My poetry i sight
for the pleasure it provides,
I compare it to a
toast with honey,
a glass of orangeade
a hot chocolate
on most cold day...
Same as the life
só meso bitter ,
meso sweet...however
agreeable as clear water
for Chinese tea... !...
The Paratrooper
I was falling through the air couldn’t see a thing, opened up
my big black umbrella and descended in an orderly fashion.
A scythe of a moon gave enough light so I could see the coastline
and the dark, menacing sea just waiting to fill my lung with water.
By manipulating the umbrella`s ribs, I landed safely on the beach,
folded the collapsible and got away as foam and horrid sea tried to
drag me under. To get home I had to walk through a monocultural
nightmare of pop music, endless Fado, and orange trees the bore
nothing, but yellow fruit no one bothers to pick up as the land
is drowning in sticky juice and no gin. Anyway, supermarkets sold
virtual orangeade. I was walking uphill now, downhill too, but
mostly uphill. From a hilltop, I could see my cottage; noticed the yard
light was still on and hear the desultory din of an aeroplane circling
looking for a lost passenger
Antiquarian classic lovers embrace
Orangeade silken light, circles around his place
Romantic satin in black lace, gifts bestowed to thee
Delicate ruffed red confection eyes, he showed me
Dignified I was dressed in Velveeta and chrisom shoes
I held soft black satin purse, white cape, blue trimmed lace
Shimmery in candy red heels, freshwater pearl adorn my face
Lacey corset jacket , ruffled Nostalgic demure Raspberry pantaloons
I wore on my wedding day, Myriad silvery beads
My Grecian gown scattered about the bodice, angels feathers
Scalloped hems, Ivory slip, his kiss twinflames
My face adorn with chiffon pink lace
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