BURNISTA j
encaustic
wax
on
lime
fused
fired
for
cohesive
glossed
effects
ENCAUTISTA rivera ensor Johns
thermeable
molten
resin
made malleable
burnished
melting
in
luminous
freeflowing
dimensions
in
pubic patterns
still in the breeze
*burnt in the heart
a union flag
The police made John jog his memory
“Was the car actually a Camry?”
John delayed, then got free cigarette
Of a brand prized above his Lovette.
And he didn’t hear his voice drop “Yes...”
Before a second thought’s “More or less.”
“Heh! You’ve got my Benson ’n’ Hedges;
Quit building round your answers hedges?”
“Actually, Cop, an off-white Nissan
With blood stains that still give me concern”
“So, then it’d made you touch its Fender
For which, now, you need Good Defender”
“You’ve guessed I’m not A Real Offender”
“Also guessed, for now, The Offender”
“Means I should hate Law of Evidence”
“...Also, your Forgetful Imprudence”
“Hope this won’t be reaching the BBC?”
“Sorry, She minds what blokes hear and see!”.
John swore the week of Lent he would abstain,
from foods that upset his digestion;
from all sugars, junk foods and refined grains,
anything causing his indigestion.
John adhered to his doctor’s suggestions.
Though it was quite hard for him to comply
John made the effort, he really did try.
He lost five pounds and tightened up his belt;
looking in the mirror he beamed with pride,
that man in the mirror, ever so svelt.
4-13-2020
Delightful Dizains Poetry Contest
Beth Evans
If Keats was right and beauty is truth
—what lies of this world have we made
(University Of Pennsylvania: October, 2013)
Sprouted from the depth and leapt for the height
Tremendous epoch-making in sight
Just like a raw gem that transforms on motion
Our imaginations are like the ocean
Her noble mind in noble thoughts we see
Now, see hordes of hospitality over the fee
Sons and daughters home-like honied hive
Sweet sounds of joy as success rain remains
Compiling great students with learning domains
Here is the name; read as you may
Our chronicles of great history pave the way
Organized and industrious like ants in a row
Learners ring out laughter as bells echo
See them as they seize and pluck the day
AN OLD BUILDING BY THE ST. JOHNS
Prose and fingers lingering to the North arise!
On this day 25 degrees North of the Sun
Venus and the moon shall collide and dance
Chance!
The St. Johns and a ripple to the retaining nipple
Look!
Abandoned worn jewel on a starved stepped slab
Timeless in presence, structured for intimacy
Star quenching its thirst through the glazing
Into the cool waters of saints it slips
And whispers follow
Hushing and treading - lets sneak in!
Breath of cool air under your skirt
As I lift you up and over
You giggle as you enjoy the hurt
Shhh! Shhh!
We're in!
The smell of flowers pressed and our fortune's luck
Wood creaks underneath sandal-padded feet
Leading by hands clasped in anticipation
A flurry of thoughts of pouring waxy lust
On you this way and that
Silence but the breeze swaying the palm tree leaves
Reflections of the evening and
Shadows drape worn stairs
Impenetrable fixtures of ornament and glass
Warm evening beams
Teasing our skin
St. Anthony’s Temptation is luring us further in!
Went to pick a bone all I found was fossils Lost within Smithsonian's flood colossal A giant petrified dodo Just a rendering who knew Excretions of artistic apostle ~ eyes to see pupil arts deception perception in lieu of subject
love,a slipper,a glove.the tea is sweet,little bo peep,keep your endeavors,i here,forever.to
sheer a sheep,little bo peep.indeed keep your false friend until the end.the mend is soft and
complete with tune,loves a sand dune and i lack a broom.some soon rather than later,i,the
mouth of an alligator.
My Saint John flow on
Through forest, marsh and town's spread
Tablecloth of stars
Conquistadors gone
The blue herons walk alone
In moonlight's silence
River and lone night
Memory is a wind's hope
Rustling swamps for gold
Let us keep our thoughts
In slow meandering lakes
The salt sea invites
Less Timucuan
Waken find us new remnants
In Ferdinand's dream
Love wilts in salt tears
The heart snakes the bush of grief
Tense as beauty stares.
Waleka, Rio
De Corrientes, Rio
De San Juan, the same
A gaudy green thrill
Peace sanctuary of births
Life from life flowing
Still at Sawgrass breast,
The Seminole blood of strength
I from Afric's tent
We the better ore
Than gleaming figment of fort
Lovers on this shore
Sea abandoned child
Scarred and aching love consoles
Tributary feasts.
O otters swim deep
Beneath the currents I weep
But a shrimp of tear
What is gone is gone
The sun makes still day's new dawn
Oceans carry on
Ships cargo joy fresh
As pines from which warblers sing
Magics of today.
My Saint John flow on
O'er fertile grounds of sweet love
Blooming moonlight still.
The clothesline hung, low, and limp.
Raucous, red, long johns
and worn, white, blue jeans
pinned like butterflies in a box;
dangled bodiless.
The neighbors all envied Mom’s skill.
Nobodies tidy whities were brighter.
The pulley wheel whined and clanked
against back porch clapboards
when a stiff wind blew through.
And, the state of your laundry
was like the state of the union jack;
you hung ‘um both high
and took ‘um down when the rain came.
(Dedicated to Stratford Johns who died January 29, 2002.)
His name was Stratford Johns.
I'm sorry to say that he's gone.
He starred in an episode of Doctor Who.
This great thespian left the world in 2002.
The episode he starred in was Four to Doomsday.
Doctor Who fans grieved when he passed away.
That episode aired in England in 1982.
This man was a credit to Doctor Who.
When long johns get religion
And you’re fallin’ out the door—
And bowels just move a smidgeon
When they need to move much more—
Then ol’ north winds come knockin’
And it’s then that you sure know—
If relief don’t come callin’
That you’ll sure enough dern blow!
Then your stomach do start rumblin’
Like it’s in some argument—
And you know the storm’s comin’
And it won’t be heaven sent!
That’s when you cinch your sphincter
To repress that symphony—
To kill or mute the coarseness
While in polite company.
But when that time is over
And ol’ nature runs its course—
You’d better blame your best pard
Or meekly point at your horse!
Yes, long johns hide revival
When your bowels can take no more—
But if you feel it comin’
Just undo that ol’ trapdoor!
days and nights of loosen over,whens my four leaf clover gonna come over?
when?i get to spin to dont i?crem de la crem is beyonce knowles and all those
schols,so who cares?in the air is where i gery,the berry b,humble me with a
jumbletron,its phonic and unbubonic,get over it,the bubonic plague doesnt exist
and lest the kiss is missed.so much for chris.merry christmas,to-wit.
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