It feels muted.
Like a bubbling ache, miming the mince of my patronising murk.
The peevish petulance of my prejudice prompts an abandoned frugality so thinned to a destined demise.
Unlaced.
Untied.
Undone.
A portal so honed to the residual refine of my extinction.
The sterling silver glints off the ashen sheds of my abandoned flesh; she looks like a platter.
Each serving an amortisation to the segments of my pestilent seethe.
Every atom of her making nurtures a barbaric famine to the fester of her feud.
Each larceny a sacrificial suckle for the prosperity of her condemn.
I feel my ruins spewing in a sovereign decay of a cataclysm so heinous in its destruction.
So sinister in its devaluation.
So predatory in its death.
It feels muted; all my days blending one.
All my days blending into the countdown to my censure.
My day of reckoning.
within space time
mind is miming
love’s rhyme in heart
I ja ja ja juh just
Wanna let everyone na na na nuh know
Wuh wuh wuh what I’ve learns...
Fph fph fph fuh faith is grace fph fph fph ful and
Na na na nuh not earned.
Miming my bamboo fph fph fph fishing pole,
I rig the hook with a wuh wuh wuh worm.
I ka ka ka kuh cast up ma ma ma muh my line
Into Heaven...
Wuh wuh wuh wuh wondering
The time away and
Pa pa pa puh pondering...
What kind of fph fph fph fph fph fuh fish
Will take da bub bub bub buh
Bait?
As the night drags the shadows from the day
It's time for me to toss and turn into dreamland
It's hazy here
It's snowing
And I'm up on a ledge
The river below says "If you're going to jump in,
it's sink or swim."
A dove flies by and circles and lands on my shoulder
flutters its wings and says
"Do you know what today is?"
"No" I reply
"It's Christmas Eve, Shhh! Listen!
Can you hear the bells pealing,
The violin cries
The melancholy saxophone, and
The carolers singing?"
Then without a sound, a mime dances up to me
Shoe's away the bird and without a word
does a miming of "Another Auld Lang Syne"
With sad face, and gestures of heartbreak
Then he hands me a letter
The letter reads:
"I want to be holding you, watching Christmas movies
on the couch, with snow falling outside
and the coziness of each other fireside
................love Julie
P.S. You know where to find me"
A smeared reflection
mirrors off my memory,
of her
and how she took
2 hours every morning
to paint, draw, brush, curl and spray
H
her appearance on.
But she could not even
make up
2 minutes of breakfast chatter.
Miming herself to me.
Thank God for windex.
Rendering rainbows over candy kisses
Above the marvels of a mindless moon
Meandering with fairies and flower wishes
Miming melodies frolicking with a flirting tune
Nimble poets prance scribing wistful words
Courting playful paramours to canoodle and swoon
Entranced in witless wooing, amorously absurd
In the realm of self-interest, a curious soul,
Could not adhere stamps, sans wit owning a role.
His tongue, like a rover in arid terrain,
Lingered on whimsy, a scoffing refrain.
Precision eluded, in blindfolded dance,
Tongue franking an effort, missing each chance.
The stamp, a library of lore unbespoke,
His tongue still meandered, lost in each stroke.
Like giraffes when they strain ~ reaching treetops,
His sealing endeavor was a clumsy hopscotch.
The stamp lay there mocking, a coaxed witticism,
Tongue still missed the mark, a terrible tourism!
Metaphors clung, but not on the letter,
A longing unfilled, his tongue never got wetter.
The envelope sighed, craved wit's lifting brew,
Yet his tongue frolicked, having wandered no clue.
He licked and he slurped, as though miming delight,
A grand postal crime, a federal plight!
Metaphors piled up, unsent missives distressed,
His sense of himself was a bewildering behest.
In the spirit of levity, a story confided,
A stamp unadhered, a metaphor provided.
When engaging with mail, overcome by caprice of,
Just leave the attempt and go buy self-adhesive.
A laugh is a soul's explosion of insanity.
Knowledge of acknowledgement in vanity.
A crazed affinity with deja vu timing.
Taboo of thought in neon silver lining.
An out of body experience welcomed within.
Micro possession in a miming obsession,
with dilated dial in audible font style
and expression.
A laugh is a pseudo lust in pseudo love.
Headlining, silver tongued language of
squealed wink, grunting blink, snickering choke of drink.
from above.
A syncing of honed thinking in volume linking
the brink on.
Wave of notes confused bang of gong,
in mode-icon.
Surge of mental drowning,
with smile singing mused
connection system of its own downing.
A man's joke could not trigger laughter:
A good one about helicopter
Some poor guy often flew in dreams
While in true life could not pay for creams;
Audience of joke cracker creditors,
Who needed prompt cash for auditors;
Three with him for their thousand dollars,
On that day joke cracker's First callers.
"So, why these tales about helicopter
And opening an unwished chapter?"
Tales might veer to roofs of rafter
Now left for Generations after...
Joke got the more intolerable,
When he said not things honorable
They are not leaving him just, like that
Each need to show rat he'd turned a cat
Yes, jokes could fall flat for bad timing
And one can't restore them with miming.
In the late hours, you remain aware,
I directed my eyes out of the lame glare.
When you scoop your most clear hand,
This guided me through the rugged land.
You read each title on the child’s skimming,
And all that pain caused you some miming
Kudos for taking on a load of my pity,
During both fine and dire times, echoing ditty.
She is my other mother and first wife,
The guardian’s angle secured the baby's life.
From once-ill, now-maturity childlike people,
The nanny lets your silly book be as a foster.
Bliss, I pray that all readers will be blessed,
In times of need, a dear carer may be best.
Every youngster memorized my poems,
As in a warm, cozy child's room, I know him.
They heeded this as gently as possible,
This made my youth halcyon and sensible.
Written: October 17, 2022
Composed in their femininity
Compliant with the slighest
Urge in that delightsomeness of
Miming a bloom, wind-caught.
No less radiantly stately fraught
With one's plucking interest.
Then I came back. Shook awake of
Which stilly - found entrancement
Its ornate vision's, she, herself
Charmed out of me; wife; alone!
To as many a dressed pose, prone!
As much for distinguishment!
We find ourselves in different shelves in life to shape and sharpen thoughts
Thinking for a greater tomorrow just to breath the fresh beat of earth
Thunder strikes creating lighting to capture images that would last for Gods
Miming our moves as we elevate invention that was innovated by sin
Sinister mystery laying differently like last crast for peasents
Scrubing for more bread to eat to tick for tomorrow
Loosing hope soul attracted by soil splash flash dashed to the last inch of whiskey
Hearing whisper commencing prophecy plants combined to formulate a form of answer
Swearing for forgotten days to play
Oh child find what was made for us tomorrow to pledge probably gaze all bubbles nibbled through the wall
Who is this fancy face phased with the atmospheric figment
Waiting to be tint in colours of rainbow
Bow to vowl historical metaphor
Finding improper fraction fusing the leftover gas
Past hindered through the hour glass are the days of our lives going to be like this
Drilling drops of unravelling all travelers camping all army.
Ash N.N
silent words of dread
i recite each night in bed
too late now your dead
one reality ahead
miming what should have been said
Your Best Monorhyme Poetry Contest
Set in Tanka form
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
15/08/2021
Redwood, you’re the Shadow secretary?
I guess so, he muttered.
Not caring that I am of voting age.
That’s what they tell me.
Preceded by Hunt? Succeeded by Hague?
Tell me, did your baby sister die of the plague?
Were you the one who resigned from the cabinet in ninety-five?
Not able to relate to most people alive?
Let’s not forget “Redwood versus Deadwood,” he told me proudly.
But weren’t you defeated, and pretty loudly?
And dropped in mid shuffle? Wasn’t that you?
He huffed off mad finally, showing his irritation so blue.
I saw him miming a song on his way out.
That’s when I knew he was in a really big pout.
A playful bard the moon casts a winking eye
To shy blinking stars playing hide and seek
Miming his brilliance on high in dark skies
Flirting thru sequined nights a shy mystique
For lovers of the night rapt by romance
Entranced by quixotic moon dreams urging
Eclipsing the light in shadows to dance
A hidden soiree, lovers converging
Beguiled by this sweet and romantic sight
Neath the lunar poet's grand illusion
Captured by its rapture he rules the night
a sonneteer portraying loves allusion
The moon is a bard a mystic with spells
For lovers who wish their stories to tell
January 11, 2020
Rewrite: February 14, 2021
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