When dining with he who calls the tune
remember to pull your punches
don't bite the hand that feeds you
if you know where your lunch is
discretion is the better part of valour
when you want your meal and eat it too
best not upset the apple cart
if you want it handed on a plate to you
and don't forget to butter your bread
on both sides ere you begin to sup
as should you drop it on the floor
it will always land butter-side up
The earth requires it there.
The poets do not like the lyrics.
As the tsunami approaches the lands
The poem integrates without a solution.
As the summit talks upheld information
Global warming, tariff continues debating:
China not backing down, and we, the poets
Surprisingly asking what’s next?
A poem like this doesn’t comprehend
That earth requires it there,
Make it make sense, this Tariff war
About percentages, or principles of humanity
Make it make sense, make it a kind world
Make it turn water into red wine,
Make them say, “We are for the small people,
And not the profit holder’s fat wallets,
Make the world spin like a Bitcoin machine:
The more money there goes a burden of responsibilities there:
He who pay the Pied piper call the tunes:
,
I just want to live while I am alive,
I want you to get me out of this witless dive,
I want to drive through my memories,
You are not my subservient appetite.
I want to read you until you are alive,
I want to listen to you until you no longer share your archive,
You are nowhere near my quibbles,
And I am nothing but a mere turmoil.
The troubles you want to concise,
Doesn't make you anything near wise,
To make the conversation even smarter,
To not recognise your own voice like a shrewd pied piper.
The highway Life is full of marginalised sins,
The driver is the only witness by any means,
The nightlife cannot be reversed,
Now, you are never going to be nurtured.
I am drowning in the night,
You are running out of time,
You love to hide your loneliest crimes,
I love to be destroyed in my prime.
Threats of blood baths easily roil
Cult members whose sentiments boil
Devotees tribal
Shall get D.T.’s bible
Soiled with drizzles of snake oil
The soup has a shortage of ads
Let’s call for more saying egads!
While they interfere
With the reason we’re here
We'll learn about doodads and fads
At the crossroads
The bald old man
With his gray stricken beards
Caressed his antiquated flute
Perching on his cracked dehydrated lips
With his spindly fingers
As he nonchalantly reeled out his tunes
He started with the beautiful tune
Of the defiant bed bug mercilessly bearing down on the torso
As in a depraved Mamba choke hold
On it's gasping victim
Next was the leaching lice
Digging, sinking and sucking deeper
Into it's anemic victim
Then he played ringing in the ears
From renegade mosquitos
Next was a nation, it's people and politics of bitterness
Then he played a reclusive and resigned generation
Deserves the leaders they are saddled with
Next was the tune of the city called Sodom
Then he played the tune of "oh king pharaoh let my people go"
Finally, he graduated to the grand tune of: "he who fails to plan, plans to fail."
If I have rhyme, If i have reason, but where do i say ?
All the land screams, "keep it out of our bay" !
Hypocrisy is holy, sermons are hyper,
Every land is Hamelin but there is no pied piper.
(11.08.2023)
Not pied but a piper of a different sort,
Partakers tend to frequent cuff and court.
He seldom leads prefers to follow,
Decorates flesh while insides hollow.
And slowly lets his ways go shady,
And lowers bar on choice of lady.
Will blame the Mayor and Council Board,
As if actions be not of his own accord.
Why all’d be in his favor if only not
For that darned raw deal that he got!
Plus ‘cause of him and also her
For was them that made it all occur.
“The unfairness! Those in cahoots!”
Falling on deaf ears; points are moot.
Child throws tantrums, teens rebel,
Twenties, thirties, gone to Hell.
Not of Hamelin or setting exotic,
Just the state of confusion, the city
psychotic.
He’s Mr Hyde the pied piper cat
He plays a flute and know where it’s at
His melody is roaring, exotic and phat.
We mice dance to his music, he’s our acrobat!
I wanted to warn my cousin slim.
I had seen cats before who acted like him.
But my cousin was content, and so was I
The day I got mesmerized when I wandered by.
Pipe me a tune I can dance to
Or play a lament, as of old.
And pipe you a song
Serenely and strong
For then, I will pay you in gold.
Pipe, at the early of morning
Just as the sun forces through.
Then stand you alone
And quaver your tone
For a sovereign, I'll offer to you.
Pipe, at the lull of the evening,
Play you the sweetest refrain.
As darkness is cast
You pipe you your last
For I shall not pay you again.
She is the pied piper of the floral world.
Flowers gravitate to her day and night.
They travel for miles to latch onto her dress.
She never slows down for them, but they catch up.
She is a magnet for roses, daisies, dandelions and lilies.
Lilly of the Valley is not fast enough to catch up.
It's time to pay the piper and to realise no one wins,
As you face the consequences for your many mortal sins,
As you stand to face your judgement, and the scales of justice weighed,
As you rise to hear the verdict, I'm quite sure that you're afraid,
But it's time to pay the piper and there's nothing you can do,
If you're wondering how I know so much, I paid the piper too,
For my many self indulgences I frequently embraced,
And the payment it was high when consequences they were faced,
But there's nothing that is surer for his rules must be obeyed,
And eternal's his damnation if the piper goes unpaid.
piper’s heart is full of joy
he scampers the water with joy
the brook gurgles a woodland greeting
balmy light wind twinkles leaves
they frolic in a lively happy way
the day is light, the minnows are dashing
piper scoops up some cool water and takes a drink
his hands are cold now, but worth it
there is a cough. He knows what it means.
He searches, but the woods are a great concealer.
He smiles as he glimpses the tiny white tail
of the deer as she bounds over a thicket
Paying The Piper
By: Tom
1/26/2021
In my twenties, when woken, I felt juiced,
long before age started plowing my field.
Now, I’ve sleepless nights, most pain induced,
and four hours sleep is a good nights yield.
When in my twenties,
I’d work all day and howl most nights,
thinking who needs sleep, I’ll sleep when I’m old.
Now I spend time reviewing those highlights,
thinking perhaps my twenties were too bold.
Now in my eighties,
I lack sleep, due to my pain’s after effects,
derived from those “twenties” nights of howling.
I don’t have to guess about what comes next,
when I wake up and my face is scowling.
an economic an'a-list of things recorded
that t-rump-issed on the economic wall-street
....to play the orchestrated dis-chord movements
in 'bank-erupts foreclosure' symphonic music creations....
of a hollywood background moaner and groaner opera
sounding notes of a knotty volunteer financial fall guy
living off a billion dollar bank credit card
that's now been cancelled being that everything ends
stan sand
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