thirst bard
lug your solid opus
&crop your sad lot
thirst bard
lug your solid opus
&crop your sad lot
Frankenstein was not afraid
of the creature that he made.
He grinned, and kindly said,
"Put a smile on your ugly mug.
Lighten up, you big ol' lug".
Bankers are w**kers so smug
Treat as all like we are a mug
Rinse & repeat they just shrug
Your grave we've already dug
Elite cheat still snug as a bug
Deniers bullies & liars..a thug
Try to stay afloat.. on we chug
Gloat off with our stuff they lug
So rash our stash they will hug
So brash cash is their only drug
Tug from under our feet the rug
Cruel with one rule pull the plug
“Wreck ashore! Wreck ashore!” came t’ cry on t’ wind,
Lanterns lit quick as t’ dark rolled in.
Steady on wi’ thi crates — them crabs an’ Welch’s near!
‘Tis whiskey this — nee chance it’ll spoil in ‘ere.
Rain an’ wind can’t find us here,
Sea maybe… but we’ll sup wi’ cheer.
These caves lead straight t’ father’s hoose,
An’ more beyond to hide these fruits.
Lantern sways on dripping stone,
Bottles clink as up we groan.
Scraped bloody knee an’ t’ elbow ache,
Forgotten soon wi’ profit make.
Tha whines an’ bawls cos tha’s lug crates,
Twelve bottles o’ nectar — tha’ll thank me, wait!
“Easy now lads, keep t’ lantern low —
Up t’ bolt-hole sharp we go.”
‘Tis salvage this, not looting mate,
Pulled from out them vicious waves’ gate.
Straw spills soft as t’ crate we crack,
Golden smell comes drifting back.
Eeh, t’ excise’ll come — nee doubt o’ that,
Sniffin’ round like dockside rat.
T’ excise searched caves an’ barns galore,
Yet weddings rang on t’ village shore.
Too tempting, the new fallen snow.
Twilight’s twinkling, curious glow.
First the pines chuckled and slid;
down the hill slow then too fast.
The houses’ windows agape,
twisted and tugged, then luged.
Swish..swoosh..swish
Kids in the homes applauded;
Cardinals in mints, blues, greens
fluttered about, catching manna
on their tongues; different is good.
brr…mmm..howl
Eventually, the trees and houses
had to lug their heaviness up the hill,
but they had so much fun, they did
it again and again. Families joined in,
in the delightful twilight, kept secrets
shh…shh…hush
of their magical night. Grandkids believed
it was just fantastical stories, but one night
they hear a ruckus, feel the foundations
rocking, rolling, chuckling, carousing; pines
sliding like frosting down a cake. Delicious.
ahh…ohh…wee
Be careful, the secret’s past from tree
to tree, house to house. The stoic unmoved,
but some are considering moving down hill.
Submission, know thou dominance?
Fallen on thy face?
Heaven and Hell, take thy chance!
End Times, I rest case!
Decent man in cell of jail?
Too poor to raise bail?
Fled from God? In, belly whale?
Never end, our tale!
Beast, come from the wasteland!
Bird of prey, just descend!
Vicious criminal, form a band!
Break before ye bend!
Fate, thy plate! Fortune, why wait?
Hatred, set a date!
Entropy, who, ma'am, is great?
Those with a clean slate!
Campaign well, my warriors!
Alliance Black Abyss!
Languid liquid, strong liquors!
Give Death passion's kiss!
Keys in hand of greedy thug?
Insect armies, move.
Crummy rummy, chug-a-lug!
Position, improve!
Turmoil, thy tornado!
O tiger, taciturn!
Ruin, send the scum below!
Dark fire, see them burn!
Grip, O hand of giant!
Thy enemy appears!
Elephant, side with the ant!
Trail behind, our tears!
Gibbous star, seen from afar.
Omen bad, thy sky.
Harbinger doom, vision mar.
Petrichor, pace ply...
He leads me through East London,
docks, pubs, among the stray dogs, the
River Thames lapping at low clouds.
We find the second-hand player in a street
where the shops are dusty holes under the arches
of viaducts and railway bridges,
Me carrying the portable Dancette record player
in its hard Bakelite box,
lifting it by its leatherette handle, and I,
small for my age
but wanting so much to lug it all the way home.
The plastic cuts my fingers,
sharp corners bark my shins.
Father talks of his life here, the blackouts
and bombs, rationing,
and the bloody Saturday night street fights.
He whistles tunes
from a songbook of dead crooners.
That evening sitting together, with Sinatra -
watching the dark blue Capitol label
spiral and blur,
hearing the unseen belt under the bobbing needle
as it chewed vinyl -
reliving the clunk-clunk of our boots
as we pushed back fog-muted miles.
Years later, finding that player again
in mother's attic, lifting the machine
feeling how light, it is,
willing to take another walk with him
yet not knowing how to catch up.
Bittersweet bitsy Bailey bug
Rock and rolled in Rodney’s rug
Had he partaked of a daily drug?
Rodney was sick of Bailey’s crazy mug
Time to go home, he told the lug
Just one more chug, said Bailey bug
He was chased off by Rodney's poodle and a pug.
I always wanted my own dog.
Someone to sit under the table with me.
Fuzzy warm animal to hug,
When too much shouting from above.
"You can't have a dog!
Too many fleas,
Ticks you may not see!
As for a fuzzy warm to hug,
Go get your teddy bear.
He's a big lug!"
I've hugged all the fur off my old teddy bear.
He only has one eye.
The other in a corner,
Over there.
I still want my own dog.
To sit under the table with me.
Warm and fuzzy to pet,
While the shouting continues from above.
You were sharp|ning grass
With your eyes | sit & fixed
Again | a substitute for mow|n
Machine chug|ging along lug
Nuts, molar friction | u - r - n .
Lawn stretches of up|beat
Beach | was there even wind?
Filet a cannonade me | see
The crayons fly | in a circle
A head | towards blu|er | stretches
There | where clouds resemble.
Light is a commodity, scream!
Silly | man | omnibus no teacher
Not even a man. Well still: Lorine
Niedecker e|merges like new
Breath, pulp come together
Mis|hearing cranes, a making
Multicolor wax, bending fuse
Forge |X| fissure for left foot |
Right foot,—we'll find a job a kind
Of game | it’s just planes turned
Paper crane | creosote guardians
A dead lean-to shouldering volts.
Did I push hard enough for purple? Asked Morse.
It is the color I wanted on my house of course
a fantasy of mine shown in kitchen fan and horse
One color is great, agreed his yes man, Borse.
What kind of game is this, if you please?
This question came from the sandwich of cheese.
I think purple is wonderful, the butler said.
Looking fine in glossy and flat, it makes a fine bed.
Keep sucking up, the lettuce promptly said.
I will lug you around and bump your head.
You all sound mean to me, the monkey croaked.
the key to getting along is playing, frog joked.
When doubts rage, who to hail for help,
Lug own luggage, hail not for help.
Man has lost sage who might well help,
Saved savage, hail not now for help.
Self centred, man has if lost out
In this age, hard to hail for help.
Created a sorry image,
Own damage, now hail not for help.
Hedging, aloof on alien’s edge,
His own cage, who to hail for help?
If hopeless has turned his marriage,
A mirage, who to hail for help?
When life’s play is turning a page
Right on stage, who to hail for help?
_________________________________________
Ghazal |05.05.2024| life
RAGS
You have rags
Of rags
Some bragging rags...
Must be your rag,
Because you have rags
With nothing in them
Except a bifurcate rag;
You have enough rags for life,
For a billion stars in the sky__
If there was a total number of lug rags
You would tote have it
In the rag,
I wonder why you hoard so many rags
When all you ever put in them
Are other dirty rags.
~Tile Tersoo
Here comes the dawn
of a thoughtful Mourn.
Month of the desecrated demise
of a Monumental personage.
Unpleasant feels beclouds the air
I consume,
My structure reconciles itself
to the dreadful wake of the dawn.
Hushed his grief within,
As though He counts it less.
Burdened the hearts become.
For the weight tears apart within.
Boundary with her,
Was the sweetness of existence.
In a tick of misery
Hard to lug
Uneasy to let slip
Oh Death where’s thy sting
So fresh is the love of the parted soul
Mourning till an afterlife
In her two gems he rejoices.
As life gives succor.
Though Growth he beckons
For an extended home, before night falls.
Life’s unplayed cards
Relinquishes-daunts my being
Fathoming its depth
Again and again
Glum yet Grateful
For the Supreme One
Alone knows all and the why
We seem still within ourselves.
Three Decades plus Six
Yet I breathe
To make proud
This Monumental Personage.
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