masterpieces wings
hidden treasure of beauty
neat black Popinjay
don’t call me a popinjay
makes me want to hop away
an insult every time said May
her face squished up all mean and gray
He was a fop, a weirdy cat, a popinjay
foolish, ridiculous, cheeky and brash
we landed on a big secret one day
he can be bought off with a bit of cash
at family events, he annoys others
paid to leave us alone by me and my brothers.
Why isn’t you dad coming around? Asked our mother.
“I have no idea,” lied one of my brothers.
The vibrant popinjay has gone.' The harlequin no more really
Spins in song.' The magic's now all in a can.' Younger female backers
Parry times looming advance plan..' The age'd icon takes his glances
Across the acres, of yearning souls in hopefull trances..Parody banners they lie.' beneath sultry skies.' Echo the effigy of the past, See it burned in the mans eyes.'
Actions Describe.' Writ large the irony of life.' Youth has
Flown.' All hail its ghost, Ronnie strums, the speakers hum.'
Geri-acrity...Fumbles combinations and with alacrity..' 0yet theres really not one chance.' No way back.' All I see is false hope.' Rod Stewart is a husk.' Not yet voiceless.' Nor danceless yet
Its the back end, of the romance.!
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her skin's mahogany, not regal white.
She slaps on paints and fillers by the ton,
and has the dress sense of an anchorite.
Fastidious? Only in her brand of beer.
Brash burger joints are where she likes to dine.
She'd rather look at Fonzie than Vermeer:
thinks maybe vampires dwell in Wittgenstein.
It's Oprah Winfrey over Orson Welles,
and Justin Bieber beats Thelonius Monk:
she'll read "Hello!" before the Book of Kells,
and Chateau Margaux's just for getting drunk.
A fiery, funny, perky popinjay?
I wouldn't have her any other way.
He was a fop, a fool, a popinjay
Man-about-town, too cute and gay
A fashion plate, a cavalier blade
His arrogance riveled an oak’s tree shade
Pompous Popinjay Politicians
Parlay Parade Practical
Pizzaz Potions,
Priming Us To Sheep.
Pompous city dwellers,
pretentious rock doves now
parade around like a
popinjay or fancy
peacock, and yet, they're not
persnickety poopers:
pooping on everything.
Iran ousted the Shah's tyranny,
backing a Muslim theocracy.
And hate crushed any hope of freedom,
for fear, demonized democracy.
Now, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei
touts faith with a political twist.
An old popinjay stuck in the past,
he rules the land with an iron fist.
Don't accept religious slavery,
shout "Allah O Akbar!" from your roof.
And never forget those who were killed;
executed for crimes without proof.
Moussavi wants to be President,
stoking rage in the youth of Iran.
Neda's death is his rallying cry,
calling for the rights of every man.
Marchers, led by courageous women,
helped turn a trickle into a flood.
And history will remember them
as martyrs, willing to spill their blood.
(Quatrain)
7/10/2018
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her skin's mahogany, not regal white.
She slaps on paints and fillers by the ton,
and has the dress sense of an anchorite.
Fastidious? Only in her brand of beer.
Brash burger joints are where she likes to dine.
She'd rather look at Fonzie than Vermeer:
thinks maybe vampires dwell in Wittgenstein.
It's Oprah Winfrey over Orson Welles,
and Justin Bieber beats Thelonius Monk:
she'll read "Hello!" before the Book of Kells,
and Chateau Margaux's just for getting drunk.
A fiery, funny, perky popinjay?
I wouldn't have her any other way.
...inspired by 'To The President-Elect' by Joseph Brodsky
You've reached the pinnacle of fame
where double-speak's a daily game,
so many words, so little meaning,
popinjay, so skilled at preening.
Posing for a photo-op
your perfect hair a puissant crop,
your perfect smile, a frozen glare
which fools the foolish everywhere.
Demagoguery designed
to derogate the keener mind,
a smile may hide what lies behind
and mark the downfall of your kind.
You've reached the pinnacle of fame
where double-speak's a daily game,
so many words, so little meaning,
popinjay, so skilled at preening.
Posing for a photo-op
your perfect hair a puissant crop,
your perfect smile, a frozen glare
which fools the foolish everywhere.
Demagoguery's designed
to derogate the keener mind,
a smile will hide what lies behind
to mark the downfall of your kind.
A hen meets a duck and joins a hunt. Wow. Wisdom flavours of ancient waters. Lingering laughing llamas lounging. Traditionalists glow and grow from packs of geese, swarms of sausages and packs of noodles. All bundled then. Good. Get on the correct train and pronounce bee with the correct annotation dressed in a yellow suit. Buzzing busy business booming. And flour flourishing. And a tempest of a trailer is not a temper or a template. Ok. Wailing a wall walking a water. Milking a flower bud. Making a straw cake. And adjusting the heat of a calendar. Calibrating with 1000 fried rice bowls, 90 giggling saucepans and a piteous fish fork glowering triumphantly on a mahogany table. Oh look the patterned tea cups are journeying on that space shuttle. Ambiguous amphibian arguing with architecture is archived. And a stirring of a pan of cheese sauce is very very imaginative and animated. Hahahaha a broom sailing hahahaha popinjay popping. *** circumstantially z
You've reached the pinnacle of fame
where double-speak's the daily game,
so many words, so little meaning,
popinjay, so skilled at preening.
Posing for a photo-op,
your perfect hair a puissant crop,
your perfect smile a sickly stare
which fools the foolish everywhere.
Demagoguery designed
to derogate the keener mind,
a smile will hide what lurks behind
the gross deceptions of your kind.
...inspired by 'To The President-Elect' by Joseph Brodsky
You've reached the pinnacle of fame
where double-speak's a daily game,
so many words, so little meaning,
popinjay, so skilled at preening.
Posing for a photo-op
your perfect hair a puissant crop,
your perfect smile, a frozen glare
which fools the foolish everywhere.
Demagoguery designed
to derogate the keener mind,
a smile may hide what lies behind
but mark the downfall of your kind.
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