Long Hurly burly Poems
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Death glares at me from its mighty tower
As I knelt in front of it
In utmost submission!
Life is harsh, whispered I to it,
Life is tricky,
Life is a trap
Being encaged in a human body
Feels like being drowned at sea,
While, having at one's ankle,
Millions of weights attached!
Death glares at me
Its breath foul
Its eyes fuming,
The expression on its face shining with disgust,
While its lips remained sewed in resigned silence!
Life is harsh,
Yet compelled I am to live it,
As my soul has dues which are to be paid to the Gods!
Amidst all the hurly burly of Life,
Though,
You remain my savior
You shall free me,
And of your freedom,
I thirst, like the unaware seeking a cure
To their blindness when they realize not
That, in this world,
Nothing shall save them!
Death, you, though, remain my savior
I renounce of Life as I renounce of the Eternity
Of faith,
I renounce of the Heavens and I also renounce
Of the mysticism which filled up my glass bubble
As I walked on an Earth which was adamant in
Proving to me at how false it was!
Death, I await your strike in my life
With an urge as desirous as a woman in love,
Naked, sprawled on cold sand, in the darkest hour
Of the night,
Burning and pining for your comfort!
I know that after your touch,
Nothing shall remain of me
Not even remnants of my soul
But then, this nothingness is exactly
The relief that I seek!
When surrounded by gray fences
In moments of stark empty hours
Amidst anginal clouds of thought
Compulsion to crawl into cave
I suffocate and grope for you
My lovely blue...
When in the midst of brawl and shriek
I am robbed of my water and sky
Am lost in the hurly burly of my mind
The boat almost sinks in rough sea
I pray for a peace as quiet as you
My tranquil blue......
When I am in lonely soul
The birds are in quest of feathers
The skeleton stares me in the face
The light confined to its darkness shroud
I am in deep need to pursue
Your friendly hue, my warm blue....
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29 February 2016
Awe & shock bowlers in the dock our warlock & glock “the judge”
Rapscallion and stallion wrangling with dangling golden medallion
Facing the pacing battalion on our latest sinking Caribbean galleon
Our burly oracle with each follicle so curly a rock that won't budge
In that 90’s dungeon Robin our classy curmudgeon brassy bludgeon
Truncheon fine dining on a hurly burly Courtenay & Curtly luncheon
Calms alarms and qualms delivers us from harm with stoic heroic psalms
Call to arms more like baobabs than palms those offside charms “the Judge”
Speedsters scary & lairy others wary prime time for our hairy chest fairy
Robin our pace Pontiff willow ace not a whiff or a riff or sniff of what if
Believers in his jobbing levers will go biff in any tiff that's the pith of Smith
Not just a county squire but quite possibly the ultimate Hampshire Sire
Calling card hit it so hard earned the fable label of both BATman & Robin
Hall of fame name can’t smudge hats doff to a complete one off “the Judge”
Twisting up my body emboldened
Hyping my spirit to Planet 9
Thrusting gently my soul to an off beat
Jerking up my feet in no fete
Throwing hands in the air
Moving my carcass to an unheard hurly-burly
Heaping up dance on my hips
Humming to a tune of no name
Shaking ones head like an Agama.
Until my Fibula was aching
I became hyper-active
For what, I queried myself?
For a dance of no tune
Indeed a Fandango only of the Spaniard.
This time in Samonda, Ibadan.
In my quest to situate the 46 years
Independence Anniversary of Nigeria.
We are dancing to no tune in particular.
Pressed firmly a shoulder against brick wall
Arms that are folded and feeling quite tall
A hurly burly of a lazy man
Only works if he has to or can
Frustrated waiting for the big check
Drank the last one quickly red neck
They only come once upon time
Delusional angry and outside so I'm
In and out my mind does wonder
Try to control the other guy under
No money for meds and mad hatter is he
Unpredictable this matter will be
Hoisting two sacks the postman will meet
But which one of us uncertain the greet
Passing me by with no check in hand
Off the stoop on postman he land
Franticly struggling to loosen the strap
Harder and tighter the handle did rap
Doesn't take long the postman is limp
It's back to me the original wimp
I don't understand the reason for action
This guy was good during every transaction
You'll never know by meeting us guys
But we'll see you through these killer eyes
Blowers basked in causing quite an iffy stir with his devious quip & slur on a previous Ashes trip…mischievous when tasked Customs asked do you have a criminal record, Sir ?
Delicious not really malicious..the Aussies beaten by the squiffy mellow spiffy commentary don from Eton.. as he did bellow in a jiffy "why my dear old fellow..do I need one?"
The blizzards of OZ.. team and crowd are bullishly proud about how it’s not allowed for them to be kowtowed..having the fizz to do the biz in any tizz..so crass..brash and loud.. Vultures
Which is why I still enjoy how that blonde boy.. sometime fool or tool & England envoy Lord Fauntleroy (yep Gower) did annoy .. as public school cruel did rule..
Dave did wave from his Ivory Tower...mean as Jardine made them glower when asked what he thought about the cricketing war between two powers & Cultures..
Like a lush lefty skied cover drive…the plush curly exponent hard as he tried couldn't hide enjoying the moment & ride...
As a proponent of some early hurly burly.. made them smart..denied being snide but slyly wryly and dryly replied without hesitation
The baronial blondie or country squire fondly did chide and deride with his aside..
Did confide the question implied but lied that there was actually factually a plied allied Culture..
Or indeed an applied appreciation of art in this dire Colonial upstart nation & his opponents entire side..
Meandering memories
move through my mind
like a river flowing
to the salty sea.
Limbs stretch lazily
reaching skywards
like the gangling
branches of an ancient tree.
Standing still in
the solitude of
suspended time;
lazily picking flowers,
the hours melt away
as I daydream in
the field of fantasy.
Flicking fancy fecklessly.
The rasping of the siren
in the run of the mill
over the hill startles me
and I am roughly returned
to normality, garishly.
The harsh light of day
refracts its neon rays;
stinging rays destroying
delicious serenity.
Daydream done I am returned
to Hurly Burly Street,
and the hurrying feet
running the relentless human race.
Individuality lost
without a trace in the
salty sea of faces;
fixed expressions as they
cling on to the roof strap
in the hurtling underground
mundane. Multitasking.
Lost in the murky flow
of commuter traffic
which has become their life.
Set me free again to daydream.
Release from the race of rats
we unintentionally run.
I find some fun discarded
in an overflowing bin
and sneak it into my pocket.
Around my neck a locket
containing happiness
and daydreams .....
Bazbally…inspired and fired by venerable Peter who does attack the arty farty and gives flak to the illuminati Papal cabal party and also banal Baz for well just being cack & tarty..(he christened it "Bazbally")
Latest pundits gambits
Now spits from pulpits
At first plenty of plaudits
A mystery tapestry knits
Well we were the pits
Early hurly burly flits
Hasty but tasty titbits
On a whim best Test bits
Bazbally’s greatest hits
Magic to tragic habits
Us prissy about its zits
Fame & then hissy fits
Grim became dimwits
All the same tatts on ti*s
Can't tame the squits
Blame big name gits
Insane vain inane remits
Twa*s annoying as nits
In a latrine our game sits
Willy nilly silly billy skits
Alpha male tale derails splits
Ben zen again got the sh**s
Nation shrinks in Baz’s mitts
Identikit kinks but no edits
Cheeky winks at us Brits
With flash brash affidavits
Stinks thinks we’re all twits
Series sinks through the slits
Fans issue cease & desist writs
All along Key & ECB also culprits
They gave out Bazbally permits
Should vanish banished hermits
Then the wrong Kiwi quits!
Mashed potatoes, turkey and stuffing,
apple , pumpkin pie, the parade winds puffing
and Santa Claus will soon come,
a day of football, relaxing for some
others hurry baking and pressure cooking
while children stealing treats when no one is looking
and lovers are canoodling as coffee is brewing
with a prayer, a toast, a glass of wine
what a wonderful time.
Here it comes, be careful now
resist the temptation to hurry out
do a little gift prep early
of treasured sales in the hurly-burly
wait, before the season starts popping
and stores galore are open early for shopping;
take this time to embrace the gathering
of time and experiences shared in jabbering.
Thanksgiving for family and friends
get-togethers, laughter and memories on end
take a picture, two or three
of recall for the family tree
of good times, tears
and wonder at the quickness of passing years
hold it close, hold it tight
before these precious dreams take flight.
Awe & shock bowlers in the dock our warlock & glock “the Judge”
Rapscallion & stallion with a gold medallion on a sinking galleon
Our burly oracle with each follicle so curly a rock wouldn’t budge
In the 90’s dungeon our classy curmudgeon brassy bludgeon
Can’t begrudge won’t nudge or fudge never a drudge trudge
Truncheon dining on hurly burly Courtenay & Curtly luncheon
Call to arms more like baobabs than palms it is “the Judge”
Robin big breast disarms with charms Test bowlers flogging
Logging in to his noggin not one for jogging just silky slogging
Speedsters scary & lairy others wary time for our hairy chest fairy
Strike hogging quest while the others just dobbins doing bobbins
Pacemen lobbing but no fobbing iron will still run robbing Robin
Smith no hobnobbing or gobbing but not a whiff of a riff of what if
Believers in his jobbing levers will go biff in any tiff the pith of Smith
Made from sterner stuff but always a learner on a bunsen burner
Did bewitch but off the pitch a hitch.. life after cricket not as rich
Strife was rife and as things got rough couldn’t scratch that itch
Baobabbed wizard mocked Windies blizzard grabbed it by the gizzard
Calling card hit the ball so hard seems that BATman was really Robin
Not just some county squire but maybe the ultimate Hampshire Sire
Hall of fame name can’t smudge hats doff to a one off “the Judge”