A tall gothic black, steampunk top hat,
Hung from a hook by her bed,
Hung in the gloom, of her velvet black room,
After spending the day on her head,
And it was covered in gears from a motorised clock,
Goggles, a strap, and a feather,
Made with a fantastic Victorian design,
Made out of a toughened black leather,
This beautiful hat, matched her lifestyle of free,
She knew her hat was admired,
She knew her black hat held a powerful seat,
She knew her black hat had inspired,
Many folks bored with modern designs,
Her hat had a certain appeal,
It appealed against indifferent cyber filled space,
It appealed to asymmetrical real.
Categories:
motorised, beautiful, beauty, fantasy, fashion,
Form: Quatrain
If I was to be avoided, it should be like the plague.
Many things in life are done by half measures,
half heartedly and half arsed.
If I was, let's say for arguments sake, homosexual,
I would definitely wish to be flamboyant and raging,
not just a little bit of a fruit.
If I was a motorised vehicle, because car is not correct,
I would not wish to have any blank dash spaces.
I need all the buttons to function.
If I was a human being, I do try hard to be,
I would reach out to others and stroke their heads,
that is after all where the driver sits.
Categories:
motorised, philosophy,
Form: I do not know?
Summer market is crowded,
I shall not be found missing.
Nothing like withered leaves
Or disappearing winter birds
But angels in swimming trunks
Pressing men to praise the posh.
In the shinning summer sun,
I shall ignite my motorised Ferrari bike,
Take a cruising ride to the countryside;
Visiting the burgs , the gladiators' square,
And the tombs of the great that ever be.
I shall return in my outboard boat
With wine and flesh for bar-be-cue
And spread my mat by the river side
Upon the well trimmed bermuda grass.
You shall know me when I return;
Sweet Summer Sun shall be my tent.
Jan 4,2015.
Categories:
motorised, seasons, summer,
Form: Verse
His dreams of buttered toast and trains became
Beleaguered by town-planners and architectural sharks
Who erected on his green and pleasant visions
The blight of sunless tower blocks and concrete parks.
Once bicycles and potting sheds held blissful sway
In country lanes and gardens swarmed with bloom,
Replaced by streams of motorised invaders,
In place of lawns - hot tubs and decking loom.
His chronicles of defiance ring like warning bells from
Small quaint churches in his rhyming pages,
Across the village greens and through the cobbled streets
Down the passages of post colonial ages.
The words of such gentility and slowly dying culture,
Sandwiches of cucumber and egg and cress for tea,
Earl Grey poured from china pots, sugar lumps in silver bowls,
Croquet hoops and endless sun and sweet austerity.
That world, though semi-fabled, seems ever more unreal,
And images he drew upon are all that now remains,
To teach us of a man who lived and then outlived his time
With his marvelled dreams of buttered toast and trains.
Categories:
motorised, history, loss, nostalgia, on
Form: Verse