Paper clips,
those mild-mannered office folk,
pretend they’re tools of order~
but really, they’re in it for the joke.
Leave them in a drawer
for more than half a day,
and they’ll twist themselves together
like they’re headed to a cabaret.
One clip whispers,
“Psst… let’s form a chain,”
and suddenly they’re linking
like a tiny metal train.
Another clip giggles,
“Let’s make a modern sculpture,”
and before you know it
they’ve built a chrome-plated vulture.
Scientists blame physics,
but I suspect a different cause:
paper clips just get lonely
and like to hold each other’s jaws.
So next time you find them tangled
in a shimmering silver heap,
remember~
they’re not misbehaving…
they’re just friends
who like to sleep
in a pile.
I adore your smile,
your wit, and your style;
you've taught me life can be fun.
Soulmates and best friends
conjoined till time ends,
our souls have morphed into one.
And your aura gleams
like golden sunbeams,
guiding my soul with its light.
You've taught me to laugh,
fought on my behalf,
and cuddle up close at night.
Love flows from your heart,
and has from the start,
no one's as loving as you.
Your heart is unique,
mild-mannered, and meek,
with a compassionate view.
Two halves of a whole
we share but one soul,
forever sealed with a kiss.
Cupid's aim was true
as His arrow flew,
conjoining our hearts with bliss.
My voice protects human potential,
I won’t walk down your road to failure;
These words aren’t labeled confidential,
they are perfume on me clean and pure.
Walk away if you think I’ll downgrade,
I am not some low model robot;
Not gonna take the straw bed you made,
I won’t suffer your distressing cot.
My voice protects human potential,
I won’t walk down your road to failure;
Thriving’s the result of essential,
it ends the need to simply endure.
The joie de vivre that’s been delayed ,
soaked firewood that has been left to rot;
White hot ideas are doomed to fade
when we buy in to a tragic plot.
My voice protects human potential,
I won’t walk down your road to failure;
Excitement should be exponential,
not hidden fine print on a brochure.
Can’t truly live when you are afraid,
mild mannered is one thing I am not;
Weave hard work and drive into a braid,
that detailed design is a sure shot.
The fundamental things
we cater to love life liberty
the simple pleasures of
ecstasy as we reap and
capture endearment entitlement
morbid endeavours settling
score’s beyond our means
sorted bliss a meeting of the
minds required overtime
mastering over thinking
as we become one with
our own foundation for
truth justice creating the
mild mannered gestures
with mustered up kindness
a certain fondness for freedom
as poverty gleams a brilliant
sense of humility compassion
unmeasured while we continue
to salvage what’s left after
crime war and punishment
why we reach for her might
the height of her mystery she
has given birth to everyone
who touches her who believes
in her who craves her protects
her liberty liberty liberty sing
her personality was insipid.
she had a placid handshake
non-emotive, bland, little affect
she made mild-mannered look vibrant
we were stunned at Cousin Charley’s choice of mate.
we have never seen her smile
she could sober Stepford wives
How did our cousin fall for this creature?
None of us have ever figured it out.
lamp posts have more personality.
Not too much to say I’ll keep it concise,
just stuff that energy inside my hat;
There is trouble in witch’s paradise;
But as they say I’ve got a spell for that;
I may seem to be a bit mild mannered,
do not discount the fire in my cauldron;
Magick always runs by its own standard,
the heart of the caster simply stirs on;
Sending chaos will ensure it comes back,
receiving no less than equal treatment;
This is not just filling up a smokestack,
what I said is exactly what I meant;
Be kind and you will know what is coming,
start mischief that is what you are getting.
Like a puppy dog, young winter
playfully nips at wrists and ankles.
Mild mannered winds
have cool moods now,
at night they sulk and sink
to the foot of the bed
where only yesterday
your feet glowed like a clowns nose.
You sleep not, not even in socks
and it sucks.
By dawns early light
young winter is no more,
in its place is a snarly
winter wolf
and though it is early,
even for breakfast.
you hungrily fix yourself
a double cheeseburger
and of course
another for the werewolf
that is now
howling at the front door.
The taste of vanilla lingers on my lips, long after we kiss,
The flavor of her love, always at the tip of my tongue,
The curvature of her shape flows elegantly,
Her skin feels smooth and velvety as my hands pour over her,
The warm and creamy undertones of her lightly roasted complexion are delightfully beautiful,
She's as light hearted and mild-mannered as blonde espresso,
I drink from her sparingly, consuming her body in sips,
Short, tall, grande, or venti, she's always fulfilling,
and still my craving for her is never quite satisfied,
Having never felt the overmastering effects of love,
I can only imagine how it must feel,
but my thirst for it is so unquenchable,
that I taste it, see it, and feel it, in everything,
even in something as unassuming as this Iced Blonde Vanilla Latte.
Paul is our perfect, favorite friend,
Whose parents are no longer here;
We became his second parents,
Being 20 years older than he is.
He has been our do it all handyman,
And is a Jack and Paul of all trades;
Our lives are impossible without him;
God has given Paul to us as a gift.
Many great words will describe Paul;
He is thoughtful and conscientious;
Has been marvelous and mild mannered,
With our best interests in his mind.
Our needs continually come first with him.
And best interests remain in his mind;
Wish we had the great qualities Paul has;
He remains close to both God and Jesus.
He devoutly prays to God and His Son;
They tell him what is right and he does it;
He is a great guy while being very friendly;
These are the best ways to describe Paul.
James Thoughtful Horn
Life ain't for the plenty
Instead it rather
Chooses to
Extracts it kicks from praying
On the mild mannered and the meek
Life is like a thief
That seems to be
It's one and only brief
And if you don't believe me
Ask the ghostly sewer children
Lying in the fetal position
With a blank expression
Both
Wondering and pondering
The eternal question
For one last time
Before they did
Why
Oh
Ohh
Why
What
The hell did I do wrong
I wasn't even here that long
Only to be and get told
Doesn't matter
Life ain't for the plenty
Only those who are willing
To take not only their
Share
But everyone else's
As well
Celebrity Carrots shook hands with onlookers
Barrel-chested Beets beat their chests like bass drums
Soft-spoken Celery Sticks whispered soliloquies
Mild-mannered Mushrooms spun themselves silly
At the Vegetable Pride Parade
Not even legumes left behind
Rootin'-tootin' Green Beans
~ by blaring trumpets designed
Half-dressed trees
dance in an April wind-shuffle.
New buds learn how to shake
raindrops off.
Winter’s skeletal joints
are a lightly applied moss green,
a mild mannered climate
now simmering bark and branch.
To jump right into the heat of summer
would be a greenhorn maneuver,
March’s wayward proclivities
may have yet more to say.
Spring steps slowly into a newly-lit ring
testing for sink-holes in a blue tinted sky.
Many are recovering, convalescing,
mending the torn tissue,
patching up ice-bitten dreams.
Today a nursing breeze foretells of fat fields,
of less demanding times,
of harvests and an fruiting glut.
Time to break the frosted walking stick,
to rise up in the rosy cheek and sinew -
tell the lazy cat on the warming step
to go catch the coming sun
and bring it home.
Eagerly on my word processing app
My fingers pressing keys Tippity tap
Penning my classic in verse
Thinking the fog will disperse
Yet there’s no classic just absolute cr*p
Hell have no fury like cranial mist
Even the mild mannered would clench a fist
Aghast as my rhyme and meter take flight
Dreading the empty page night after night
Eureka proclaimed… but the notion I sense
Doesn’t take shape for this poet is dense
Must I endeavour in vain one more day
Ordering words in a haphazard way
Rabid strikes of the delete key
Only conspire to defeat me
Now I’m a nitwit with nothing to say
So, we lie here again, under the same old moon. You are a constant my friend.
So, we examine my fears, my tears and my thoughts. The reasons I fail, the silence, the pain, the living it costs.
So, I know what you think. You rattle my cage each time I try sleep.
So, your power over me? I’ve studied you too though your conceit would never suspect such treachery from the mild mannered me?
So, what do you think now? The air is colder up here, but the wind seems cleaner somehow.
So, you never thought I’d getaway? What’s wrong, come closer, oh are you just too used to getting your way?
So, that was quick. That’s some fall I took. But, let me tell you that was no cheap trick!
So, now it’s my turn. To prey on your fears, to be the fire in which you’ll burn.
The Marvel comic book unique character,
Mark Spector, an American mercenary,
called the Moon Knight, becomes the avatar
for the Egyptian moon god, Khonshu.
He assumes the identities of Grant and Jack,
arising out of his mental reflection.
Grant, the mild-mannered British gift-shop employee,
becomes Mr. Knight, and confronts Harrow,
the servant of the Egyptian goddess Ammity,
who summons a jackal to exterminate Grant,
but he transforms into a cloaked warrior and kills it.
Jack, the third most ruthless alter,
eventually kills both Harrow and Ammit.
The story revolves around the fatal mystery,
mystically linking the Egyptian gods
with Moon Knight’s multiple alters,
perceived through dissociative identity disorder.
________________
October 5, 2022
Contest : Moon Knight
Sponsored by : Robert James Liguori
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