A ripe body of Adolescence, nuzzled by beauty
on which hair is polished by crystals and sapphire
but lacks in the garrison of virtues and patriotism
becoming blind to the significance of its own felicity.
So gullible is its owner, that Dorian Gray is her preferred suitor,
so false are her choices like bringing Tilapia to Canada to strive.
Protracted human disasters have not altered her Oestrus
yet barren even with the plethora of fertile males
she's an ignorant keeper and owner of a unique talisman
causing a huge surveillance from selfish sugar daddies.
In the midst of her turmoil, she stays ludic
inflicted with so much pain but cry so rhapsodic.
Swimming with the fast in pretentious avocation
entertaining in self deceit, through every dulcet move.
Well formed mouth without a beak and limbs with soft knees;
her metamorphosis should be complete, yet a chrysalis she remains.
A complete turnaround requires an economic Hasidism
for the existing gross mediocrity to be evanescent
then refined existence in juxtaposition between an idyllic present
to a radiant future would be once again fully established.
Categories:
oestrus, education, environment, planet, political,
Form: Epic
Between an egg and the cross
I pause for a beginning
Quite different from my loss
Clean as a new born leaf
From a sprig of God
I am now the fallen sheaf
And he coming like my spring
Bring dead buds to life
From his blood, the saving King
Deters the looming knife
Hoarding everything I kept
The hardened fruit and thickened cell
Separating me from the vine
The fiery colors bore nothing but promised hell
While silvern waters gurgle at my feet
Aloft in the brimstone air
He lifted to cross the oestrus could not dream
The wrenching agony
Or the precarious teetering
The final exultation of his pain
But I love better Sunday morning
The flower coming from his rest
And the hope of the King's returning
The triumph song of the blest
Easter is a twisted story vanishing the day
Frivolous little bunnies and pagan dreams
Of cash registers piled furnace with brimming hay
Let me disengage, a fallen leaf
I am nothing but beauty in the mulch
And yet some leaf grows like wings
Gathering light
And energy, making the flight
Of hope a better resurrection than spring.
by
David Smalling
Categories:
oestrus, faith, religion, hope, me,
Form: Free verse