Amateur writers, they languish in bookshelves,
their mediocre musings dull, tawdry, and lacklustre,
garish fare inviting foot press dust bin or giant skip,
infused with cliché-ridden dumbstruck cant so trite,
I “CANT” grasp why such writers are that brazen,
“Amateur Writer” is not the word!
Sipping her tea without any visible relish,
Her crumpled bag of shopping at her tired feet,
Alone she sits in the cafe and isolatedly apart
Stranded in her sorrowful sea of sadness
Only to raise momentarily her sightless eyes
At the sound of the peripheral trivial vivacity
Portending the levity of another tomorrow
Before relapsing into her inward gaze
To consider not the future but endless eternity.
That picture echoed in her hollowed out cheeks
Her funereal clothes, lacklustre look and lifeless lethargy
Spelling out a life no longer enjoyable
More of a sentence to be endured.
She drags herself out of her chair
Gathering her belongings together
For her unsteady exit
To enter upon the remaining days
Of her final moribund pilgrimage
Plastic Alice
through the looking glass
Her daughters have Pans merriment
Hungry for the here and now
Culpability over reality
They are non traditionalists
Parking on yellow lines
Forever disobedient
The Sun can't shine
forever lacklustre
is their main amusement
My muse is on fire, she burns at the stake
guilty of poetasting, and glaring mistakes
Inferior rhymes with old Monoku outtakes
blaze all around her, as embers are raked
Badly blistered syllables, spark and flake
Whilst lacklustre stories, continually bake
A bard fans the flames, but he too’s a fake
for mincing his own words, with juicy steak
Making ado about nothing, soliloquy spake
Glory to the Efilist god, ha! give me a break
A dedication of respect
for rendering down a bard
# # #
However unpalatable
and repugnant the suet tastes
# # #
From March madness to April fool’s
digesting copious amounts of insipid tofu
# # #
Only to wipe it off
in an all encompassing
persistent vegetative state
By
David Kavanagh IV
Bulky ute voyeur selects sleek sporty stalion
Driving by, supersedes her oversized sedan
Wide wheel arches have Porche comparison
Voracious engine's enthuse easily enchants
Large car cast dispelled by lacklustre Calais
Original conjur 370Z parked beside boring
Low leg swing exclusive slide in, magic valet
Over revved start stabs adrenalin assuring
Our dear Dara, choice contacted in December
Available last minute to test drive his beast
Black gloss road boss, enlarged 'lungs' terror
Capable crazy bitumen baby, tester pleased
Ultimate Man concurs, the amenable outcome
Keys in her hand a few days after, aura froze
Couldn't imagine huge generosity from anyone
Racing car reap, increase on what she sows
Merry go round roads, another showoff slotted
Silver pole stabilised glides in Surfers cycle
Crosslane carousel onlookers, briefly besotted
By hot hoof nimble Nissan race horse style
28th March
Too Great of a Man
The parking lot
No seagulls are flying high today, sitting on roofs and shrieking
to each other, and sometimes there is a clash of wings
There are no ships at anchorage in the bay waiting for a pilot
on this day of stillness under a grey sky and lacklustre clouds
there is no promise of a better tomorrow.
The supermarket’s parking lot is looking down at a cemetery
here we have the mainstay of human life the price of food
and the cost of a funeral, food is needed, and death is avoided.
People walking among gravestones, some are humble some
are posh with the picture of the deceased on.
None of these matters in the long run; the supermarket will
close and move somewhere else, the death’s place will be
ploughed under and potatoes planted, time is a sticking plaster
when the plaster falls off, death has a plot out of town next
door to the glorious new supermarket
TWILIGHT RISING
icy&
in a lacklustre
glow
a
relished pallor
leeched out
then
assimulated
a blended allusion
repeated&
advocated
in images
evokes
the absent
yet so
transcendent
transmutated
in
sheer
emptiness
an
embraced
blankness
implicit yet
seemingly
personified
in a gleam
of sunlight
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
With the classy curved beak
You nudge your mate's cheek
And you both give a romantic look
Oh! That's my favourite click
Those slender zig-zag legs float
on water like the beautiful boat
And amidst that seren lake
emerges my angel to ruin my ache
White gown, the normal angels don
On you, the pink and red hues drawn
Such a special archangel you are
And so shining like a pink star
Lacklustre lake it was; neglected
Until your graceful advent
You dipped the dull monochrome frame
in reddish hues, the place now, a fame
Oh my dear Flamingo
Your colors, flaming! Oh!
My pain you take and go
Oh my dear Flamingo
Dedicated to my dream bird Flamingo.Yearning to see it atleast once in my lifetime...
Absurdity walked this path of a whorish lane,
Dauntingly decked in a dark seductive garb
Egregiously seeks the thrones by craftiness,
Nebulous transverse for the wayfaring man.
Illusions of a well worn thigh concealed with facial mascara.
Killjoy bipolar nagging for control, demanding dominance by demonic antics,
Eccentric public commodity makes it the brothels for quickie.
Acrimony well taught from the market square by “Iyaloja”
Damaging defiance conscripting father to “garri Ijebu” and Fish
Egomania derailed from home and deprived of morals,
Sagged and perforated lurid frame perfumed for a prey
Offensive forlorn factious feigned facades
Lacklustre and noxious mien seduced the prey by lewd bait,
Absurd Incentive the goal, merchandise of greed, A week of affiance.
Loneliness lurks like a live leprechaun,
Leering at her loss of love and laughter;
She leads a luckless lamentable life,
Lacking light, leaning towards lunacy,
Laden with longing and lacklustre lies;
Listlessly lingering in lethargy,
Labyrinthine lady looks lachrymose.
03.25.2021
Pummelled intensity, underneath we face her force
Exhaled wide eyed in white, witness rainforest exhibit
Splashed grins enfold a third tongue, waterfall
Her glistening christening combines us in sublime
Drilled by severity, her embrace as strong as yours
Like waterfall's flattened rock, I erode, smoothed
Standing fused firm against her punishing torrent
Insatiable waterfall baptism pelts my opened senses
Cleansed by new beginnings, deafened by dedication
Buckets of vision catch my breath in virgin shroud
Faces almost touching give lee from ferocious gush
Together steadied in her rapidly travelled path
Lacklustre lizards, afterwards secure sun's approval
Ancient rock sears wet backsides without burning
Snoozing pulls us here and there consecutively
Amorous dreams unmeasured as Saturday morning
Drying dares our sizzled legs go again to her vigour
Your rigid gaze raises my temperature, raging
Exposed thoughts post drenching return me
Pause flushes me with water's unwieldy ways
20th August 2020
Only within lacklustre eyes
does the saddest one shout,
while sorrowful tears run in grimy profusion.
Oh God! The clarity of our beginning
is more prevalent than ever,
if we take the word ‘Prejudice’
out of the dictionary, will it disappear?
We do not need the world stained
in bloody mindlessness, or
dwell in one hell of a holy mess.
Oh, where are you Jesus Christ?
Every day I wear your symbol around
my neck, my prayers unanswered.
My youth caressed gentle faces
today anger enters, this, a different pace
masked in veils of despondency.
The system demands continuing
improvements, says we cannot stand still
must move forwards.
Yet all I feel is a raging heart beating abrupt
exasperation, against an invasion,
at best risqué because I know
there are those in the east, that wait
for our very own self destruction.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
I’ll never forget what’s her name;
That teacher who bored us to tears
Whose voice seemed to drone on and on
And lessons appeared to last years.
Her minuscule lacklustre eyes
Peered over a spectacled nose
No glimmer of passion in sight
No colourful facts to expose.
She reeled off the kings and the queens
The plight of Marie Antoinette,
Victorians, Tudors and wars
And all with a face firmly set.
I’ll never forget what’s her name
Oh how I was left uninspired.
It’s rumoured her smile first appeared
The day when at last she retired.
16.09.19
'I'll never forget what's her name contest' : sponsored by John Lawless
invisible bars
around your lacklustre heart
the colour of you
© Harry J Horsman 2018
Beautiful game, crazy game that draws maximum adrenalin
From hypnotized, soccer crazy minds
Glued to television screens to gobble spills and thrills from Russia with hopes lean
Driven to the brink of despair behind Venetian blinds
Betting, arguing, opposing, supporting
Non African teams that their subjective minds favour
Jibing, imbibing, consulting, insulting
African teams their fickle fantasies endeavor
To predict wouldn’t win
A single match based on mere whims
That claim an African queen
Throws her royal weight behind teams
A particular set of soccer fans deem fit
To take the day
While another set of soccer mad warmth seekers claim African teams should quit
Cos they lose and embarrass supporters everyday
With their lacklustre form
Lack of determination to spring a bit of magic
Although some supporters claim a reform
Needed to put to an end to the tragic
Performance African team display at the World Cup in Russia
Becoming whipping boys
But argues a wisecracker, ‘Shouldn’t forget Algeria beat Prussia
In Spain. So, African teams ain’t no toys.’
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