God wears the bling,
Its a constitution ting,
King Chazza going to fix it,
Give the corgis their biscuits,
Now he's got the crown
He can turn that frown upside down,
There's no way his Regal reign
Will get washed down the drain
The Patri, mono and hier archies
Rely too much on his malarkeyGod wears the bling,
Its a constitution ting,
King Chazza going to fix it,
Give the corgis their biscuits,
Now he's got the crown
He can turn that frown upside down,
There's no way his Regal reign
Will get washed down the drain
The Patri, mono and hier archies
Rely too much on his malarkey
To dazzle the curious populace
That might wonder if now its the time and place
To shed the over familiar embrace
Of a pale, stale, overripe monarchy
The media's wet dream fantasy
Filling front pages with hyper hysteria,
'Did Andrew deflower a teenager under the wisteria...?'
What will it take for everyone to see,
He's no emperor and, without clothes on
He's as naked as you and me....
Yesterday we complained over, familiar routine
We longed for a break from the American dream
But things have, since, changed
The world rearranged
Now complaining to walls, about life, quarantined
Quarantine poem
3/31/2020
Sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Spellbound by their power
Hour after hour
Ding-dong-ding
Chime the bells in the library tower
Leaning back in my worn armchair
Whisked far away in the air
Thrilling to adventurous fare
On pages of magic, thick and square
Brave knights, fair damsels
Fire-breathing dragons
Invite me to join them
For a ride in their timeless wagons
Driven by gaunt, headless coachmen
Over familiar roads often taken
Whipping their horses to frenzy
As my tired eyes now are aching...
The weighty tome has slipped to the floor
Whilst I've nodded off to slumber
Ding-dong-ding chime the library bells
With each passing hour's number
SPEED – JOURNAL XII
It’s hard to keep up
The world is
changing so fast
On the news, fast
talkers
We ancients need
motorized walkers
What once was
considered speed
reading
has,
apparently, become
the norm
Eyes travel slowly
over familiar
phrases
These trigger
memories, disturb
concentration
Lines disappear
prematurely
Fiction-wise, there
are, for us
experienced sages,
no new plots
Even the variations
are multi=traveled
All interest fades
in a fetid pool of
boredom
Film producers are
wise to the
over-taxed plot
And try to stimulate
public interest with
fast-
moving, noisy,
violence
Which manages to
lack any sort of
sensible
organization
No, all is chaos, at
least to us old
timer’s tastes
In these last few I
shall try to harvest
those few
inner moments
Which stir a sort of
over all activity
This I call
faking-oneself-out
bedouin camel
plods over familiar grains
bearing rich cargo
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