Oh I do love the British Royals
And how they got all their spoils
Their use of dark knavery
And involvement in slavery
It’s no wonder some peoples blood boils.
Dabs of paint
Blots of ink
Challenging the world
To think
Reflect on texture
Tint and style
Acceptance, truth
Or full denial
Metaphoric words
That pierce
Trembling minds
Of those thought fierce
Subtle hints
Of bravery
Hidden in
Dark knavery
Blots of ink
Dabs of paint
Shades of what it is
And ain’t
For in the dab
And in the blot
Artistic battles
Need be fought
John G. Lawless
©6/18/2023
You deceive extremely and trust alone
I ride the bus...
Tilt a bit, balance-
ponder later. Yolk yellow
and sky blue, chalk
grey paint. Steel
rectangles; winding parallel
lines. Circles- Eternal.
Toothed horizons-
golden rose shaped sunset
tauten, its nectar
steeps; blushes. Inks gnarled
columns of trees, dusky, their
limbs webbed crosses
open to royal skies like
birthing petals, feathery
in twilight of Spring.
I drive a car...
Hyroid barriers.
Knavery fears. Strands cut like
shards. Glittering. Seamless.
Oily image-
tints of bereavement- becloud-
diabolus gullet. Shock.
Cruer pissades through
sea blue veins, weaving its course
through the body. Left
turn, straight. Right turn. Stop.
Rotary-circus. Yield. Go.
Emblazen. Exit.
Sunlight through drops
shaking off of Summer green
canopies-Diamonds-
imortally. Eve,
Adam. Male, female- supreme.
Insanity. Gods.
Brilliancy from
inception of star clusters.
Time-worn. Creator.
Dancing in the shade
Of the celestial glade
We're moonlit pioneers
Who overcame our fears
Bravery not knavery
In a cosmic soup so savory
Beauty is in crystalline flowers
And monolithic towers
Remove inhibition and take a tour
And enjoy the universe's greatest score
And realize after awhile
Nothing is as beautiful as a smile
And it might assuredly astound
But that is where the universe is found
True courage is to be unshackled from sorrow
With joy we're the saviors of tomorrow
The pain we endure is not in vain
Sit with me and watch the shadows wane
Every smile is a beacon for the sun
And promising days of fervent fun
We're sunlit pioneers
Who overcame our fears
Watching the darkness fade
In the celestial glade
Unknown Affairs
Written: by Tom Wright
February 2015
I feel,
Most hate and wrong, in the world
Can be traced indirectly to money;
Or the lack thereof;
But where does sorrow start?
Cornered within my mind
Are matters undiscovered, I query why?
Possibly, because we see what we wish to see,
But the day comes when un-cloaking occurs,
Or has it been, by another soundless tongue?
A heart filled with sorrow disperses no tale,
And closure of nights sadness,
Comes only, on the day knavery is finished;
Because tears stain the ground
On which I stand,
Doesn’t make me any less a man?
We continue playing the game,
And I’ll sleep when it’s over;
Once a boy now a man
Morgan Harper Knavery had a plan
To be the first officer in an all girls band
Musically thinking
Began drinking
His risqué coarse obscene informal blue
Ribald improper, naughty and so lewd
Quietly described by first avenue
Now a womanizing flute player
And the woman found him nay-slayer
So they gathered to conspire
To dismiss him by the hour
By impaling him so he would expire
A stupid murder fell on his flute while taking a shower
Alas the senseless murder of this bandmate womanizer
The murder death of womanizer Morgan Harper Knavery
4/17/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.
A bug trapped in amber.
Fossil flowers in a stone.
Sabre tooth caught in tar.
Iceman asleep in a glacier.
Nature doesn't care!
Nature makes no judgements,
cares not who you are,
drops you in your tracks!
If by some diabolical magic
life could be restored at
the moment it stopped,
each being would find its
new destiny in many ways.
Bug will take its next step.
Flowers complete their cycle.
Sabre tooth would stalk and
Iceman could complete his journey.
How different the creatures trapped
in media slime?
We define, limit, and pin
them in a book without room
to wiggle.
Our judgements fix their lives
far better than amber.
Can I meet a Jew without thinking Holocaust?
Can I work with a black person without thinking slavery?
Can he work with me without thinking knavery?
All those defined as the "other"
are iced and framed relentlessly
by memes, visual and aural bites.
What a world it could be if our next step
was taken with a complete tabula rosa.
Dear Barcelona
Bride of Spain
Mourn not precious jewel
For we are praying for you
We are praying for your children
That they may find favour in heaven.
Sea feliz!
To spite the devil's tricks
And make farse of his knavery
That you may find peace with the enemy
So their souls can be made pure and right
Mysterious Barcelona
Try not to make sense of this
For only the creator knows why,
Rise like the Spanish rose in the face of rain and sun
Remain in your unmoved dazzle.
The treachery of a false friend
is sudden, cutting—always cruel;
his knavery observes no end
and he’ll use you like a drunk fool.
He’ll play you like a violin,
like a puppet on a tight string;
before long he’ll get you to sin
and do a lawless, evil thing.
What might have brightened sober days
Is now a poison clearly seen
Within the labyrinthine ways
Of hearts and their fugacious queen.
The king of clubs once owned my dreams
And all the diamonds in the crown,
But then long years and clever schemes
Paid back the debt which trod me down.
I did once play a game of spades
Which brought me quick and short relief,
Though I knew well that he who wades
Through life is but a drowning thief.
And now, that all the deck is stacked
Against the joy of yesterdays,
The bridge to knavery is wracked
And youth is trumped inside a maze.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Although the endless aridities of mortal survival
Are wont to twist the very best in every man,
Honest be against the knavery of those around,
And always keep your word because you can.
It sounds smart to preach the flat waters
And later to gulp the well-brewed wines,
And a promise broken sounds a witty deed,
But the uttered word will haunt with its fines.
I will not tell you to walk the talk
For this you’ve clichéd to suit your aim,
And since talking the walk would be strange,
Let your said word be kept to keep your name.
An explanation may be the next best thing
But there is nothing like a word faithfully kept,
The honeyed excuse sounds diplomatic enough
Yet there’s muse in the honest payment of a debt.
Not till the loom was silent
And the shuttle ceased to fly
When history unrolled the scroll
And reveals the reason why.
The darkest thread as needful
In the weavers skilful hand
As the cloth of gold and silver
Of an industrious ruin greed had planned.
No amount of corporate education
Could quell our simple brain
No grammar association
Yet unravelled the master’s pain.
They took away our ambition
Off shore was their devious plan
Tried so hard to pick our pockets
Yet our skill could clothe a man.
His call was for cheap labour
Some call it slavery
Now we buy at a thousand per cent
The product of knavery!
First eight lines adapted from anon poem, The Weaver, speculation wrote, by a weaver in/from Colne, Lancs England last Century, wrote originally for/in a religious format,
My version, here. Political.
© Harry J Horsman 2015
Love of reality is a hoax
When it comes' to
Reflecting once upon
A dream
Human sentiment is the
Most probable of all things'
That I have ever seen
The Knavery of an instant
Forsaken by thy will
Be true
With lethal appendage's
Beckoned threw
Sight in the before
And the here-after life
GF
Sorry for the many times I have loved you.
For the endless nights my images leech,
And dote upon your memory.
Had not it that your peace drives my last nerve to insanity, -
Need I mention cupid, the missing factor in this equation?-
I fray, find me less a wife.
I do your foil find pleasure in,
Than that the clergy should hear my vows to you.
I tremble at the very imps I term your kisses.
Were they, only less sweet?
The ugly I so love in you-
Only this would be my death,-
A blunt, in a knavery of emotions so deep within
Yet roaming much without, about, unorthodox in time and sequence
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