We are often sold it is cricket’s true home
The gold tapestry we toast hallowed tome
Legends ghost last post told free to roam
Groundsmen boast on outfield wield a comb
Host should do a search on Google chrome
Would yield the strip is most about the loam
Frippery and filigree are so suitably kitsch
Coiffured rest of ground then got a stitch?
Eating kedgeree no pedigree critics snitch
Pundits pounce the bounce does bewitch
Batters flounce in tatters is a serious hitch
Not a titch moves alot watch them twitch
Trounce the culprits it is time for a switch
Not in pulpits being a bit*h MCC’s so rich
Scratch fans itch give us a Test match pitch
Mystery confounds at the G surrounds the pitch
Crumbled wickets tumbled so quick got a stitch
Far too spicy the unfair square did jar & bewitch
Russian roulette regret net humbled willow flitch
Was cricket’s largest grounds really the only hitch
Too dicey to try defence too pricey.. that's their pitch
Foolish pretence was hatched by players who snitch
Curator of this thatched turf was the ghoulish glitch
Moderator of surf the scorched earth torched must ditch
Batters so dismal no in abysmal nick will still bit*h
Madhatters trick they must scratch that ersatz itch
Say only way they will play gotta just flick the switch
Stats are for prats.. the caveat everyone bats kitsch
So to just then pick on the pitch.. well it is a bit rich!
Knots-besotted
(too canny for a granny)
as sailors go (and they will)
of which I am (still) one
(when day is done)
I can bend a bowline
(from stern to stem)
with the best of them
(just so's you knows...
the rabbit out of the hole comes
'round the tree runs then back down goes)
and tie (not hit) a reef (or square) so fine
or (none too sheepishly)
yank a sheepshank
in a (fairly hefty) hank of line
also (if it's not too late)
do a (non-binding) figure eight
(with half a minding) to stop the rope
from sliding (I hope)
(and/or) fraying
to (defray the cost)
for new cordage paying
(in time a stitch)
yet there's one more which
(so all's not lost)
(clever clogs) calls a clove hitch
Hitch The Old Mule And Load The Harvest Cart
Across the plains a bad ole murky mess
Unites in its quivering tears apart
And the bashful bride dares not that confess
As she knows for sure it would break his heart
Bloated bodies bend with such dusky chills
And the ill cast weather leaves what it starts
Grandpa cries, "Hon' bring me my little pills"
Hitch the old mule and load the harvest cart
Watch the red moon and its wide flaming rings
Crow knows the tiger will eat anything
And the fairies dance their proud lovers swing
While the farmer's wife wakes early to sing
Dawn rises and its glory proudly displays
Cheating gambler faces well-earned pay!
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
May 12th 1972
Do you ever wish you'd never been born?
Never again?
Do I play a role in your misery?
Or, did our paths cross to confirm inevitable suffering?
I'm weak and addicted.
Mayonnaise brain.
Unfiltered rants that indulge self hate.
Pushing the limits.
I don't want to be what I created.
Seem is adjacent.
No satisfaction.
Coincidence is comfortable in the simile of simplicity.
Just one second and we fall.
Gravity is there. I accepted whatever outcome
Without a breath of consequence.
Never again.
A man wants a woman with wit enough
to see that the house is clean
and figure the time for the roast to be done,
raise children that are fit to be seen.
A man wants a woman with wit enough
to charm his clients at dinner.
It's not really true that they like them dull,
only a little bit dimmer!
Autumn surrounds the lake
Vibrancy vivacious, romantic
Blue in the rippling eye
Dark speck, a boat
Grows bigger and bigger
The laughter
Her auburn hair thrown back,
Her subtle loveliness
He stares at the landscape of love
Day bellows in briskness
And a tartan blanket
Smoothed on her lap
A sporty arm around her shoulder
Shadows falling effervescent
Sweethearts head for home
Trees retreat into dusk
Crunch of falling leaves underfoot
Spark of embers dying
Flame of color extinguished
Except for her lips
Pressed into his memory book
Soft, blush, frolic
Of a burgeoning wish
Small leaf adrift on tranquil waters
Occupier eyes the couple with jealousy
A miniature copy, this sister a faerie
Speckled toadstool over her head
She conjures a rainstorm
To get goody two shoes wet
But she slips into his arms
He asks
Rainstorm pulls the lovers along
To make a permanent hitch
A flying leaf, a faerie aboard
Stomps her teeny tiny feet
Wipes away her tears
Gives in, wishes well
For their happily ever after
11/18/2020
horror-filmmaker's mind dreams
~ audience screams
August 12, 2020
2-LINE POEM - ziket Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Each Catch You Chase Will Have a Hitch
Each catch you chase will have a hitch;
May meet moron whose name is Mitch;
With Low IQ;
Always knew;
Like a disabled plane do have to ditch.
Jim Horn
I thought, almost immediately,
there was strangeness in your car.
You had picked me up early
in the bright, hot morning,
December's heat was full,
but you froze me to the bone.
You were oddly quiet,
but the precious few words that you spoke
may have been
the strangest that I had ever heard.
As your big, lumbering old Merc'
dragged us through the heat,
I surreptitiously scanned the cab
for signs of weapons or weirdness.
My eyes found neither,
but my skin found the weirdness,
it hung thick as a dragon's breath,
you could have cut it with a barber's blade,
and I just about thought you might.
A few clicks down the road,
you ponderously stopped
and I meditatively got out,
no more than fifty yards
from the factory that owned my bones.
I'd hitched a thousand rides
with a thousand strangers at the wheel,
but of them all, you were the one
to make my blood run cold as death.
15th August 2018
I thought, almost immediately,
you quite liked me,
and I had to like you too,
and by virtue of knowing
that I would soon be
within fifty yards of home,
I started settling into
the end of the day.
You had picked me up
no more than fifty yards
from the factory that owned my bones,
and before you left me
just as close to home,
we quietly looked each other
up and down,
I was pleased at the shape of your bones.
But while you were on your way home
to your Dad and your little boy,
I was on my way home
to a woman who loved me well.
I told you where I was going,
you nodded and smiled,
and quietly we liked each other still.
15th August 2018
Please don't say Vegas.
We're halfway between Durban and Bloem',
so don't say Vegas, okay ?
Thankfully you found a way, reluctantly,
to settle on the right answer
without saying it out loud.
All the way to the beach,
so I hopped in, and I didn't laugh.
I introduced myself
and for an awkward moment
you introduced neither
yourself nor that guy you wanted to be.
Perhaps you didn't want to introduce
yourself, anonymous as me.
And you didn't need to introduce him,
how could I possibly not know his name ?
Then, after a moment of that,
you introduced him anyways.
It would be a long, silly drive.
You said it. Your voice was not unconvincing,
you had it pretty much down.
You actually said the name,
as if you wanted us both to believe it
but knew that neither of us did.
I'd never seen sideburns so thick,
or hair so black and slick,
the sunglasses looked the part too.
The rest of it was not as flamboyant
as The King would have wanted it to be.
I was friendly and nice
and made sure not to laugh,
but we both knew the truth,
and I really wanted
to be far from Bloem' today.
16th August 2018
By the time you rolled up
I'd been walking for a couple of hours,
after the Grahamstown kids
were probably done with their lunch.
The back of your four-by-four
was the most comfortable place
I'd imagined I'd see that day.
And after a few good jokes
and some stupid ones too,
you dropped me at the YMCA,
promised to pick me up in an hour,
and sure enough you did.
Burgers and beer,
and the easy company
of a couple of familiar strangers,
guys a lot like me,
made a tiresome day go away.
You directed me to the best place
to put out my thumb in the morning,
and a few more good jokes,
and some stupid ones too,
led me to accept
that stumbling to East London,
wayward and tired,
had put me unexpectedly at ease.
15th August 2018
'Thanks, man, but I need to get to Jo'burg.'
I was nice about it,
and I explained it reasonably enough.
Town to town might lose me
a ride straight back home,
I was sure there'd be one today.
To tell you the truth, though,
even if you'd been going
to within a mile of where I lived,
I was not getting into your truck.
I could only see you
but I had seen at least two more,
and I didn't even need to look at them,
I only needed to look at you.
I'd hitched enough rides
to know the predators from the prey.
I wondered if we'd disappear
past some town beyond towns
where you might put a bullet in my head,
or carve me up
in the parched, unruly grass.
Worse yet, you might let me live.
And I really needed
to get to Jo'burg today.
15th August 2018
I never thought I’d be the one
To injure, re-injure, and re-injure my own thumb
First time crushed between horse and steel fence
Second time bitten by a cat in defense
Third time sadly was self inflicted
An accident of course…
None the less thumb thinks vindictive
This time though it’s nice to know
That I am self dependant…
I licked my wound and stitched myself
Saving the cost of the Corporate Medical Boss
A little self- med and off to bed…
I wonder when poor thumb will fall off?!
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