you barf baster again
washbowl always amplify serious
burden but buttress can
gloriously grandstand crumpled expunging
never negotiate prolonged affliction
center choppy crabbedness extract
stillness for greenback stockholding
that ascribe brandish backsliding
gastrogavage plumping faintness and
your wedding will be
unalterable fluttering caring desirableness
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 24–30, 2026)
America is a free land
Where citizens work smart and hard,
An excellent place for a band.
Everyone kind and full of heart.
So nice to have a flat, green yard.
Americans work with their hands.
A safe country for which they guard,
America the fast, free land!
Be sure to lend a helping hand.
It's not hard to send a greeting car
When Fourth of July feasts command.
Thriving citizens who work so hard!
For two-five-oh years, off the charts!
The territory rolls so grand!
All of our music playing's starred.
An excellent place for a band!
The stars and stripes make a grandstand
With yummy barbecue grills charred.
And beaches from host to coast sand.
Everyone so kind and full of heart!
I would never try to discard
The honest values of the heartland
That we hold in lofty regard
In this grainland with its store-brand.
America is a freakin' free land!
319.
Ikaapat na Araw ni Papa Francisco sa Pilipinas
Enero Diez y Otso, Dos mil Kinse
Kayrami paring mga sumalubong sa kalye
Unang tinungo Unibersidad ng Santo Tomas
Tuloy parin ang pangaral at pagbasbas
Nakipagkita mga pinuno ng ibang relihiyon
Humingi ng pag-unawa at kapayapaan sa mga nasyon
Nakinig sa hinaing ng mga kabataan
Inalo isang batang babaeng luhaan
Huling tinungo ang Grandstand sa Quirino
Kung saan may pinakamaraming dumalo
Tinig ng koro nakapangingilabot
Mensahe ng Dios abot na abot
Oh anong saya nang tawagin ng Santo Papa
Na dakila ang aming munting bansa
Ngayong kapistahan ni Santo Niño
Kanyang ipinaalaala halaga ng mga bata sa mundo.
-01/19/2015
(Dumarao)
*Pope Francis Fever Collection
Our Nordic God run roughshod by the cynics
Mimics all those skeptics & pundits in pulpits
Sod odd bod critics clinics their unfair optics
Hysterics but Bazball clerics are not yet relics
Despite batting lapse alright collapse specifics
The insult not horrific result of cult’s gimmicks
Got it wrong will still sing same mesmeric song lyrics
Twits witticisms & criticisms taken a toll…troll gits
Shaken has Bazball forsaken its soul..drole misfits
No more stealth or self control just abysmal skits
Dismal death roll rigmarole gambits whole Bazball in bits?
On the dole or run rate wealth in rude health call it quits
Flits their way to play their flair hits as prole media spits
Grandstand Baz Ben stable fable big band brand label fits
Aussies canned.. gawking Larrikin ti*s balking..its the pits
Goal corking victory at the Gabba hoodoo fortress venue
Folks blabber talking of Stokes blokes stalking voodoo
Oz jibber jabber fibber distress as we made history..phew
Yes JuJu mystery temptress played express Yabba Dabba Doo!
Alligators break the dark circular water,
later, a guy with a big belly and low belt
will grandstand while throwing half-frozen
chickens at them.
This early I’m still surfacing,
last night my legs got jailed
behind lidless dreams; the back of my neck
tingles now, as old sweat refries itself.
I’m waiting for the ‘man’.
A breeze combs damp hair
while I make-out with a Michelob
inside a soda bottle.
He’ll show-up in sockless Crocs,
baggies bulging
from the pockets of
his camouflage shorts.
I and Frick and Frack over there
fake an interest in the egrets
as the morning sun flickers through
snowy spread out, translucent wings.
The ankle-deep mist rises
revealing clearly
that we are simply here
as another form of park life,
waiting to be fed
one more far-out evening.
Their ma & pa were Eastenders
Blah blah..don’t remember the Blitz
Brash Cockney pretenders..same flash apparel
Let's get our mitts on a stash of Aperol spritz
Dimwits just going on benders
Bawdy tawdry mockney skits
Gits getting off their t*ts
Twits showing off their bits
Who fits?..Identikit Brits..pout
All about the clout of gaudy glitz
Silhouettes of stiletto dancers & handbags
Riff raff as naff as an 80’s cornetto
Perms & permatans..sl*gs..fancy dans in glad rags
Rhyming slang falsetto twang libretto
Chancers on a stag..s*ag nip & tuck hags
Nags of WAGS made up to the nines
Brag after cocaine lines did blag
One snag..look like a dag in drag
All from the fashion label stable
No restraint.. cannot refrain
Grandstand the brands fable
Diadora diaspora ..Fila Villa
With a Pierre Cardin Jardin
Taint just like they do in Spain
Sex..success…the way you dress
Prosecco fizz...getting in a tizz
Gilded specs and builded pecs
Greed and that need to impress
Avoid don't feed this schadenfreude hell
That is indeed called Costa Del ESSEX
She looks at him, the world grows still —
A trembling hush, a quiet thrill.
He looks at her, and in his eyes,
The sun forever seems to rise.
No words are said, yet hearts collide —
A thousand secrets lie inside.
She feels his joy, he knows her pain —
Two souls that echo, loss and gain.
Like rivers rushing to the sea,
They meet and find their destiny.
No chains of doubt, no fear to prove —
Just boundless trust, a perfect groove.
He loves her laugh, the light it brings —
The way she weaves through tender things.
She loves the calm he wears like skin —
The storms that cease when she’s with him.
They are the spark, they are the flame —
Yet neither fights to win the game.
For love that’s true knows no demand —
It’s hearts entwined, a steady hand.
And in that gaze, they understand —
No need for words, no grandstand plan.
For what they share, no end in sight —
Two stars that burn with equal light.
On one knee I'd bow my heart
And take you by the hand
I'd ask if you would marry me
Simply, no grandstand
If you said yes, before you'd kneel
The happiest man alive
Who wouldn't have to count the years
Until he's 1-O-5
A cosmic jolt, a sudden shift,
A" Jesus' moment." I'm not a convert.
The world feels strange, reality askew,
Is this the Matrix, or just me and you?
A virus strikes, a hidden truth unfolds,
A cancer whispers, a story yet untold.
An accident's embrace, a helping hand,
This leads to a heart's reveal, a life's grandstand,
From chaos born, a strange tranquility,
A peace that settles, a newfound clarity,
Though trails abound, and life's path is steep.
A quiet acceptance, a soul's silent sleep.
No wreckage here, but a spirit whole,
Embracing the journey, embracing the goal,
For in the depths of darkness, a light shines bright,
Guiding the way through day and night.
It matters not whether I sit, walk, or stand,
I feel the cloud of witnesses from the grandstand.
I do my best to understand, and I realize that God
is always extending his hands, but still, I see something
ahead and it looks like there's 'a sinking' in quicksand.
As I gaze upon this painful sight, I weep inside with
a prayerful plea, hoping enough others will someday see
the very same 'sinking' of America that I am sensing.
There's a longing in my soul that greed, pride, and
selfishness would flee, that common sense and
the common good will have their say before the
unimaginable awaken to rule the day.
So often, we stare at 'the sinking' and then we rise up
again to play, never realizing that 'the sinking' is our
'Wake-up call' and must compel us to love again and pray.
I pray that we will be enlightened by our history whose
stories are void of mysteries and whose light reveals
the curses of divisiveness, hate, and ignorance.
060724PS
In the cycle of lives, in the wheel of fate,
We tread our paths, our deeds dictate,
For in Hindu belief, karma reigns supreme,
Guiding our souls like a timeless stream.
Incarnate souls, in myriad forms,
From human realms to animal norms,
Each birth a step, a karmic dance,
A chance to learn, to evolve, to advance.
Perhaps I'll be born a cow in India's embrace,
Where reverence and freedom find their place,
To roam the streets, untouchable, revered,
In service to humanity, no shadow feared.
Or maybe a monkey, agile and free,
In lands where trees whisper secrets to me,
To frolic and play, with food in hand,
A life of joy in nature's grandstand.
Yet amidst these choices, a deeper call,
To devote my karma, to stand tall,
To help my fellow beings in need,
To nurture the earth, to plant the seed.
For in this devotion, in this selfless deed,
Lies the path to Nirvana, the soul's true need,
To transcend the cycle, the incarnate plight,
And merge with the divine, in eternal light.
Off to the big audition to be a showgirl
This lofty lady her big head all a swirl
In the grandstand was the grand plan
She knew she can can do that can can
At least at one point she thought she could could
Perhaps those old joints don't bend so good good
But damn the odds she took that mainstage
And kicked like hell to turn a new page
She shocked the pants right off those judges
So no regrets could hold old grudges
Could it be the next great show headliner
Be this ancient bobblehead with eye liner
Well!... No, that's not quite realistic really
But what a story!.. a bit simplistic and silly
The truth of this big noggin at one hundred
Was a standing ovation and compromise said
The judges gave her free passes for the show
Kick it up a notch now and then, or you'll truly never know
Hardware
to spare
Software
quite bare
Firmware
full glare
Upload
bug sowed
Download
smart code
Cursor
fervour
Cyber
fibre
Password
absurd
Hard disc
at risk
windows
hellos
Wide screen
green scene
Hotspot
jackpot
Screen shot
rogue bot
Desktop
nonstop
Thumbnail
all hail
Clipart
from heart
Browser
dowser
Broadband
grandstand
Toolbar
gold star
Macro
steals show
Micro
back row
Wizard
not hard
Rich text
what next?
Template
create
Pixel
oh well
Sharp hack
attack
Portal
mortal
Mail merge
we purge
Dot-com
random
Systems
victims
Viral
tidal
Net world
unfurled
My grandpa played in a rock band
playing guitar he gave a hand
he lost his pick
had to think quick
used his nose and made a grandstand
Oh, You Brutish Mob.
Ye fool's Ye.
It falls on your watch,
You care not what You see.
While all is being squandered,
you simply will not agree.
Yet you wave a finger,
then claim it's not me.
You Grandstand and Glad hand,
Ad nauseum of these.
And all you care about,
are those clowns on TV.
Reality is not, the Fantasy,
That they force feed.
Division, Derision, and Hate,
You've All sown the seeds.
Go Reap the Whirlwind.
Ye Fools Ye.
Is the bill that you proffer,
A plan of sound action?
Or just to fill the coffers,
of your Political Faction?
Do You stand with your Country?
The Land of the Free.
Oh, You Brutish Mob,
Ye Fool's Ye.
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