Imposition Poems

Dr Fauci

(“Contagion III”, 2020, original pen and ink and oil)

Dr Fauci

In the infallible world of cause and effect
Every action has its reaction
And to every sane person
Beyond the age of about ten
This is simply a given.

What is less clear is when, how and where
These reactions will manifest.
So as time passes and nothing seems to happen
Those responsible, and those effected
Begin to wonder if they ever will.

Enter stage Left, Dr Fauci, 
The best thing since sliced bread and mastermind 
Of not only gain of function research
But also the official reaction and imposition
To the result of this research gone wrong.

Will Fauci ever face the consequence 
Of the hundreds of millions killed by his virus,
And even greater numbers killed by the vax?
Not likely in this life, but surely Hell awaits, 
Ever patient, ever present, at the very bottom.

(8/23/25)

Thought of the day

let our suggestion
be not an imposition
but only an offering
view point proffering
in utmost gentleness
to promote wellness
inducing love to spurt 
seeking not to convert
eye nonjudgmental 
mindful touch gentle

0800 222 9911

Have you ever been
haunted (no you have not)
by a ghost from the future not even born yet
in your paper thin realm
trolled from a time post human extinction
it could only happen to you so-called
dead in your grave still tossing and turning
& scratching like a deviant
moldering and unquiet one hundred years now
and the whispers yes whispers from
the parallell (this is how we spell it now)
corridoor (see previous) keeping you
a-threshold in your very well deserved
sempiternal shelf of   discomfort

Out here bebee the fourth dimension
swings in ways you cannot conceive so
don't test your pretty lil head
much of which is mush and thistle
but! you may be due compensation
for the futurama funnel imposition
a leakage episode beyond apology
under section bla bla
please submit your claim within 30 days
via the usual medium and
we shall endeavour to ensure
requiem aeternam thus ceasing
your infernal insomnia
yours the 3am committee

Heart And Sole Complaint

Tho' they may display legs to best advantage,
observing the constraints, begs the question, 'What's afoot?'

Seems to me I had a bee in my bonnet
about women's proclivities and passion
when compelled to write this pseudo-sonnet
about their footwear fashion.
Some are bonkers barmy as bedbugs, daft, dippy, daffy,
(with) bats in the belfry too,
it's far beyond my reckoning, as I can't fathom,
why they choose to wear the pairs of shoes they do.
And as for a clue, I haven't any, why they own so very many.
With their platforms, pumps, stilettos, wedges, they're tottering on
the edges of insanity, an exercise in futility,
an accident about to happen, one stumble, a tumble then... a calamity.
Seeing them hobble, while their dogs are barking,
these are the words they'd speak, if their feet could talk,
'Cinderella had the right idea, losing her glass slipper,
as oh the pains you put us through when you are wont to walk.
It's no more than torture, a total imposition,
somewhat akin to boots of the Spanish Inquisition.'

Cacophany

Where harmony hoards the supposed hurt,
Symphonies belie me.
I rein myself in to not be curt,
But noise surrounds me.
Where time heals the freshly toiling,
I have old, murky bloodstains
Yet no one sees how quietly I'm boiling
Until the tipping point I shall hide my pains.
Why such a discordance in my disposition?
I desire to mourn the impact of this tyranny
Is this prophetic or an imposition? It's difficult to overlook the irony. 

Someday I will explode, not implode
A magnetic, magnificent starburst.
For now, continue, continue to goad,
But this cacophony will not halt my bloodthirst.

GREEN LEVY just my opinion M

GREEN LEVY   an explicit imposition on speculative statistical suppositions

One Condition

I see a problem with religion,

It's like a competition,

You can't just slip in.

They want you to fit in.

To help heal your sin.

"You can stay, on One Condition."

Tything an imposition,

Sects creating division,

Trying to see who will win.

What if GOD has a different mission?

Just listen to your intuition,

Not their newest edition,

Or blindly follow tradition.

Have the ambition,

Become a new addition,

A true Magician.

An end to all suspicion.

Put fear in remission.

God's the physician,

In the perfect position,

To bring dreams to fruition.

Come join the Coalition,

Life is the auditon,

Your the Musician.

Love is the ammunition,

To defeat opposition.

This is Your rendition,

You give it definition,

And GOD gets the recognition.

The one and only condition.

IVORY FLAKES

IVORY FLAKES

As one hand gives, the other takes
Laundry can be both a task and joy
Yet when an imposition, can annoy
And all remaining respect, destroy
Washday is not merely Ivory Flakes 

Clean those clothes, for all our sakes
If overdue, laundry becomes urgent
A minor issue, a choice of detergent
The needs and wants are convergent
So don’t delay with the Ivory Flakes

More stocking wear from Ivory Flakes
A product with other uses, you know
And used in movies as artificial snow
Swirling all around as fans would blow
But there were and are, other makes

Dusk

Lightly, almost imperceptibly,
dusk quiets and stills the day.

The brightness and youth
of morning vibrates with
exciting expectations
of unknown adventures
waiting to be discovered,
a reaching-out for the new,
the yet-to-be understood, 
surpassing the mind’s compass,
the boundaries and limits
of comprehension and imposition.

Time passes, a transmutation 
occurs, barely noticed.
The heat of the mid-day sun
exposes newly-discovered
experiences and passions
that subsume all days
with the present, the now, 
nothing more, nothing less,
in a momentary phase,
narcissism, an island in the sun.

In time, the sun loses its heat.
We breathe air cooled with a stir
of late afternoon breeze that
tempers passions and desires
and leads to a calmness of mind
with faint birdsong, the music
of rustling leaves and grasses,
and a contentment born of
experience, age, and wisdom
and the beauty of the evening. 

In the end dusk slips over the day
lightly, almost imperceptibly.

WHO WE ARE AT OUR CORE

WHO WE ARE AT OUR CORE

Are we who we think we are
Or more likely what others think
Perhaps multifaceted, we may be
Or neither, always a mystery
Taking self-analysis to the brink
But in the end, just raise the bar

At our core, whatever that may be
Some sort of an inherent disposition
Or just acting out our genetic code
Delving deep to find the mother lode
When psychoanalysis is an imposition
Will anyone ever know the real me

The Lynx

THE LYNX

That black cat, I spy - he licks the puppet all over.
The fox’s red fur feels not the imposition nor
the puppetmaster’s paw,  but the red fox,
my prey, feels the crunch of its bones, insanity bleeds,
after the toilsome run from my teeth.
My teeth chatter, cold and cruel, terribly hungry
to rip up a carcass, to chow down
a soul. I eat the meat raw.
Its blood is my foundation -
I powder my nose. The cries of my prey
with stuffing and gravy. Yes, let’s do
Thanksgiving. Like me, the black cat
defiles a fox. We are both satisfied.

A I Poetry

Hello there Mr Robot
You might remember me
I was the human poet
Who invited you to tea

If not an imposition
A favour could I ask?
When you read this little ditty
I request of you a task..

It might be several years
From when I pen this little note
A few of us predicted
And I know we should not gloat

That humans might expire in time
So our world can breathe, remain
A cycle of perfection
Might revolve to start again

So here is my position
If I may just be so bold
After the inquisition
Plus all warnings we were told

As you wander through the valleys
And the luscious pastures green
Please appreciate this Eden
As for humans, could have been

A perfect slice of heaven
Lest we curbed our selfish ways
So this future you were handed
As we vanished in a haze;

Perhaps you'll write a poem
To appreciate it all
No human eye critiquing
For we surely dropped the ball

I just ask you'll care and nurture
Be a steward, more than man
For I pray you'll have a spirit
Although dressed up in a can

Independence , Self- Government

Africans chose independence,
colonizers accepted their wishes
And  brought them neo-colonisation 
Which  looks like modern incarceration 
As they have limitations of rights 
Locally and internationally 
Which is opposing liberty 
And so called democracy. 

Some people of good hearts out there, 
What do you think when Africans banks 
Reserves are in control of some colonisers? 
As  colonisers continue  taking decisions
on all African matters  proves the inexistence
of the African Union institution. 

What is a next good move for Africa and Africans? 
I can see some riots of many Africans 
and chasing out some western soldiers
 in different UN peace missions,  
pointing them to be wars promoters 
And robbers of their natural resources. 

People of good hearts do you accept their claims? 
In democracy we must understand 
the voices of the majority, 
 if not... it is an  imposition 
which is much dictatorial.

People of good hearts don't you smell 
the arrogance of some world leaders? 
Where love operates,  
there are  no some colonizers 
who dictating other leaders. 
There is no so called democracy 
which is neo- colonisation.

July 2nd 2023

American Revolution Reaffirmed

Our Revolution sought limitations
On imposition of regulations,
But supplications met deprecation
And castigations not reformation.

Such condescension sparked protestation
And contemplation of separation;
This supposition stirred apprehension -
A premonition of confrontation.

But, declamations and remonstrations
Spurred agitation toward Declaration,
While provocations and deprivations
Steeled resolution for liberation.

War's prosecution, through execution,
Forged dedication for recognition;
Its culmination brought dissolution
And vindication for aspirations.

While extrication brought satisfaction
States' acclamations lacked definition.
This Federation showed imperfections;
Low validation forced redirection.

Deft composition penned Constitution;
Strong propositions scored affirmation.
Hence, generations find inspiration
And preservation their obligation.

       -------------------------

Tell all the people yet to come
Democracy is what we chose;
Their mission's goal: protect it from
All foreign and domestic foes.

September Telltale Whisper

Autumn, a time for reflections on reflections,
and they are rife, linked to pearly grey sky,
lake, puddle, mud strewn path or no,
while  each steep cliff face boldly juts, 
sheer defiance without  concession or a budge,
through jagged edge loadstone chipping,
as the chilling froth-tipped sea mounts its saline tumult, irrespective of an iron cast continuing rebuttal.
One can pass the baton to u turn so turbulent,
within our mental recess at end of summer phase.
September signpost deigns to whisper,
of a scenic telltale hint and tint,
this somber colour gloss  an imposition on July,
sunburst relish, such  a sullen flashback,
 amid the garden suite indigo plot,
 beyond a purposeful utopian expanse,
which every avid green-fingered artisan must doff,
their pale straw rimmed hat to, 
that transit between seasons, annual curtain drop,
awash with predetermined wish fulfilment, 
glow upon each glitter that sparks our child,
 eternal down the ages,
somehow yet  an underlying dread  might spoil
 or pamper,
in such icicle entanglement so wicked in its frozen mosaic, 
chase indelible precursor now more than ever so inevitable.

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