Long Festooned Poems
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Now Christmas in July seems crazy - I’m sure I hear you say
That has got to be plain silly - but this is the Aussie way
Christmas is in December you insist it’s a well-known fact
But in this land way ‘Down Under’ our seasons are ‘out of whack’
July is Aussie winter while in December it's scorching hot
Those Three Wise Men may know the reason but then again maybe not!
A time for relaxing with family and friends spreading the good cheer
Sip a glass of Lilly Pilli wine or toast with a VB beer
Frosty Christmas in December - for some it seems so right
Tinsel and baubles festooned - Oh what a delightful sight
Presents around the Christmas tree decked with lights and holly
Cheery little Santa’s look so happy and so jolly
In December air-cons turned cold mimicking our winter in July
When Santa rode his sleigh down south to Oz coming from the land up high
With a Ho Ho Ho he now powers his jet ski - riding mighty waves
He coasts straight onto our golden sands joining parting people and raves
Remember my friends it is a time filled with Peace and Joy
To commemorate the Special Birth of a Baby Boy
Worry not friends we don’t miss out on all that wintry good cheer
For you see folks here in OZ - Christmas always comes twice a year
Author’s Note:
'Christmas in July', which is also known as Yulefest or Yuletide in Australia. July is generally the coldest month of winter, so celebrations emulate the atmosphere of the northern hemisphere winter. So that means hearty food like roasts, and warm drinks in front of fireplaces and bonfires. Don’t be alarmed folks! – Just for the record, here in Oz we have a second helping and do celebrate Christmas on 25th December with the rest of the world.
~‘out of whack’ - An Aussie term for ‘Out of Sync’~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Synopsis from the composer of the song and clip -
"The Aussie Christmas Song" by Batesy. Published on Dec 18, 2012
‘One Christmas eve I was singing carols about dashing through the snow & a white Christmas and thought "Aussies don't have snow at Christmas" and it was also 30 degrees outside, so The Aussie Christmas Song was born, it's about sun, sand, backyard cricket, pavlova, and a cold beer - Ah!! - Sing along!!!’
fertilization upon ovule
via spermatozoa automatically
gearing linkedin anticipated birth
especially upon confirmation conception
did sex seed
after numerous attempts dispelled dearth
as probable odds
finally wrought hardy sea men
to stoke the womb
spelling biological chances
that, fecund female will evince swollen girth
the longest time tested oven since humans
found warmth
amidst flint stoned sparked hearth
and fraught with utmost joy
at prospective parent hood
which, (lemme here
collective soulful sigh of relief)
that *****Sapiens
durability foretold tubby good
thenceforth extra mouth
to feed necessitated larder of food
which harvests
must be plenti full to appease gods,
and bank on siblings
to beget appreciable brood
hence existence extant for millennia
fastened tight like umbilical cord
sustaining potential life in utero
in due time dilating cervix will a ford
signal (predicated on natural bio rhythms),
whence that cub hoard will be a saving grace
(amazingly innate survival skills) noel lord
could ever conceive,
an instinctual attribute moored
within early forebears of modern mankind,
an explicit genetic haversack
microscopically pitch perfect (NON GMO,
gluten free trade) blend poured
with just the exact consistency,
flexibility, and resiliency
(in case a lion, tiger or bear roared)
as adrenaline pumped woman within family way
to escape let incubating progeny shored
when time and tide informed clandestine
cherished, fortified, prized oh ward
whence healthy birth of baby feted,
festooned with garlands engineered ahead
reflecting golden halo
akin to a ring of bright waters
thence new born and maternal figure
ferreted nested in feathered bed
which, didst double up when dread
locked spar ring human,
whence grim reaper got fed
another mortal, which body froze
with rigor mortis heavier like a led
zeppelin versus when person alive in stead
no heroic measures extant
when grim reaper came quick
advent chore of early primates could not treat nor trick
the scythe lent hooded body snatcher
as candle box didst flickr
burning down tallowed wick.
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn, whose beauty never alters,
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawn’s altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid.
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! Surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitudes that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range, yawns its last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Men’s ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known to visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephant’s wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Collaboration with njeri hunjeri who is a wonderful poet
his last gasp was quite lengthy
trying to go out with a bang as usual
a rationalist manifesto covering his face
accompanied by a cotton field work song
his grip went slack under the torrent of images
fortunes have been lost in that snapshot parlor
shook the money from the pockets
of many a surviving Siamese twin
blessed with a rugged set of mouse buttons
he pitched head first into the theocratic miasma
since a rescue by wisdom eluded his pilgrimage
and its inner parade of flailing penitents
he died to a real slow slide whistle tango
from a regrettable strangulation of debate
and terminally transparent eyelids
at least the bastards left me to my fate he mused
just as a legion of parachutists
crashed and tumbled through the roof
it was an Exist-o-Gram from my dear mother
but first a word from our sponsor
Hi there Mel Linger owner of Mel's Futon Corral
so jump in the calaboose and come on down
for a steal of a deal and a big gold tooth smile
clear and sunny in the lowland swamps
now for some traffic from overhead
fully awake after the reservoirs of hell broke loose
his mathematician’s mind calculated
how long until earthly paradise
it was a delusion but a lot of them work
time to risk the entire skin layer he fielded
searching for the trail to civilization
he shinnied up his collective unconscious
an optico semiotician on a paranormal safari
and began to read mom's holy missive
son, your persistent mania for self dialog
requiring a frequent bath in statistics and terror
has left you under the juggernaut's wheels
for some fashionable occult mystery
humor him it's a mud fest in there
relaxed again and ready for
the ever enchanting silhouette of flames
he spread his wings and noticed
there were no wings too late
his nipples were erect with drama
moms lips floated above and spoke
the extraterrestrial rushed up at him
the Cherubs chirped and twittered
as he rowed over the spillway of oblivion
and stood before the ancient ones
boy were they ancient decrepit even
connected to bubbling jars by their sex organs
apparently this made them really smart
the one labeled mom bubbled and spoke
lose the kilt festooned with skulls son
later that day a marsh fire swept through heaven
and a humming bird took nectar from his ear
Bonanza of shamrocks will soon blanket Green Acres...
where Lassie free to run across petco junction
All across the webbed
wide esse Scott's landed wold
emerald green Trifolium
carpets harbor untold
burrows of tiny Leprechauns clover
(leaf) ways grant trifold
wishes if captured might
divulge pot of gold
at rainbow's end, and e'en mend
yar shoes, whence re: souled,
thence tread softly beneath subthreshold
of audibility, cuz unseen universe
hapts tubby microscopically rolled
with subterranean inhabited by Lilliputian
mischievous impish beings
(about bajillion holed
up could fill the Taj Mahal) even donned with
heavy coat protecting them
(usually men) against cold
yet frolic with reel delight jiggling
with inborn instinct exhibit twofold
talent to dance with modesty
downplaying (while fiddling)
analogous to some roof fiend
averse tubby extolled,
nonetheless, their popular
doth soar, and grievously scold
persistent myth anchored with toehold,
and thus do not indulge
pruriently with pixies considerably dulled,
since libido practically nonexistent told
me (under oath of
confidentiality), one Grunwald
trusted yours truly, the secrete
will not leak out,
nor spread like slime mold,
this descendant of Lemuel Gulliver
who schleps across the webbed wide wold.
Yours truly (an average
height and weight size ways)
nondescript grown
male munching kin
stands a little less than threefold
larger than full grown homunculi.
Rumor monger kickstarter
Matthew Scott Harris
posits nontrue tidbit
regarding rock 'n' roll star
who (name unmentioned)
became the most influential
musicians across the universe,
with estimated record sales
of around 600 million
as of two thousand twenty blank.
Imp possible mission
to see non elfish (pressed) lee
160 years after his Irish ancestor
crossed the Atlantic
curling his left lip,
whereby convalescing, peep ping auld
timers cavorting wax nostalgic with
itty bitty whippersnappers,
averse to any outliers,
whether hirsute or bald
an honest to goodness painstaking effort
initially stymied friendship proffered, a cold
reception eventually bedecked
hall of the mountain king
(while sharing diet of worms)
deep under verdantly
festooned knolls of Eire land.
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn whose beauty never alters.
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawns altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitude that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range yawns it's last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Mens ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephants wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
sparkling starlight opens the show.
Neighbors and strangers appear all aroun’,
porch lights and car lights enlighten the town.
They arrive afoot and atop handlebars.
Tots wave from strollers like famed movie stars.
Mothers bellowing orders to stay in sight,
transgressors will rue being naughty tonight.
Flickering lights and untied laces
nudge fidgety feet through their paces.
Masquerade masks make eager accomplices’
too impish eyes and mischievous faces.
Scowling Jack-O-Lanterns carved in creepy effigies
prove impotent charms to appease candied fantasies.
Festooned arches adorned in orange and black,
ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque.
Into the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
dressed to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and quiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.
Werewolves wailing through grimacing grins
herald a night of howling hymns.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
hang from gallows, grinning in ghoulish mirth.
Silken chains embracing all who stray,
beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by cackling cries of certain demise,
steaming cauldrons poach their pitiful prize.
Spades of woe shadow souls who rashly ignore,
ominous omens attached to windows and doors.
Like tocks from a clock they continue to arrive,
will the morrow find anyone left still alive?
Hostiles charitably looting town,
sacks of booty slowing them down.
Toting bags of looted plunder,
looming hordes scatter asunder.
Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage,
assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance,
exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.
Eyeing my castle the rioting rabble rush in,
guarded only by growlin’ dog an’ smilin’ pumpkin.
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
my breath on hold, I hear the chime.
My time I fear is near at hand,
my blood or treasure they demand.
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
no mercy presented for my plight.
With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
please Lord I pray, make them depart.
For a shot of strong “Spirits” I silently scream,
‘cause I forgot the candy on this Halloween!
Refrain:
You shimmering waves on the ocean blue
Dance not again, he cannot dance with you
You weeping forests where the winds wail too
Let your bright tears fall in the pool of dew
The world of pop will never be the same again
The king is dead, and life is a dream so vain.
O day most callous like the callous world, how
Did you come about? By whose love designed,
Whose genius bore him, gave him life? O now
Do tell us of his human coming, since maligned
It's oft forgotten that he was somebody's child
Context in a world where his skin was reviled:
And yet some marveled that he parted from it
To build a world different from base to summit.
Genius is a gift and not a choice, and he was all
A moment's glimpse of earth's troubled paradise
For Michael was not mere mortal he was our tall
Selves transformed to art, so nuanced to the wise
That understood how his dance moves were silk
Syllables of protest and regret, a symbol cocooned
In loneliness, a man pining for the rare social milk
Of happiness against a material breast, festooned
With a race unhappiness. He was more than we
Saw with naked eye, Michael was an artist true
Context in all our history. And yet his mortality
Was not less not vulnerable due to fame, a blue
Note then sing for him, remember this day's despair
How the fickle fans in fragile praise came again
Away from the media's maddening glare to share
This moment of dark our universal deluge of pain.
O Indiana, this is your son, O America this here
Is your native child, weep here ye poets, weep
For him, the poet of the broken soul, Let no tear
Leave a eye that's dry for the lullaby of his sleep
Come ye world that felt his charity, beg angels
Hear us and welcome him; Michael, forever we
Will keep our hearts beating for you, in citadels
Of shining peace when your songs bring memory.
She opened her eyes and she stretched in her bed, then she rose up just like a skylark
and her eyes still glowed softly ,for she had spent dreams just dancing in the dark,
immersed in the beauty of what she had dreamed, she drifted just like an illusion
that somehow had risen from dreamland with her, in magical dancing confusion,
lace curtained light lit her soft elfin face, then lifted her eyes from the evening gloom
that brought her arising from yesterday’s arms, a cameo Princess alone in her room,
she wove herself onto the loom of the day like a tapestry waiting for rainbows to glow
then she wandered alone through a greenwood lit walk, where kiss soft breezes blow.
She meandered so gently, lost in her song, her whole world seemed just like a stage
her melody soared she felt sorrows depart, then she slowly turned over life’s page,
as she sighed to the sea, the sea whispered back of everything one day would bring
she thought of a time that was festooned in rhyme painted reasons that held her again
although all she had known after being alone gave her no thought of happiness yet
she dreamed in the sunrise of beginnings again, and smiled to the dying sunset,
to the transit of Venus she raised up her heart as she felt her dream nearing her door
she had given so much to so many in pain, and yet she still deserved so much more.
Then under her gazebo she sat by her fish pond and watched all the whirlygigs dance
and her heart skipped a beat as she pondered again upon such an endearing romance,
then she felt a soft kiss blown from so far away touch her cheek and bejewel her eyes
she knew as he neared she’d replace all her fears with such a deep loving sunrise,
Then she drifted away on a year and a day to that place where lovers often do
she was sure of their love and the good times to come, before their lives were through,
So many moments she’d spent all alone, before all she had wished for came true
But no longer she thought there would be just a me, but now both a me and a you…
As dawn it roosts, to the early lids of my opened eyes,
Never ever has been a happy feeling pleasant comprise.
Quinquennium back I can clearly remember,
The morning’s plea scalds my thoughts like burning ember.
My blanket festooned body, on the bed it stirs & moves,
The immensity of my drumming head, ever hopes it improves.
Rise as I to the early morn’s sunshine,
Try to smile and reminiscent, it’s surely futile to whine.
And so I sooth my dreary mind,
Impel the mind to elude dismal thoughts & unwind.
Alas! I’m timorous, those dull & dismal thoughts befall,
My mind ,now I know I need to overhaul.
To edify my mind I have to seek,
Muse must I, think ponder reflect every day of the week.
Tall happy positive thoughts I must now contemplate,
For these are those that will bring me peace and joy once they ruminate.
When I close my eyes to tardy nites,
Am gonna be happy at morn the thought itself excites.
A long dark shadow of doubt it always looms,
It’s foggy dawn and my dull thoughts they resume.
From dawn to dusk I carry on a low,
Pessimistic spirits, they make me slow.
Explicit thoughts are sought desired,
A sound body and mind are always admired.
Forlorn, behold it in my mind’s eyes,
Set tone the work ambience my passions cries,
Throttled are my dreams, dismayed are my desire,
And Brutus knife it’s uncouth edge stabs the back in holy attire.
In a Quinquennium span, and time it ran,
But my spirit at first light is like a weary man,
Now I cognize to him his destiny a bloom,
And to me my destiny untwined from his , so not to doom.
Must alter my retort to suit me fine,
And joyous days will transcend me to cloud nine.
Aghast I am for I have lost,
The crusade within me and am weary exhaust.
Forlorn I am to the day’s time,
Often mull are they my thoughts, that are all slime.
Forlorn I am to the nite’s time,
I know it’s time to clean up my heart’s grime.
Forlorn it will be till I inversely think,
From insanity, I’m now on its brink.
Forlorn ,I want to say good bye,
For many eons before I die.