Who doesn’t want to see
a little more love? See,
clear! Who doesn’t want
to hear a little more love?
Hear, hear! Who doesn’t
want to receive a little more
love? I can’t imagine...who,
who, outside of Socialist
Democrats~ boo, boo!
Hear, hear!
I can feel her heart drift
Who knows why she loves me
I hate the smell of Cupid’s grift
She puts her finger to my lips
I taste her brüt silence
Behind my eyes
Dionysus watches neon signs shift
Win gold
be bold
Long run
such fun
High jump
speed bump
Grand prize
all eyes
Close race
in chase
Drab match
I catch
Ground stroke
no joke
Tiebreak
heartache
Foot fault
must halt
Forehand
so grand
Deuce court
report
Drop shot
on spot
Backspin
just in
Closed stance
advance
First serve
hold nerve
All out
no doubt
Arm ball
your call
Back foot
well put
Feet sore
crowd roar
Pit stop
right flop
Air jacks
not lax
Catch fence
immense
Choose cone
in zone
Downforce
of course
Dry line
sounds fine
Black dot
so what
Box-kick
smart flick
Breakdown
don’t frown
Eight-man
staunch fan
Fend-off
not half
Fly half
big laugh
Five-eight
high rate
Foul play
no way
Free kick
quite slick
Full-back
don’t slack
Knock-on
now gone
Loose head
instead
Pop pass
first class
Red card
off guard
Set piece
they tease
Shoeing
booing
Touch judge
won’t budge
Midcourt
retort
High clear
hear hear
Backstroke
awoke
Duck-Dill
instil
Frontcrawl
your call
Grab start
look smart
Pull Buoy
alloy
Swim Down
don’t clown
Ode to Erato
“Hear, hear!” What’s this poppycock all about?
“Get rid of St. Valentine’s Day… you say — I say naught!”
Brave Britannia, are we losing our faculties?
I’d give my life for God, king, and country,
but to give up St. Valentine’s Day? “Preposterous!”
A night with Erato is an experience like no other.
Painfully erotic, overwhelming, and barbaric,
or tenderly smothering, so Oedipal complex,
as passion guides your heart’s desire in words.
'Tis to die satisfied, knowing the utmost pleasure.
So, to this chicanery, I say, let us sing
out in an overture, from soprano high to basso low,
with mid-range baritone in between,
to fragile Eros’s joy in avoiding Chronos’s eye,
and follow Erato and not be dismayed by Thanatos,
but let the sexes engage intimately
in the propagation of the species.
Hear, hear, I’m heaven-sent!
Open up your heart, and see
Not the message that was meant
But a parcel that is me
Put away the wrapping paper
Sit me down on the floor
I’m a drinker, you’re a vaper
And we always want some more
Till our heads will overload
Eyes get dim, the hour’s late
Through the air we come afloat
Cause in sleep we levitate
Flying by the Chiltern hills
Over the enchanted moon
Over the angelic mills
We will not return too soon
To your land of hopeless glory
To the garden in the sun
In the night we have no worry
I’m a parcel you have won.
No more fear
of what I might hear
My ears filter out the rot
'cos my hearing is shot
I only listen to what I truly desire
Ha, ha ~ My device has an amplifier
Whirling thoughts yet mindful of forms
Turn names observing; your letters borne'
To the flowing race' unconscious streaming
Guddling in grace to beam of myrid meanings
Mill-town forebears, cast your form quite fine
A boon to your peers here' hear hear.!
I stand to applaud; the depth, of Miltons lines.'
So deep the loss...loss
different than any of those others’.* Others
can’t help but hear my cries, cries
of help. So deep the sorrow...sorrow
keeps the lump in my heart, heart
of despair. The one I need most to hear...hear
me she never quit, until her time was up. Up,
I look for help. Down I read the tether lines, lines
upon pages in books. Books
written by varied authors. Authors —
I glean from their advice...advice
with stories of suffering, suffering
taken to the cross, nailed through feet and hands. Hands
fold. He patiently, lovingly, mercifully listens to me.
6/3/2021
*Or so it seems
Cows of the Month, we're here!
This is a badge of honor, my dears,
Trophy of the year, hear, hear,
Once we were 'good little girls',
Now Cows of the Month do twirl,
Excuse me, what did you call me?
The basics, good manners for tea!
Cows of the Month, hear, hear,
It's trophy of the year, my dears!
I hear , my names been talked about
I hear, I’m in your thoughts
I hear, there’s lots of trash talk
I hear, the rumours spreading
I hear, a lie travels faster
I hear, people love to hate
I hear, the grass is always greener
I hear, talk is cheap when the words mean nothing
I hear, the less you think the more you talk
I hear, silence is the best teacher
I hear, words you don’t hear don’t count
I hear, life’s sweeter if cares given equals zilch
I hear , peoples opinions are over rated
Hear,hear
My prayer for the good man
Save your soul first
If you have to save
The world
If the world
Is heavier than
You please cry
Or sleep
Why must you
Be the one to
Do for other
What is meant for all
Are you an alien
Remember you are
Human
Humans got natural
Habit
You really want to
Change that
Mr good man
How good are
You when you
See your own
Dying right in front
Of your eyes
In brutality
As your hear hear
Their sad loud
Voice from brutal
Torture
How good can you
Go
Mr good man
And please sorry
Did I actually said
I got a prayer for a
Good man
Please show Me one
With out a limit
Working mysteries of religion
High in arrogance slow in content
They are never satiable in religious
Practices all sticking to be strong
Clergy of gloom and hue in wickedness
Shifting and breaking homes with their
Acts of abracadabra seeing vision of
Visions in vision less places
Diverting and deviating the hearts of
Many
Pity less religious practicer in
Miserable works filled with schools
Of thoughts stoic and fairy tales
Of religion
Bamboozled followers with rhetorical
Questions
We hope in the second coming to
Differentiate the true sheep from
The hawks at work
False clergy's of today claiming to
Hear from the above but can not
Hear hear the flying birds
They have left injury of honey and
Agony among families
They are apostles whose mission
Is doomladen like magic spirits of
Fallen Babylon
Although they have no record in the
Second coming
We can’t stand this chaos, we need an organized society
Heartless humor
Haven’t we been saying that since the 90s’, only where is the organization?
The country will change, and things will get better
Such open denial
Can’t someone see the country is changing, only things are getting worse
We need God in this country, don’t we?
What an ask
With all the praying and churches, isn’t God here yet?
If only these leaders will have the fear of God, perhaps things will be better
Hear, hear
Not with all the loose money and dirty lies making the rounds on the corridors of power
Electric power is off again for the umpteenth time, and these thoughts are flying loose upstairs
Irony of darkness
You probably have the same thoughts, but like me would continue to hope things get better
Brexit Sonnet No. 47
‘Hear Hear John’
‘The wellbeing of the people’ I hear him say,
‘That is what parliamentary sovereignty means’,
He also said, this last year’s man of grey,
This Brixton Boy, dreamer of free vote dreams.
Applaud I must, a decent view no less,
On Brexit’s chaotic canvas a decisive stroke?
No paint by numbers will see us through this mess,
A brush with powerful past for Brexit folk.
As high street creaks with Brexit driven strain,
And factory sites look close at rising sun,
A glint of hope, from man with ‘nought to gain,
‘Let Parliament decide’; with this I’ll run.
Just listen hard for Grantham’s daughter gone,
And you may her utter; ‘Hear Hear John’.
©Keith Murphy
Mystery tears up the planks,hear,hear,its the beating of hideous heart.While i Pondered weak and weary.Like taking the beak of the raven out of my heart.
From a place u will not see,comes a sound u will not hear.just like a flash of light Which understanding can not fathom,from the depths flows words which an Avenue emotion is channeled.It speaks always.....
Ahoy!images simmering thru from the depths to the facade parts where its taken As means of communication like a puzzle remains unsolved,unbroken.
Heart of a poet,reservoir of wisdom,easy and steady words are slaves to it.
A voiceless voice it triumphs thru ages listening as wisdom echoes from Mountaintops inspiring the it, ready to bear.Soothes the weary heart and a Tool of discord it stirs up rift like two edged sword.
The heart of the poet is the keeper of thoughts that never dies.
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