Soon, they shall flood matters channel
To the formed five-man panel:
East Town's urgent need of good spade
That shall into big waters wade
And arrange useful bridge,
As one drowns and next is the fridge.
East's Generator to suck flood
Like mosquitoes would sleepers' blood
No Government's fast attention,
A sad picture's odd retention
Yes, pavements, too, at the junctions
Waters there need interruptions...
East's flood zones to face big tunnels
Or if you wish Trillion funnels
Before awarding you their prize,
They look at your size;
Not at how smart,
Soon, ordering you “To your feet rise”.
And watching how this tenses you up
Or keeps shaking your handed tea cup
Or your tolerance tries
Or up you blood cells dries
Or your flesh, not unlike chicken’s, fries
Next, ordering you to on them fasten your eyes
Leaving you to keep battling with all the possible ‘whys’
Before finally providing their lies!
Criteria of a kind
By a panel still far behind.
I can feel the different shades dancing inside my body. Darkness bows and lets brightness take the lead. They tease each other in a game of cat and mouse. Brightness often wins but darkness never makes me forget his presence. It demands to be felt, even on the clearest of all summer days. One drop can be enough to plant a seed, the more I feed it, the more it grows. It crawls up, but the light remains, standing strong and tall, in search for a ray of sun to make it bloom again.
They are vain, quarrelsome men
Bloated, opinionated,
Untidy, men cosseted
By the academic life,
The literary life—smug,
Tell you what authors are in
Or out. They know best—of course.
One wooden panel
Scraped from its ivory case---
I recall Grandma’s doorway
Leading us to our ranch,
Where young feet mounted wild horses.
This ancestral home,
Now broken by time’s onslaught
Oh years filled with fresh grassland
Rolling on memories---
While old panel, stands on my hall.
Manny Paras...14
Excuse, may I perhaps suggest that you adjust your settings
Access my local area network by rebooting your memory
Restore it to our history, the mail, the messages we shared
The cache of stored work temporarily filed away remotely
Technically challenged by the format you display
Data of no gateways or connections in sync
Prompts the recalibration of my control panel
To search and review my settings reboot or even restore
Closing all windows and formatting firewalls
erasing the data, the history and their locations
troubleshooting the back pages encrypted
with messages no longer managed or stored
This media of you remains pasted on a clipboard
Components that await configuration and review
Left to their own devices by default in my domain
Downloaded, bookmarked in favourite library files
I delete all prompts and search settings and all tools
Inheriting only drivers generic and with false attributes
I apply these settings, I delete the data sources
Denying permission to any external links of you.
I sat before that panel,
some half my age,
that didn't know a tenth,
of what I do,
that I thought had the power
to change my life and
I barked,
and drooled,
and rolled over,
and jumped through hoops,
and licked butt,
and played dead,
and chased my own tail,
and preened, cutely,
and even scratched a few fleas.
I did as an old dog would,
that was tired of being kicked,
and starved, and tempted,
by his master,
and who had forgotten,
that he still had teeth,
and still could
run away.