she hesitated then flashed a forlorn tusk
and rambled on...
She trampled a greed pocked society
gored its steel hook wielding keeper
and his forty-year reign of chained isolation.
Men with rifles arrived, expert at finalizing freedom.
It took 200 bullets, give or take, to bend her ancient knee.
She trumpeted to her kin, long ago marked for death...
profits cut away from their gray mountain heads.
I played an Ivory flute for an angel elephant
as she slid into the mist of a sunflower ascension.
Aim dead center, O aeon!
Era, this is now.
Ergo, O my stern scion;
Come to anyhow!
Looking-glasses are like wind.
Reality grinned.
Terror, tiger, tamarind!
Sacred til he sinned...
Gaunt the gambrel goblin?
No smile a-face today.
Whirling dervish, loud the din!
War, be on thy way!
Grey of the nebula pond;
Why is waiting good?
Yellow-speckled viper yawned!
Gone but understood!
Kingdoms are like prophecies?
Yes, in this context:
Rife, roil, rampant, rare! Disease!
Hell and Heaven, hexed...
Sort it out, O sordid sigh...
Do not ask us why?
Sylvan silver, art thou shy?
Bargain basement buy?
Syllable, unleash thy wrath!
Letters, break the chain!
Poems, place us on the path!
Language, take the lane!
Young is this old harpsichord?
Harpy, use a sword?
Bull, matador. Which gets gored?
Folly gets you floored.
Holly. Mistletoe, thy doom.
Poison, flow like wine.
Ivy, rune, ice, ancient tomb.
Cyanide strychnine.
Cataclysm, disaster!
Calamity, come!
Fate of mankind, I, master!
Doom and Death, thy drum...
Gore upon the altar?
Somebody needs to go.
Nerves within, do not falter!
Cease, heartbeat, post slow.
Tunnel subterranean?
What in there was planned?
Hell and Heaven, sane again?
Orders countermand!
Yellow skies in harpsichord?
Fall not on thy sword!
Every matador not gored!
That's who holds the fjord!
Volcano, thy lava red;
What feeds on the dead?
Questions such about thy head!
Countenance and cred!
Shrine on top of highest hill?
Wasteland, have thy pill.
Burn the bodies, file the fill!
Giant, duress? Kill...
Spill, O blood of heart! Solve? Start.
Take the human part.
Deadly dawn upon the dart...
Terror tastes a-tart...
I gaze upon an opaque silver sky,
Descending dewdrops, developing above the mustache maw.
Ascending the nape to taste cherubim cry,
Permeating petrichor, pervade the nasal in auspicious awe.
Palpable pain of tactile taps
Kissing canker sores and rainstorm rush.
Radically rampaging, for its rapid relapse
Rain, it's infinite, swirling fervor flush
To drown by an inundated impound,
A vehement, vicious, void that immersed,
Wandering weakly on the ocean gored ground,
Drowning, isolated lungs; bellowing burst.
The tyrant tsunami my miracle world-wide flood,
Exploding existence, imploding insistence, ichor pools; blackened blood.
I’ll never flap my wings again
the little birdie said
With all those drones up high a-zippin’
I’d probably end up dead
“But that’s not fair,” said the FAA
to our little birdie friend
“We’ll create for you a ‘No-Drone-Zone’
and your problem will soon end”
“Oh, thank you kindly,” said the tiny bird
but I just don’t want to trouble you
Since I’ve been coming up with some lame excuse
ever since a flying chad gored me ~ in the days of old George W
Happy Birthday to me
Say bye to seventy-three
I’m seventy-four now
My ox to be gored
The wagging tongue, a weapon is,
when vengeful words like arrows whizz.
They pierce the heart and wound the soul,
No surgeon's stitch can heal the hole.
Sharp words can wound and cut like a sword,
and make one feel like they have been gored.
What harm is done by spiteful speech,
When weapon words their target reach.
Like sparks that kindle forest fires,
are words that leave the lips of liars.
They betray trust and sear the soul,
leaving scars that are black as coal.
The tongue is a source of death or life,
So do not use it like a knife.
Make it your goal to praise and bless,
with every phrase your lips express.
If the tiny tongue you do not tame
It will rule your life and bring you shame.
Like the small rudder which steers a ship,
Your wagging tongue will make you trip.
She wore a singlet and a tutu,
Ballet pumps and slide in hair
And she practiced rigorously
With concentrated care;
But frankly her dancing skill
Was rather one of dross,
Her Dying Swan resembling
More of a drunken Albatross.
Then she met a Bull Fighter
Standing in the Barnsley rain
Cursing under his breath
That ever he left Spain.
Now they thrill discerning
Audiences every single night,
She in her ballet gear,
He in his Suit of Light.
With the big guitar playing
The mood is never dull
As they dance the Dying Swan
Being gored by the Bull,
And to rapturous applause
They restrict the encore
By repeating the performance
To just one time more.
Other projects are being planned
When they get time to rehearse;
Maybe dancing to the drum
Accompanied by spoken verse.
Oh it’s an exciting time
With no more Barnsley rain.
Operations have been moved
To a sunny Southern Spain.
Flickering flame
A discordant note
of egos that bloat,
so discerned by mind,
holds on us no bind.
Heart’s slight resentment
is discontentment,
noticed as a slip,
as we nearly trip.
This flicker in space
is our soul’s disgrace,
which though now restored,
at that moment gored.
If what is just is,
then bubbling bliss fizz
should be all we feel,
in it’s full appeal.
13-September-2022
Marriage is a two-edged sword
One end brandished by your overlord
~ At the other, your oxen gored
Pedro, a slick, suave and smooth matador
The pride of his native-state, Ecuador
He'd flash his red cape
The bull would go ape
After each pass, the fans shouted, 'Encore!'
One time Pedro let the bull come too close
The crowd sat in stunned silence, comatose
Pedro may have been gored badly
Yet he still smiled most gladly
'Time for a new gig,' he said ~ 'Adios!'
This realm is where I shall always belong.
God bless this nation and upkeeps it strong.
For he will thrust his sword and suit his vow.
He wielded his hand to ensure bestow.
July 4th, our land is vastly stunning
We unleash acute bursts and stark burning.
Our coastlines and towns' awe and wonder.
For our advocate chart and plush stunner.
The sky is a gored purplish mantle hue.
Moon gazers will revere this jewel view.
Eyelid star for each candle in the sky.
Wanting to claim the grass with their glazed eye.
Sublimity entwined with prettiness
Hands and hearts clasped at once in happiness.
Throbbing footsteps pulverized out the wave.
Of the flawless world and the spirit crave.
2nd place Contest Winner
Written: July 07, 2022
Christmas in July or July Celebration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Checked by HMS.COM / 10 syllables per line
An approaching cow with a hump?
Definitely, I shall do a jump!
Together with Safety clump …
But I shan’t into another bump
Nor bash head against a pump
Nor what would me in clinic dump
Nor find me nursing a stump
And off showing a swollen lump …
With a crash into A hump
The least for one instant slump:
Be you Ted, Tony or Trump …
Gored straight by A Hump
You’re worse than a kicked rump.
Opened up to fixed Lord
Told my heart what's nix'd Lord
Offered up to tricks Lord
Can't believe it's not gored
Can't take home what's lost Lord
Must make up for cost Lord
Can't get right what's tossed Lord
Hope and Pray I'm not bored
Talk and walk the walk Lord
Act and play the block Lord
Make and take the shock Lord
Glad we had this talk Lord
I'll be gone for now Lord
After all it's how Lord
I'll be right for thou Lord
Opened up and bow'd Lord
Making time for wow Lord
Host and toast to plough Lord
Haste and waste to sow Lord
Taste and chase to prow Lord
Rocking fast with vow Lord
Cost and task to tao Lord
Cast and passed to cow Lord
Asking that you're Now Lord
Lastin' asked for dow Lord
Asked and basked to crow Lord
Masked and task to chow Lord
Brassed and cast to ciao Lord
We all pay for dumbing down
educational standards all around
from thriving metropolis to sleepy small town
Incompetency reigns throughout customer service
Doctors' inaccurate diagnoses make patients nervous
Corporation mission statements, worthless lip service
It starts in the classroom, where teachers won't demand
if you want to say something, first raise your hand
Then later on, when rampant cheating's ignored
which leads to society's ox getting gored
So, let's stand up to teacher union's bureaucracy
Their idea of excellence - in truth, mediocrity
Insist on high standards, from grade one through university
and say No! to preference based on 'diversity'
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