Need every romance be passionate
for it to resonate
Must professions of love grandiloquent
adorn the lace of verses intimate
Need lovers risk life and limb
to reel their marriage in
Must they stride ‘cross the world’s stage
worshiped by the idlers of the age
Cannot affairs of the heart
glow in candle’s quietude
Sustained by shared faith
and moral rectitude
Alas, lightning and fireworks are preferred
by those who hold the strings of the purse
Turn the light, let’s live a little
It’s a decent way to be
We are modest kind of people
Sitting calmly, drinking tea
Everything looks quite the same
As it was for many years
Politicians play war games
Intellectuals spread fears
Gardeners enjoy the trimming
Fishermen get lost in sea
Dancers dancing, singers singing
Idlers walk along the quay
Everyone’s where they should be
Or at least it seems as such
Counting out you and me
We’re a little bit too much..
That flowers fall
Like autumn comes and leaves begin to blush
Like rains confess the wild’s restraining souls
Screams the rowdy youth of such fragile rush
Roars our untamed minds from London to Seoul
Speak love, speak hate and He may laugh at thee
At crazed and blinded fixations like fame
But though He sings slow ballads to the sea
So does He mourn unruly souls like Cain
And look, oh look, that flowers fall as well
and blushing leaves shower idlers in fall
Like wind lies, like rain dies, like waves shall swell
Like flowers fall, like me, all things befall
Does Nature not die certain as shall I?
As Nature is beauty, I am alive.
Idlers, paved paths with active energies, purloining, feigning amity.
Dodgy & concealing past immoral dregs by comradely, waspish mien.
Obdurately empowered by this stranger plucked from their nocturnal fantasies
Wanton mistresses of countless broken walls in desperation for time.
Unbridled intrusion cloaked in religiosity vexed by undefined arrogance.
Oft, in pretext, manipulating, with energies stronger than the POPE.
Habits of a thuggish intervention foist on bewitched “soul tie”
Ill-beseeming nuances summoning this Stygian to their unsealed brothels
Obvious cliquish vindictive venom of a barrage of past bed felon.
Zestfully compelling, violently intrusive and surreptitiously preying.
Ending the farce, Rapscallion oozing countless entries on the rotten hole.
Idlers, like electricity, choose to travel...
the path of least resistance;
meeting "The impossible"
with immediate resignation.
However, the mantra of go-getters:
"Get it done, or perish at the attempt!"
Submitted for...
Bite Size Poem no.10 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Date written: 07/04/2021
I heard it from an anvil
the metal brookside churning
and fire brass inferno
that later took my silence inside a broken shadow
I heard it from an anvil
he spoke of words unweilding
like protozoa brooding
and elvin skin and tatoo freaks a smooching
paused from all the moods swings
to sway back forth my lewd crude oozing
tis the nose, let forth my conviction
as high notes poke a choke she goosed in
im fused in an entirely
perplexed with latex anamolies
that ruse my use of snugs unloosed
running passed the idlers of traffic
to make my stops in crests of the topless
oh dear to touch the moon how so without rockets
these chests that dropp mosh pits
developing my nocturnal hog fits
a pest with unrest that bests the rock lists
i send one note out to you
this is my pavement to mock this
A wealthy old cat lover named Rover
To save money called his idlers over
Gave dough to his cats
Who became very fat
And slept under his bed and its cover
Once rich they became very slim
Enrolled in fanciest gym
Forgot about taxes
Enjoyed expensive waxes
'til their pile-o-change became dim
The tax man, obsessed with this cash flow
A miserly old fellow named Moe
was greatly shocked
His bottom rocked
To see the hep cats without any dough
Dedicated to Debbie Guzzi without whom this poem lacked its punch.
When lyric is not a groovy drama
the minds’ leads ail,
and strain stepped-settle over paths
strive by darkness or hells
oh heart so gone
At dawn, by the shines sun
In any target’s time ...
infeasible the crowds seeking
able being peace for dewy
from sorrow, oh vipers in over motion,
At sudden appeared by the paths
— and upper deeply notions feel ill
by idle jealous being-while at cycles
of happier birds flies ...
Or fauna gauges wind around.
When lyric is not a drama
the minds are trail empty,
crowds at emotive offs
ahead draft and tour recklessly
begrime, and idlers bull dogs
standing up —of course
Overly in brittle then! –so, men
Thou roar grin cans, at joy and safe.
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