#1
Building a
cat's
cradle from
simple
dimpled
spheres only
reinforces the
necessity of
de-
signing se-
cure
multifarty
symptoms to
en-
sure stealth-
care rapacity with
min-
imal ex-
posure.
#2
Drastic baggy
hags in spew-colored double
schlock wastelands are
even now sporting un-
even tooth alignment
and con-
genital blight po-
sitioning for more dead
products with patriotic
names such as
"Poke Her in the Crypt" and
"Wicked Slim Pickings".
Beowulf's skinny legs sported no pants
he devoured his prey, then licked off the ants
King Lear didn't have to book a plane
he'd already gone insane
Ordered not to check his bloody bags
Macbeth trusted three old British hags
Sir Michael Jackson would not remove his glove
his hands were even whiter, kind of
Grandma Gluey came with but a few bags
I laugh as I say this said one of the hags
she brought everything and six cats too
her son and his wife knew not what to do
they wanted to ship her off to this home with us
but we had already met her and put up a fuss
they converted a shed and put her out in that
I hear she has now adopted her 100th cat
Ebony ears carving a melody
To not listen is a fuchsia felony
Pumpkin patch a ballroom for hags
As scarecrows do the monster mash
Crop circles and winding corn mazes
People love to explore such places
In the red barn we try to get warm
A spider near apple cider does no harm
Black bats are the birds of night
A hooting owl gives them fright
Frosty air thick fall’s denim delight
Candy apple on stick take a bite
Autumn fair with colorful leaves
All is well on this calm Halloween
Festive fun despite the chill in air
Wind is a hawk that squawks and stares
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
Woman is a hole,
Soft with spongey walls,
Press the button, make her howl,
Crash through her virgin halls.
A newborn baby, little girl,
Fresh kitchen rag to store,
Waiting ignorant of the day,
When she too will be soiled.
Decades later, kitchen rags,
Sit discarded in a bin,
A loony bin for hags to talk,
And squeeze out salty drips.
Streaming semen pulling tears,
Out of ragged women,
In a circle all but holes,
Men uninvited saunter in.
Sexuality marooned jellybean pilfered spigot refugees vomit hazelnut in some static plain cloud cupboard.
A stifled hexed harvest, suffer the stagnant taffy contraception,
Oxidized gut-string lyre feeble mast crippled rod.
Shall you be parallel on the naked stem on the shrunken pagan altar?
Penguin whale jackal follicle carriage orgies
I have the cavernous trunk of thirst,
Permanently altered, famines, droughts.
Loosen your sticky grasp upon an evening so slutty bean Venus squaw chubby stone figurines
languid horny speed gutter bunnies.
let down cord straps drop fiddles kneel whip cable ties.
Snickering geriatric hags cupcake outskirts of one
Platypus settlement
Calico Cuban cats devouring a cheese cone
Des Moines deer directing a driven drone
Elmhurst elk writing out an elongated poem
Fresno felines frolicking in feathery sea foam
Gary’s gorillas grabbing themselves a grooming comb.
Hanover’s hefty hags happily losing their home
Illinois iguana playing his slide trombone
Jersey’s jackalopes creeping up on a bone
Kingston’s kangaroos sitting as still as stone
Liverpool’s little linguistic feeling all alone
Mammoth meerkat wanting Cuban cat’s cheese cone
Never-do-well’s nemesis capturing deer’s driven drone
Afraid of Moslems
because they protest
while 2000ibs bombs killing babies
signed by American politicians
angry they say?
ya would you not be?
your family slaughtered?
how many millions has USA killed? at
weddings
funerals
concerts
civilians just trying to survive
Trump and his old hag supporters
should be rotting in a prison
USA is no more a country
its a disease
until eradicated no one is free
Where is Dr Fauci when we need him?
Hurricane
You crash ashore like a savage one-eyed lion attacking its prey. Hunger gnaws at your belly, the trip from Africa has been long. Wind like claws slashing and ripping, roofs torn from their moorings and flung aside like paper. Concrete and steel buildings assaulted and torn apart like Lincoln logs. Your voice roaring, torrents of rain fall like spittle from your massive jaws. Storm surges form from your massive size are kicked inland by your mighty paws. Your clear calm single eye gazes down in triumph.
you pause suddenly
it is only a short rest
more rage yet to come
With a frenzy you resume the attack. Broken gas mains shoot jets of flame. Partial buildings with broken windows like toothless old hags. Vehicles tossed about like matchbook toys after a child’s tantrum. Boats found far inland high and dry. Your appetite sated for the moment you move on in search of other prey.
after the raging storm
destruction is everywhere
we will rebuild
In case of article fourteen
Quite a problem could have been
Solved completely, setting free
All from tribal pedigree
No prejudice would take place
Based on nation or the race
No one meets with deprivation
Well protected by convention
Be it truth, we could have been
Living in most fairiest dream
Ever dreamt about, or heard
Magic of the written word
Would reach out the moral height
For the sake of human rights
But of course it’s just a joke
Article fourteen evokes
Well known habit to proclaim
Vaguely written rules of game
That’s not law, but just convention
Paving hell with good intention
Fence the road, and change some slabs
Re-elect old fags and hags
No one reads conventions, man
Wishful thinking is a damn
That’s innate with human race
I would really be amazed
If the article fourteen
Meant to be a real thing.
Sitting in the passive seat
No one cares to even greet
Delicious kisses
Holding her hand
Having the best time
I never had
In the back of my cab
Memories never made
Coward in the driver's seat
Driving nowhere
Sometimes I wait
They sit and stare
Always late
First dates
Lonely old mates
Nail-biting hags
Giggity girls
Clinking bags
Wall Street wolves
I carry their luggage, in more ways than one
And think of all the things I've never done
I take them places
Somewhere for them
Nowhere for me
Oh, the fun they have
They ride, in the back of my cab
As life is a song , I shall share a piece in a vent ,
brace yourself, for my pen is full of dents,
I could count the leaves that curled into a crumpled cone,
that is how much I have tried getting lost into a dead zone,
Drowning in the wind that carries generations of expectations,
Aiding their needs with a pile of frustrations,
Sounds of those agonizing nags,
Purging from the holes of those pruning hags,
It must be a skill one can only be born with,
the souls seasoned in salt can be this bitter witch,
Harmonious hypocrites hiding behind so called sacred veils,
Whispering chants and believing in their dumb bits,
“ oh look at me and my cunning wits”!!
How in god’s name does your brain sit?
“limbs of iron and spines of steel “ they say,
But watch those verses crack from the slightest sway,
All that labor of kindness comes with a nasty bottomless price to pay,
Begging for benefits on a beat only they can draw,
And some playing humbled and satisfied to the main show,
Tune twisters and lyrical liars,
A swarm burning under a blanket of my mind’s fire,
Wizard sat quietly without a word
Listening to the huddle of a witch named Bird
She had big plans that included him.
He’s a sneaky wizard, she said, old T. Jim.
Old T was enjoying the view, and the spying.
He could hear all of their plots, only half trying.
Glad he had transmogrified himself, he hopped away.
Planning his own surprise for the witch hags that day.
A brotherly jaunt through sinister mirth
behold the brothers Death:
gowned and guided, an ill century
the fourteenth, an alliance of crop, of plague
in ground-down death of torrential pains
in sores and blood under the rains
that drowned the land, starved the bellies
there echoed howls of ill exclaim
a wanting of a light to shine
is where the brothers thought that they
worked well together, effectively
one would scoop from ruined crop
one from sickness, war, attack
the beak, a sign, of the plague mask
in shacks, where hags mopped weeping rot
crosses on doors, on floors of straw
with nothing in the cooking pot
the brothers danced and sang their wealth
of many clientele they sought
and on they went, and on they struck
perfecting songs on appetites
of pestilence and of disease
hand in hand like trees whose leaves
do smother, smite, in murderous breeze
the brothers, down the ages tease
and beckon, wreaking havoc on,
like rolling waves of seas on high
always taunting their sister - life
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