It is National Happy Cat Month (September). Please consider adoption.
Cat: An incomparable companion that smoothes the bumpy road.
She looked at me with somber eyes
enchanting with her wily guise.
Hesitant love became her stance
as she wondered at her sole chance
by blinking lovely golden eyes.
Living life with abuse and lies
never knowing what love implies
cautiously observing askance,
she looked at me.
Asking only for warm allies
and love that her bearing belies
hopeful that this is no mischance
and she may enrich and enhance
my cheerless life with loving ties
she looked at me.
Why Hello, I am Danger
I am a stiletto in the shadows, ready to slit your throat
Should you gloat about laws I broke
I am precariousness in a dress
Peril, hazard, and risk, I'm menace sitting on a fence
I will take you places you've never been
I'll tell you lies and make you believe in sin again.
I will make you comfortable
And then you shall fall ill
A demons day in madness kissed - still
Danger is my poison, Danger is my pill
Taunting you, haunting you
Daring you to take that terrifying step
Take a chance, hold your breath
If no one's looking - spin the wheel - make the deal
Mistress Death will tell you - kill to win - heh he heh
You guessed it Dangerous.
Riskiness and distress are best friends - a hot mess
With endangerment, there is entanglement
Both factors are a possible part of the experience
Mordacity, depravity, and the unsavory
All of these odious and delicious - found in the essence of Danger
Dubious unrest, a fear fest test, a chaotic crest
A mischance of a tense whisper portrayed as a treasonous event
Hellbound or heaven-sent
Just remember - it's me Danger
And I am Dangerous
And you fearless - Your soul yearns for me....
Chill confines a diary of absence
as September keyholes a papered wall.
A smirk tears a face--escapee silence
--styles wall with nothingness, dead ends AWOL.
A bottle of spent wealth parlays about ...
tangled weaves justify the performance.
Pebble leather worships darkly, blacks-out
a ghosted pundit building blocks, mischance.
Cold fashions the well, tilt pour sands reserves.
Alas, pitched secrets facades of falsehood,
its prisoner scopes round a war of words,
sheathed arrogance knells myPhone, knock on wood.
Crinkled gone days lay ... flattery goes on.
Scrawled lines drown, looming voice curts; "My Dear John".
Kyrian Brown and chance to wear a crown.
A wrong answer and he just goes down!
And guess what: he has one guessing chance,
Which he misses it ends the whole dance...
Kyrian Brown and a brow with a frown
Much like one on foreheads to drown:
A roof and walls receive a long glance;
Brown's testers do not wish the mischance.
Again, Brown seeks permission to think:
It opens his doors and gives him link,
His testers have no problem with that;
A wink at Brown - the now cornered rat.
Still, Brown turns' out a floundering mind,
Time spending like one to its cost blind;
Still, for the walls the Longest Gaze
By one who is clearly in a maze.
Then, comes his final answer-rubbish,
No decent press would want to publish;
which you yourself won't want to repeat,
come a time to with one compete...
For Conquered Brown no second chance left
Testers give a high score to hands deft
"At practical good, bad at theory"
Brown thinks it will make his eyes bleary...
At home, Brown had chairs he could sit on
And think of sweet life as good as gone.
“The rope round Leah’s neck
Shall soon Leah’s life wreck’’:
Give Leah her first chance
For a funny dance
From a climbed stool
Removed as a rule…
Yes, Leah’s first full chance
For a last Quaint Dance…
And I shall advance
Of Course, Mark Evans,
Man of Relevance;
To stretch Leah’s mischance
With grins worse than lance
To wasted Leah raise
And the Devil praise!”
Mark gave his honest Instance
Of the very circumstance
In which men kept their distance
From Next-Door Neighbor Constance
Anchoring it in Mischance,
All Adams to take no chance,
As An Embittered Constance
Had thrice shot three from near distance,
Their mouths gaping in Askance,
Even as their hit bodies did a funny dance …
You mark All Adams, An Embittered Constance
After ill-luck in near distance
Is something to mourn like mischance!
I m sorry I did it in frustration,
When the urge to malice transfer
Was an obsession
And I didn’t remember to with The Sober confer
I haven’t up till now paid for the jeans
You, unauthorized, copied their colour
And thought no good any more of the brown beans
You‘d mimicked their stylish pallor...
And you knew drop you wouldn’t a dime
For the enjoyed wonderful time,
Indeed, you were the sorry victim
And ‘luckless Hit Him’
Of my present sorry finance
And life’s mischance...
A chameleon in, any case, not a nice verse,
For the seeker of acceptance, fame in reverse
Still the shaking out of the Middle East,
Sometimes its carnivals rescheduling or feast’;
An as much engulfing tremor as an earthquake,
A time the normal man there rejects a piece of cake.
Hit targets like Michael Jackson dance,
Witnesses struck dumb by the mischance;
Ripped apart bodies described a free fall,
While answering so early a home call.
As guns sing their rat-tat-tats,
Removed in homage are many hats;
Their nozzles continually obeying fingered triggers,
The meanest blood bath encouraged to linger.
War its appeal loses outside the cinema,
One can’t under a carpet sweep combatants\ dilemma;
A dialogue with the Devil is wisest from far-off distance,
Whoever would forget the Hiroshima instance?
The jihadists’ wars are their passports to paradise,
The ethnics, a rubbishing of tribal ties;
The gulf’s was some guarantee of crude oil,
The Gangsters their macho men’s toil.
The cypress trees at water’s edge hedge an entrance.
We circle senseless, aimless, wheezing from the stench.
We are unprepared for this netherworld mischance,
this lifeless pool without birds where we entrench.
Drawn into the grotto leading to the abode of the dead,
we are alarmed to find the design is quite familiar.
Our handwriting and signatures cannot be misread.
All around our cacotopian creation seems so peculiar.
Dank alleys crowded; COVID corpses decompose.
Back when, we passively handed the reign of power
to a petulant fiendish bully we might not now depose.
His smirking cult spews contempt like a shower.
Meanwhile conspiracy capers cavort clucking tongues,
and we view our nihility specters, seeking our escape.
But this vortex germ befouls the air, attacking our lungs.
Our vertigo fatigue means our breakout can’t take shape.
This is long lost Avernus, the black hole of our making.
Thoughtless, this virus only preys on any for the taking.
Without half-hissed complaint he trudged on
Through many heat-crimsoned sands of fate, Humming sadly uncheering anthems to ease
Countless tripping odds that beset their mate.
Over slowing mounds snow-capped with chill,
He labored on across freezing heights and hill;
Yet not even beyond the homely horizon ahead
Did he espy the rest sought with a biting dread.
Faithful to the ideals in gallant soldiers' creed,
He strove on with unyielding energies and gut;
Equipped with nothing but the reassuring hope
That morn dawn's when all night's terrors shut.
Creepy trails in eerie woods eternize his walks
Into odd lands where spookiest serenity stalks.
Echoing cries devoid of soothing tears well say
Just what awful ills he saw in life's testing way.
Long trek on lone paths with gloom overcast,
Carries on oblivious of all grisly oddities past.
I'm too nervous to resurface,
it's not that I'm worthless
or don't want to work for this,
my motive sits motionless.
Can I bring it to your attention
I need an intervention
to save me from selfish behavior,
a salvation of circumstances
serving me chances to be my own saviour,
challenging this circling hell that prances
unnerving me a certain future
of out of service hope and mischance
where I can't sense my humour.
I'm not stood with hands out
looking for handouts,
I just need that first time wind up
to get the engine ticking
and give reserves corrupt
and vigorous in control of my mind a good kicking.
It's as though I'm not the one that drives
this life I ride,
it's as though I'm not one with any drive,
a life without pride,
but I believe I can once again strive
if I find my stride,
I will breathe and bleed myself alive,
I might be lost but I've not died.
When very young, we blindly may dismiss
Our elders’ admonitions about Time,
Or future grief or pain, for in that bliss
Who recks of illness, death, mischance, or crime?
And in our prime, with life’s distracting needs,
With open, seeing eyes, we still are blind:
We go our ways, and yet, while Time proceeds,
The passing hours are rarely brought to mind.
But when we're spared into our elder years,
We recognize the truth we used to mock:
That whether youth was fraught with joy or tears,
There is no hope of winding back the clock.
Use well the days, because with every breath,
Relentless Time will sweep us all toward death.
My only uncle on the other day,
Was riding on his bike this way.
He was riding in a hurry burry manner,
I don't know what was the matter.
Suddenly his bike skidded over the road,
He fell down laying like a lifeless toad.
A cab driver passing saw my uncle's mischance,
The quadragenarian just spared a glance .
A child who came that way saw the scene,
Came for his help immediately the tween.
He tried lifting the big tall man,
Using all the strength as he can.
My uncle sat on the pavement for sometime,
And the boy gave him some water in the meantime.
After making sure he was fit and fine,
The boy went away like some angel that is divine.
My uncle came home with a small bruise,
And said that the boy must be able to muse;
Everyone older and younger than him,
Though he knew he was too small and slim;
Yet never hesitated to give a helping hand,
Making humanity in this world expand.
11-March-2017
I am a poor tailless cow.
The creator chases away my infesting flies.
I’m clotheless at the prime of the hamarttan
and my only blanket is my feebly tanned skin.
I’m barefoot on the pathful of thorns
and my teardrops reports my miseries to the earth.
I need love and in the midst of mates I go.
I’m trashed with the most painful looks,
and punched with the heaviest words.
My only crony thus remains my mischance.
Every right I’m denied.
And too bitter is my plea to the ears
of the unobliging heads.
My merit is always belittled,
and my promising tomorrow begrudged.
For every good I’m worth I’m sidelined—
that’s why I grow wild!
My fierce eye devoid of their leniency!
My ambition is rent into fragments—
that’s why I bust back so hard!
And in the end I’m felled,
taking my poetic justice.
Paint pots and magic at the stroke of a brush,
it’s the power of a picture for the lovers in lust.
The splashing of water and addition of choice,
it’s a musician’s beat, and the poets to rejoice.
Hungary caterpillars and the ladybugs dance,
it’s nature’s festival and the Devil’s mischance.
The warmth of summer’s night amongst a starry sky,
it’s the sparkle of lanterns drifting up to Shanghai.
The poets and the dreamers smear ink to the page,
it’s lyrical fluidity entwining a white witch’s sage.
The smells and the colours are a carnival of love,
it’s the power of family, drawing joyous tears up above.
Live in these moments and build memories to keep,
it’s time for our picture before we lose it to sleep.
So take my hand as we enter the tent to the light,
it’s an entrance to happiness and it’s just to your right.
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