Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
To the havoc, thy avarice, foment;
The virulence is a channel of chastisement.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
The virulence is evil of discrete; say vox populi.
Is this matter fit to greet; nay Mehdi.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
Ipso facto, there will be a Jenner;
But the limbo, thence, ratifies the beginner.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
Sunrise and already the water
is being seared with a glow
as if under a grill.
You can feel the heat building
in the morning air, the sand
still warm from yesterday.
The tide has left the creature
stranded on the beach,
its frilled sail glistening
and rigged with blue tentacles
clumped menacingly beside
its motionless body.
The sun will soon cook it
to a dried out bladder.
This drifting marvel of murder
is now no more than sea phlegm
coughed up on the crest
of a wave. It looks so pitiful.
And yet it still
has the power to inflict
a painful sting. Venom
waits for one last desperate
chance to snare some poor
careless prey.
My fingers seem possessed
with a will to pick it up
to see how it feels without
being stung. I hover somewhere
between head and hand,
stranded by indecision.
Footnote
This is one of a series of poems
that have the shoreline as the
backdrop for the exploration
of meaning in things washed up
on the beach or in the experience
of being in the moment.
Paul
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
To the havoc, thy avarice, foment;
The virulence is a channel of chastisement.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
The virulence is evil of discrete; say vox populi.
Is this matter fit to greet; nay Mehdi.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
Ipso facto, there will be a Jenner;
But the limbo, thence, ratifies the beginner.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
I've never had a manicure
and yet I'm still a man
Though my fingernails are ugly
you should see my tan
Please don't suggest a pedicure
I don't need lovely toes
Fishing knee-deep in the river
they're apt to decompose
So I eschew the 'hair salon'
for ye old-fashioned barber shop
Where my man Floyd still uses
scissors, broom and mop
What is man?
A creature with the intellect of a super human
and the nature of a savage beast.
No matter how hard he tries,
he keeps falling down to his lower nature.
Whose fault is it? Is it his own or that of the Creator
who made him lesser than a God.
And who is this woman, who is said to woo man
Why does the world trample on her?
Do they not realize, if it were not for her,
the world would have died eons ago.