I know for certain that memory’s a virus
We’re susceptible to in varying degrees
Infecting some, randomly chosen, like us
Memory drifts in on a gentle breeze
I’m switched to the channels of subtle perception
It’s due to the memory my life carries on
I flick through most precious of my recollections
They’ve been given to me until I shall be gone
Then I’ll be removed to the isle of the dead
There I’ll meet you, thanks to our memories
Something will be missing, though it must be like that
After long separations and many calls missed
But I reckon, subconsciously we’ll reconcile
With the loss of those lovely details, for we managed
To save some of them in our favorite style
Aren’t we also the details that time couldn’t damage?
Remember we gazed upon the green hills
From your bedroom window with breathtaking view
In our case they’ve been grinding too fast, those fab mills
So we’re not that exceedingly small to come through
Many trials and hindrances, daily calamities
All those stormy Mondays and Sundays alone
Here we’re bound to wait now, among the tall cypresses
For the ferry to moor, to deliver us home.
to those living in lonely recess
where all agonies they repress
be a friend in their isle
under bleak sky their broken hearts lie
take them onto cloud nine to fly
see they flash sparks of smile
There’s an isle in the sky,
up there,
above the celestial vault,
beyond
the stars and clouds.
A sacred and pristine place,
explored by few,
unshakeable in its peace it stays,
patiently waiting
for the pioneers of the New World,
the ones brave enough
to go further than the skyline
of the “already known”;
the ones equipped with a foresight
that goes beyond
their own earthly eyes;
the fellows who dare to challenge
the passage of time
and call themselves "New Paradise”,
reaching the top of the sky
while still being alive.
In His great slumberous periods
Mighty yawned, wedged in between
Love taking sips, beat ardours
That haze a hummingbird scene
This awaits, shaping comforts
Voluptuous settee.
Set on its coral paws to bear
The dreamt fruits of Deity.
Alone the demon sleeps–
Alone the demon weeps.
Last night mother died–
Last night father cried.
Yet here I sit by the windowsill,
Watching the doves fly by.
Down the aisle, a princess draped in grace,
Tracing dreams upon silken white,
A smile, a beacon of love’s caress,
Yet shadowed whispers steal my light.
Down the aisle, a tale unfolds anew,
Of devotion woven, steadfast and bright,
Where laughter dances, where grief holds true,
Yet love remains, an eternal rite.
As I gaze, your radiance near divine,
Each step dissolves what once was mine,
And with the echoes of your vow’s decree,
Tears unfurl their silent plea.
Down the aisle, you crown his soul,
A victor claimed—his heart now whole,
While mine, adrift in sorrow’s wake,
Plummets deep as dreams forsake.
Farewell, princess, lost to fate,
May joy's embrace time consecrate,
As I depart, a wounded shade,
Yet wishing love for all you’ve made.
In 1773 the sun never set
on the British Empire so goes the story
now the 'Teatime Islands'
crumbs of Great Britain’s former glory
but as the moon rose over the White Cliffs of Dover
standing guard at the Gateway to England
ramparts the enemy to forestall
if the ravens left the Tower of London
the kingdom itself then would fall
and Britain would rule Gibraltar
one of the Pillars of Hercules
so long as macaques inhabit the Rock
another of man's legendary absurdities
but should those Barbary apes depart
the British too will soon follow
and the Overseas Territory come apart
yet to save the primate population
Winston Churhill did insist
in the early days of World War II
reinforcing British rule would persist
to ensure the troop replenishment
he issued a directive September 1944
for five such females brought from Morocco
to maintain the number at twenty-four
and so it seems my friend in the end
the continuance of this green and pleasant land
is in the balance and totally dependent on keeping
a certain breed of bird and Old World monkey on hand
Tipperary's a long way from here,
But the Emerald Isle's best beer,
Will enhance any ceilidh,
I wave my shillelagh,
With some Guinness, old Eire feels near.
-What is the failure key?
They imagine!
-What is wrong about that?
They do sleep on the job! That is the general idea!
-What is dream then?
A subconscious urge that yarns for non-aspiring unfulfilled reticent.
-Now what is non-aspiring?
Without mediocrity, some kind of ambition.
-Why is it needed?
They are absolutely needed to egress, as these are toxic like mothball!
-Did you ever try mothball?
Nope! Did you?
-Nope! I did not declare too!
I did! Is it not your problem?
-How so?
And so on.....
The lanyard is a verse: evangelical
"Finish what he started!"
I won a poetry prize to go visit the lake isle of Innisfree.
But I didn't wanna go, cuz there's nothing there I particularly wanted to see.
I hear there's just a clay-and-wattles cabin
with a bunch a bees a-blabbin'
and nine rows of beans, and that doesn't really interest me.
A young lady from the Isle of man
Writes limericks fresh from the pan
Queen of poetry Soup
She shares her poop
Watching the s..t hit the fan.
Your Blogs.
Dear Jan, place your Blog in the fire
Sit back and watch it burn.
You might attract one or two snowflakes
But that is of little concern.
Stay calm, stay cool, say nothing
Let them have their say.
For in the end like all snowflakes
They'll gradually just melt away.
Dragon from the Emerald Isle loved to take notes said Snappy.
Research was something that made him wildly happy.
He studied constellations, dinosaurs, extinct animals and stars.
Taking down notes in restaurants, strip clubs, churches and bars.
Strip clubs and churches? Does that seemed strange? I asked him.
He has to try and save the sinners right? Snappy said with a grin.
Dragon from the Emerald Isle is an eclectic kind of student guy.
Wish I was half as prolific as he is, said my friend with a sigh.
The Mole Man
mastered the creatures
down within
With tunnels leading
to every major ciy
his goal was
to win
But the Fantastic Four
would not have it this way
They would devise a plan
to seize the day
Johny Storm, the Human Torch
would blaze up and melt the soft earth
trapping the creatures in
where they could cause no more harm
But what became of the Mole Man...
He too is trapped!
Let's just hope that we
have seen the last of him!
We fished off the pier in carefree days
when girls wore tartan trews.
In endless summer sun we’d laze
when Tommy Steele was “Singing the Blues”.
Now it’s saffron robes and no-take zones,
maybe coffee in the cafe at the pier,
replaced by ubiquitous mobile phones,
like conversation, things just disappear.
Jupiter and Venus meld like two canaries
Kissing in late February
In a black gap
Between mountainous sparkling beach hotels
As if
The planets have privacy in their own city alley
Sand in Miami
Warm as peach pie beneath our bare feet
A beach just for us
Bob and Kerri
What cosmic gale
Blew these names to our lunar sails?
The froth from ocean waves
Breaks
Like ghostly surfers of dull light
Riding the brink of non-existence
Swoosh and retreat
At the broken ankles of us
Silhouettes
Hobbling past prints in the mud
Sunny Isle Pier flinging her jeweled harpoon
To the starfish abyss
While we are gone
Our boys drive from Lansing to Denver
Forever-
More
They call from the highway and say they’ve discovered
Dark Side of the Moon
On the Plains in a blizzard of pebbles and stones
Try it, I say, while you watch The Wizard of Oz
Then you’ll understand the coming and going
Of our Universe
And all its tricks of sound and vision
Kerri
Pulls my face to her lips
Whispers, Kiss me
While we have this chance by the sea
Tomorrow
The two of us return home
To the zodiac space of our empty house.
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