Long Gallic Poems

As allies falter from his Blitzkrieg force,
the blood of British sons infuse the sand.
They pray their brothers front the Channel’s course
for they have failed to gain the upper hand.
And, so they wait as devastation rides
upon...

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Let hope rely upon your Maginot
for swift retort has choked your Gallic might.
It crushed your will beneath its undertow
as diligence receded in the fight.
Your flailing forces teeter on defeat
and any hint of truce shall be...

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The emptiness is left with no resolve
for all the stars in Heaven have maligned.
Your God has let morality devolve
into the darkest days of humankind.
A war to end all wars has spawned revenge,
the madness seeks to...

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Early Times

Panting through a few females.
Running on the spot mostly.

Go to Paris to find myself
find a locally made Gallic STD.
Have a Ringo mustache,
the prostitutes on the Montmartre
think I’m pretty cool for a kid.

Beach bum along...

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What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!

(Descriptive distraction)
and (subversion in action)

It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.

With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint...

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stranded Soldier, tossed ashore forced to fight a gallic war .Bound by Honor, a task at hand.  a sword and shield upon his back. a twisted Fate he is to find. Bound by oath...

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Duncan MacAlpin thoughts were disturbed
Beauty he had seen in Crovie
Had stolen his heart with one look.
Her face a map of Scotland.

Where would I begin to look for her? He wondered.
Mercury smirked, for He had already...

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Hear across my native soil,
The calling, 
Echoes ancient voices,
Raised in prayers ritual.
A forgotten people, leaving,
Their mark upon histories
Legacy.
Mysteries great questioning,
Lain outward for generations,
To wonder why?
Beneath the heavens vastness,
Behold gray monoliths reaching,
Upward.
In the circle of life...

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Across frosted windows chill,
The watcher seeks.
Withered hands clutching branches,
Strong limbs.
Dragging belly's weight like within
This devils heart.
Fiendish smiles exposed, sharpened,
Canines sustains thirsts lust.
Passions mistress voice, calls softly,
Enticing it's prey.
Patiently waiting, longing for his,
Final breath's resolution.
Alone old...

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The Fable of Jesus
Jesus was skeptical of his tribe, he didn't 
whether he was a Semite, his father, the renowned 
the wood craftsman had green eyes and knew 
a few phrases of gallic monks had visited until
the Rome...

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Seven A.M., feet on the floor, pajamas in-car 
for a favorite drive-through fast-food treat?  No, 
it's the coffeepot, and turn on the broiler, less of 
a spoiler, but kudos in Heaven. Breakfast's in the...

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A NOTE FROM MALCOLM

My advice is free, and time’s not billable
Try speaking French and I will soon know
Don’t claim a local or a provincial accent
It really does not sound as if heaven-sent
Nor a comment heard...

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Married to Nobility 
The word sits so easily on your tongue
like it had no more meaning than a Gallic shrug  
he came from the sea waded ashore you can say 
the only survivor of...

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Laid back over oarlocks,
arms akimbo, hat slouched;
slow riding the Loire.

The river pushes
into a bobbing place
a sylvian picnic
where female bottoms convene
in soft repose.

Iridescent thuds, a thrashing of fins.
A large trout flops in the gunnels.
Wide lips, mouthing...

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A creative process
disguised as a French Bulldog
has pooped in my mind-pot,
where I was complacently
growing small obscure weeds.

Muse me, or abuse me you poetry bug,
if you are a stinkbug, I will take it,
fake it until…

The Frenchie...

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phallic hellic gallic fella, 
slipped and fell into the cellar, 
gargled with a vat of wine, 
stayed for a longish time, 
when he found one Isabella, 
she was dark as one othello, 
hot and steamy...

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French “The Language of love”

Darling, speak French when we make love
wicked words I don´t understand but has a whispering meaning of delight.
I stand before you with salutial erection, a soldier of love
ready to sacrifice myself...

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The Corsican was never really Gallic.
The Austrian was not remotely Prussian.
Jugashvili (let's put this in italics)
could not be, in a month of Sundays, Russian.

The point of Communism is, it's global,
or else it's nothing. Swimming or...

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Paris, paradigm of “je ne sais quoi “- 
Great Gallic mystery, almost a law.

Evincing an essence, cannot say how -
Shrug of a shoulder with lift of a brow.

But stroll down a street called La Rue...

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The Earths end, sky, sea,
pumice stone, windward, lee;
life grasp, grey, alpine scree,
Christian Church Burren be.

Pillars, lentils, altar stone;
plucked from ancient giants bone;
life, minute, crevice formed foam;
Eire’s core, St. Patrick’s home.

Distilled essence, brightest note;
sweetest scent, verse...

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