The corn has ripened.
With it is the wizened laughter of a
Mirthless age, showing ashy teeth
Of dappled cowries.
A flavescence so bantered by the courage
Of wilting bloom!
Sadly, sea waves truss the feet of
Burning skies, loosening the tongues of beaches,
Which, with ague, recline on cold, cringing currents.
Old cats mourn the fall of strafed pillars
Burrowing through silt-buried kennels re-grassed for the
Salutation of new vistas.
Categories:
kennels, life, time,
Form: Free verse
London,
a great house standing by
a long water,
bathed by a golden sun
behind the closed doors
of the eastern clouds
that send stuttering rains
even on the hearth of summer
to salute all that pass
the kennels of the
city once they have legitimate
travel passes that will elevate
them high enough to see
the Big Ben -
a timely invention
chiming and tolling,
to remind us of our
immigrating hearts.
Categories:
kennels, city, london,
Form: Ode
The world in the first place
may say let do something:
May be thus it will suggest
a plan
or find something hard like
iron or metal to forge
and start forging
or think then say fire is good
to mould most especially
when intenser is the
smoke.
Or it's youth may start burying anything like seeds of corn
and beans and pear kennels
and a lot things more
and fair
for they may say tis the
beggening of the deal.
Now, what is even wrong
the world peaking in follies
and cracking jokes and riddles
who said varla yonder green in brown or brown in green
for instance?.
Categories:
kennels, inspirational,
Form: Free verse
Peace by in your 10 am rise
and your imaginary X1 soccer team
let you breathe by the trees
make oxygen for all
Let it be in your Sunday picnic
and kisses by mother
who you miss
On thrashed fields see the wheat kennels wither way
Peace be in your trust
and in your lost white bicycle
or for your friend that moved away
up North
Categories:
kennels, anxiety,
Form: Free verse
He is out to spread his tentacles
In the face, of combative obstacles,
And dying to end through a tackle
Any unacceptable spectacle
Between The Rickety and The Ramshackle:
Busy roads he’d started their channels,
Hateful robbers sealing off their tunnels,
Corrupt judges replacing with panels,
Supported subsidy showing with funnels,
Filling stations without towels obliging flannels
Bottled water for user of runnels
His love for dogs at their kennels...
Determinedly spreading his tentacles,
All the wrongly jailed breaking their shackles!
Categories:
kennels, care, change, courage, integrity,
Form: Rhyme
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
Humans on the other hand could
curtail much language education,
perhaps needing only enough words
to tell chimps what to do,
leaving them more time
to shout incoherently into cellphones
while communicating
almost entirely in emojis
even more than they do now.
Categories:
kennels, poetry,
Form: Free verse
We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.
If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.
I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.
Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.
Categories:
kennels, poetry,
Form: Blank verse
MORNING OF OPTIMISM
A blue pigment covers the heavens
hope spreading like a giant reed mat to infinite ends
Day ahead promising something new
like Indian merchant ships of 1570
The atmosphere is dense with optimism
Morning metallurgy separating our fears from hope
The morning is good.
Saints wake up kneeling besides the bed offering sacred prayers
Still waters become misty waters on which prayers of the day waver on
Workers make haste in bodies covered with blue work suits
CEOs pat their bellies and thicken their voices in preparation for meetings to come
Children of the streets stand barefoot perceiving the chocolates that are to come home in the evening
Dogs pop their heads out of their kennels trying to get a glimpse of hope
The sun smiles while rising like the flag in 1980
The wind sings a joyful song of hope
The street poet takes a celestial gaze at the streets
the sweet scent of morning
telling stories of optimism
STREETPO3TRY
Categories:
kennels, beauty,
Form: I do not know?
The Respect You Deserve
Standing Rock Reservation
Proud Warrior Nation!
In the spirit of Crazy Horse
Against a militant force.
You shine for all the world to see,
Bringing pride to your ancestry.
And in the name of all that's just,
The sacred you reconstruct,
Water is life you teach...
Protect it you beseech.
You sacrifice your very lives...
So the next generation survives
And how are you paid for this service,
From the politicians you make nervous?
Beaten and upon your arms stamped,
Dog kennels in concentration camps.
And still yet, you continue to pray;
Even for those that treated you this way.
Standing Rock where peoples rise ,
Unite together as environmental allies
We hear your voice loud and clear,
Echo cross the waters and biosphere.
We hold you up to Wakan Tanka ....
Wopila....Mitakuye Oyasin
Categories:
kennels, environment, hero, leadership, native
Form: I do not know?
-- Just a bit of silliness --
"Baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee..."
---- Daumier
39 & 1/2 days had passed;
the rain had lessened.
Noah, grungy and grumpy,
paced the wet deck
like a caged Lion of Judah.
Reading the Odyssey by blubber-light,
Jonah, a free-thinker, cruised
in his whale below; he marveled,
captainishly, carefully pronouncing
the unfamiliar Greek, an uninvented
tongue he couldn't speak.
Ham, an adherent to all the dietary
restrictions, was relieved
at the journey's almost-close.
Consultation of the Holy Books
had proved he wasn't kosher
and, therefore, could not be served.
Still, Shem and Japhet eyed him oddly.
They had a lean and hungry look.
The wives, sensible lot,
cleaned the kennels, did the chores
and tried to keep an even keel
in the anachronistic mess.
They drifted onward,
tired of fishing fruitless waters,
doubtful now of being made
fishers of men.
All things considered, it was
a perfectly normal situation:
men were mystics
and women staid and sturdy workers.
And yet, Ararat, still beneath the waters,
may not have been the only futuristic
structure in this grey, flat
seascape.
Categories:
kennels, bible, boat, dream, fantasy,
Form: Free verse
The foolish dogs, wag their tails for the fiend,
They lick the fiend, from head to toe,
The foolish dogs, coil like snails, at the site of the enemy.
The foolish dogs, bark and do not bite,
They bark at the fiend, and never chase when he runs,
The foolish dogs, coil like snails, waiting the enemy to strike.
The foolish dogs, are the master’s pride,
They are petted like delicate glassed golden dolls,
The foolish dogs, die in their kennels, when the enemy returns.
The foolish dogs, have a plausible sense of smell,
They can smell saucers a kilometer away,
But not the blood lust of the enemy’s breath to their nosetrills,
The foolish dogs, that bark and never bite,
Always chase after the enemy has gone,
The foolish dogs, die in their kennels, when the enemy strikes.
Categories:
kennels, political,
Form: Concrete
in the kennels of the mind - dogmas of rationality
Categories:
kennels, philosophy,
Form: Epigram
Sunday evening, suburban New York,
we ate at the corner Chinese restaurant,
its fish tank hypnotic, the smiling
welcome from the Chinese woman
caressing menus to her chest,
who led us to the booth which stuck
to my legs as I slid across to my
designated spot. Dad promised
me a fortune cookie on the way out,
which I took from the bowl by the door.
We ate spareribs, licked our fingers
and laughed, trying to pick kennels of rice
and long noodles with splintered
chopsticks. We praised the food,
but wondered why we often left hungry
for both food and fortune, after extracting
mine from the smashed cookie, reading then
putting the crumbled paper in my pocket,
to be found weeks later, hoping somehow
the words would have changed
and the little paper whispered
truths about my own future,
rather than just giving dad the
numbers for his weekly lottery.
Categories:
kennels, childhood, daughter, family, dad,
Form: Narrative