UNBRIDLED IMAGINATION
disparate
pictorial
devices
with
satire
appended
soon
peter out
consecreting
traditional
byways
randomly
combined
to
open
ingenuity
with
insightful
natural
affinities
UNBRIDLED IMAGINATION
disparate
pictorial
devices
with
satire
appended
soon
peter out
consecreting
traditional
byways
randomly
combined
to
open
ingenuity
with
insightful
natural
affinities
A bewildered alphabet
Struggles
To form words
Its letters tumble
Through the turbulence
Of thought’s tyranny
Syllables scamper sillily
In search of Iambs
Stretching the seams
Of ill-fitted suits
As punctuation ponders its place
Lost in a colonic comma coma
As the meters peter out
Amid the harsh drumming
Of repetitive endings
Thus, do the letters taunt
the free range haunts
of cage free thought
They lean upon their shovels
smoke a Marlborough,
keep away from the mourners,
always shovel ready.
Even the utility hut is hidden yet ready,
it’s back where the graves peter out into headless mounds.
Theirs’s not the burden of loss, nor are they tasked by grief
as the undertaker crew are.
Swift, and professional,
they resist swapping vulgarities until the work is done;
just fill in the coffin-plugged hole,
hum the ‘grave-digging’ song:
“So long you’re almost done.
Ours the winch and lowering straps.
Ours the pork chops for dinner,
Ours this pleasant labor.
Ours the cold beer.
Yours the slow fuse of corruption.
So long,
shovels need cleaning,
the boss is watching
so long,
so long,
so long.”
FAREWELL TO SUMMER
Fall is fast approaching,
And the leaves are turning red,
Ready to flutter to the ground.
Each sunflower droops its weary head.
Warm western breezes peter out;
Eastern currents bring in cooler air;
Light fading earlier each day
Leaves distant memories of Summer’s glare.
Those weeks of skies forever blue,
Our holidays on golden sand.
Strolling bare foot in the dunes,
Unaware of others, hand-in-hand.
Making bonfires on the beach;
Meeting old friends on the shore.
Everything’s a memory now.
Red leaves falling to the floor.
2nd October 2020
Seasonal Acrostic Contest
Sponsor - Edward Ibeh
Alone, this evening,
I see despair and darkness
wrestling in the wind
with these questions:
How much misery do I need
until I say enough?
Why must I still have to stay
instead of sayin' goodbye?
The beer in the gleaming glass
is like bubbling brook,
tempting me to quaff its acrid taste
to let the pain peter out
until my brain feels a brief
oblivion.
Death makes its appearance regularly. They lean upon their shovels
smoke a Marlborough, keep away from the mourners.
Always shovel ready. Even the utility hut is hidden yet ready,
it’s back where the graves peter out into headless mounds.
Theirs’s not the burden of loss, nor are they tasked by grief
as the undertaker crew solemnly do. The best are swift, professional,
they resist swapping vulgarities until work is done;
just fill in the coffin-plugged hole, hum the ‘grave-digging’ song:
“So long you’re almost done.
Ours the winch and lowering straps.
Ours the pork chops for dinner,
Ours this pleasant labor.
All that loved you
want you now be gone.
Ours the cold beer
Yours the slow fuse of corruption.
So long,
shovels need cleaning,
the boss is watching
so long,
so long,
so long”.
O Marvel, Earth’s treasurers, Air and Trees
Hasten poet, bring your imagination, brandish your pen,
initiate your truths, bring your ideals – use oak, elm, and maple.
Poets die natural deaths, flesh deaths, but their words retain life.
Poets leave this earth plane, becoming dust to dust, under acorns.
What remains is all that ever was
All that ever mattered
Their ideas prancing like leaves
Dazzling, spinning heart-shaped missives.
Angels collect our spirits, and we do not hesitate
Traveling rapidly from this plane, heading toward Nirvana
Caring not what or who is left
They do not yet know us
But some will
Because of the parchment we left behind
The scribblings on trees
The acorns of ideas other poets will use to build their oaks
Some will peter out quickly
Others will turn into a magnificent forest
That shows the world what we meant in the first place.
He took flight into the runway setting sun
Knowing he had avoided his last medical
And as the tumor burst
Rendering him comatose
So he couldn't eject
He knew
He would never return
This was an end of duty
But a noble way to die
For a Pilot who was listless without the sky as companion
Better a death in the sky
Than to peter out
In a hospital bed
Surrounded by pity
It's a good day to die
I only wish I had a worthy adversary to battle
Not this falling body of a shell
If I don't kill
Will tear itself apart
Yellow bellowing pain
I seek glory not shame
I hope you understand
This is my doing
My choice
Remember me not as missing
But as with like minded friends
Reminiscing about old times
A Pilots End
Amen
Rise up, Scion of La Mancha.
Destiny orbited all that you were
and encompassed all that you possessed.
Windmills stood ten-fold to the fore
when you readied your lance
and saddled your barn nag.
Its whipped hide and ungulated
hoofs cantering towards betrayal
and unfinished vows.
Your voice was virtuous in timbre
against the manifest threat of cruel
malfeasance that roamed the lands
of bogus hills and rampant mountains
charging towards the crest of your
enlightened honour.
Now, these burning candles about
your casket hold the truth
of your quests until, like you,
they peter out and die.
And then, recitations of your Quixotic
trials shall be cleaved from history.
Such is the eye of irony that wrests
away your conquests.
So, rise up Scion of La Mancha and challenge
the lies. Ride abroad with purpose once more.
Or lay where you rest and let time become
a biased judge to your well laid intentions.
The poems have been flowing like a river
Must take advantage while it happens
I think they say, “while the iron is hot!”
Other very familiar idioms like...
“A bigger bang for your buck” sure has sexual overtones
“Take the bit between your teeth”
Again, do they all have sexual overtones or is it me???
“Tail wagging the dog” uh-huh
How about, “Wet behind the ears!”
Sounds like someone has been keeping their tongue busy
I like, “Peter out”
Now if that doesn't conjure up an image
“Wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole”
YIKES!!! I wish!
“A hard man is good to find!”
LOL! Nothing to add here!
“Make a clean breast of things!”
No explanation necessary here either!
“Middle for diddle”
Now this one should be at the top of the list
“Caught by the short curlies”
OUCH!!!
One last one...
“Keep it under your hat”
WOW! Now I'd sure like to see that!!!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Friendship such a precious thing
Someone to stand by on your wing
A giver of all and good times to bring
Oh it is such a wonderful thing
But oh love eludes me still
A hole in my heart nothing can fill
A friendship gained that sadly will
Peter out to an absolute nill
The tears will soon begin to fall
My life will hit another brick wall
My heart will for another call
Please oh please break my fall
But alone in this world I must stand
In this harsh and desolate land
A dusty city that's completely bland
And in it I chair the loneliness band
Written by Gail DeBole
Phillip Buster could fluster a room -
Full of men whose anger ballooned
When came his turn to speak,
Congress snored for a week,
All dreaming he'd peter out soon.
Note: Illustrated in Coloring within the Limericks available on Amazon.com and other retail websites.
Gail's note: Filibuster - Type of parliamentary procedure.
Right of the individual to extend debate allowing the lone
member to delay or prevent a vote on a proposal. -Wikipedia
The flames in the pit
peter out compared with
true distaff disdain
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