The grey light of dawn spread softly over the hill,
In the Blue Ridge, fog covered Ashville.
No birds dared fly high above the dark clouds,
The wind blew, and thunder rumbled like shrouds.
Time passed by slowly, the wind felt low.
Only one star twinkled, its lonely foe.
A whisper of grey could not be deprived
Until the soft sun rays lit the sky and light arrived.
The hour held a promise of persistent rain
Until the sky cleared and all was gain.
The listless world woke for its usual chores
And all went hurrying to their overstuffed stores.
at the burnt-out end of night
under a naked
flickering electric light
i worked upon leaving
all the junk
in my overstuffed mind
behind
i guess i must have been spaced-out
that overhead light
on its thin cord
began swinging back and forth
while i listened
to burnt-out thoughts
of a sudden
i understood
that they had never been my thoughts
all that existed
was a listener
when the dawn light entered
that light bulb kept swinging
and flickering
as if it were still thinking
Does this mean much to you,
Force fed at Yuletide too?
Unsure if Jesus meant all this,
Tinsel town of retail bliss,
Beginning to feel like Yuletide,
Snow in Aussie ocean tide,
Swimming and drinking,
What is Santa thinking?
Overfeeding everyone,
Overstuffed games in the sun,
Does Jesus think we're crude?
Groaning, here's more food,
Gimme more gifts and a card,
Graft for Christmas, that's so hard,
No matter who's to blame,
Mega stores feel no shame.
Buy, buy, buy, right away,
Rather ceasefires this festive day,
Despite Bing Crosby, okay
That's what Jesus would really say!
Madame Dollene was Rubenesque
wearing too much rouge
her hat was oversized, overstuffed, over plumed
on anyone else, it would have looked outrageous.
The orange red feather perfectly matched her dress
Kuddos to her hat maker and her dressmaker.
She was the ultimate madame,
Looking every bit the part.
I was glad I was in Paris
To see her, if nothing else
I was fascinated by her attitude
Her steely blue eyes looked through my soul.
She had a strange smile, as if she knew the secrets of the universe.
I was convinced that she did.
Collaboration between: Jack Horne and Sara Kendrick
The elevator's getting full,
but more are stepping in;
I'm in between two gentlemen
and wishing they were thin.
The lift opened on the sixth floor
My mouth agape in shock
There stood twenty grown men crushed in
Ten had hens and no socks
And then appeared a group of girls,
and each had heavy bags.
The doors about to shut again,
I saw a man with flags.
Pressed the close button quickly when
Someone started to sneeze
All those snotty particles flew
I was trapped in the breeze
Oh, no - another sneeze I heard,
and groaned as someone fluffed...
Enough-I'd Walk, despite the steps.
That lift was overstuffed!
Stuffed heads on imposing walls
beady glass eyes, glare.
The house is stuffed with horns,
tusks, fangs, and jowls.
Many a taxidermic glower,
gazes down,
with a moth-farmed visage.
Slaughtered beast
hang heavily from high mounts.
Teddy Roosevelt’s elephant gun
leans against a hollow elephant foot.
On gaslit nights
light gleams upon eyeless tigers.
He ‘bagged’ them all - a manly trait,
(historical context is everything),
truly, great men often display,
their overstuffed ego’s.
Later, Teddy Bears make amends,
as best they can.
Often, It is said,
that these wood-paneled veneers’
echo yet, with the lion's roar,
the panthers rage,
and the rhino's blind charge –
their spirits lunging once more,
toward their now, out-of-date
fate.
Stirring My Tea 12-22-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Amber Balm
Evening settles into an overstuffed ebony chair,
No longer pacing in little anxious circles
Nor scurrying into hollow spaces,
As slivers of silver peek through turbulent
Fists of the morning’s frost
To measure tea leaves
Into a china pot from tea parties
Long ago far away,
And birth in steaming water
The copper kettle’s legacy,
An amber balm from leaves of tumult
As a fragrant salve exhales weariness,
Or celebrates with the smile of the soul,
Then strains away any bitterness
To sip serenity
Bathed in sweet exotic scents,
Remembering to welcome home more cups of tea
When twilight grows weary.
Thanks be given to many things,
To celebrate the cooked bird within.
Humbly beseeching the deserts that be,
Too much for my overstuffed tummy,
Oh, jess!
Leftovers for a week!
What a treat.
No guess,
What next I will eat!
after the rain, wildflowers bend like
wilted men wrapped in age and bliss
fragments of longing and belonging
in wet that sustains a warming world
to bring elation with green fields
in a mission of beauty
daisies poke through tall grasses
picketing the field with star shaped heads
and yellow centre discs
that make the world manageable to hold
gadflies of growth
with white petals plucked by
wooing hands to know
the alignment of love
greenery with life within
overstuffed
drenched hazy
a tangle of vegetation
all of it deflecting woe like voices in a chorus
finding one's self in the mix
June 2023
She had a bit of a problem
Of which she was reluctant to disclose
Her wardrobe was full to overflowing
With a wild array of clothes
She justified this behaviour
By insisting it was cheap stuff
Purchased from the op shops
She couldn't get enough
Because it was so cheap
She'd buy three things instead of one
Her shirts multiplied in dozens
And her dresses by the tonne
The day eventually arrived
The wardrobe door would close no more
The drawers were overstuffed
Things were piled up on the floor
Clearly drastic action was needed
And obviously, without a doubt
This would require some discipline
And red wine to sort it out
Hours later, knackered and dishevelled
She had reduced her clothing stash
She promised never to repeat this mistake
And instead save herself the cash
She staggered to the op shop
Weighed down with bags of gear
But naturally, there was a sale on
And really, she had nothing left to wear...
Where is Selma? I asked her mother.
You won’t believe me.
I might.
Reading in her nest.
I thought her mom meant her bed.
But her bed was empty.
Her mom led me to the den.
Selma was sprawled out, reading her I-pad.
Her body was lounging on top of pillows shaped like eggs
They were reposing on an overstuffed nest.
I thought I was spoiled! I said.
Selma laughed.
Sloth
Languid apathy - idle gifts
Hollow perfume of impotence
Hoards overstuffed bags of blessings
Walks by fallen stars - indolence
7-7-22
Contest: The Sin of Sloth
Sponsor; Margaret Lillico
OLD PRISONER
crusty
trusty
DAVY JONES' LOCKER
deeper
keeper
HOLY COW
divine
bovine
OXYMORON
never
ever
COSTUME MALFUNCTION
hasty
pasty
OVERSTUFFED BRIEFCASE
obese
valise
NINTH PLACE WINNER
Written April 18, 2022
for "A Brian Strand Premier Choice Contest"
sponsored by Brian Strand
Ah, February
You and your groundhog
Torment me, tease me
With the fictitious hoax
Of an early Spring.
Oh, why do I still hope?
Knowing that the cards are dealt
By madmen
In top hats worshiping
A despondent despot
A long nosed, squinty eyed
Overstuffed rodent.
Ah, February
Your shortness conceals
The depth of your coldness
The icy twinge of your sunshine
The hollow sting of your emptiness.
And yet sweet February
We bare our hearts
Carry roses for you
Wax poetic on your behalf
For love is not a season
But a moment in the midst
Of madness.
John G. Lawless
©2/3/2022
eating my spaghetti sandwich
downing my potato pancakes
running through my deluxe taco salad
it is time for bed already
looking for my dessert
longing for my dessert
cannot find my dessert
doggonit if she did not eat my mixed signal dessert
alas! in the overstuffed pantry, hidden behind the hidden, is a box of vanilla protein bars
and she says i do not eat healthy
i read the ingredients
i see the healthy benefits in MY eyes
yep, i can watch the cheaters marathon for night owls
quite a hoot for i who usually has no loot
here she comes
hands on hips
looking beautiful without the makeup
she sits beside me and puts her head on my shoulder
i look at her with the utmost admiration despite her imperfections
she then pinches me, reminding me of the silent hypocrisy
as the third episode of cheaters begins, the journey song sneaks into my mind
you just don't mess up Perfect Imperfection
Forever Hers......Faithfully.......
the food has digested now by cheaters, episode seven
time for bed
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