Omniflage honchos disguise what they are.
An entourage won't arrive in electric cars.
The soul of our country is divided by scars.
Spun Mirage Verbiage from Decoupage stars.
Lumberhead puppets splinter society.
Knowing they subvert morality.
Playing truth or dare with frivolity.
Wholly exposing their dishonesty.
The leaders of free speech.
Alas, whose speech indeed.
When truth is viewed as crime.
In the Abyss of Lies.
A glamourous madame.
Prattled much Pablum.
Many feel she's plum out of charm.
Mirage Verbiage from these Decoupage Stars.
There was once a lady named Babs Bower
Who lived 'cross town on a street called Tower
She could talk you to death
Not coming up for breath
Gabbed with gusts up to ninety miles per hour
In a serpentine like arabesque line entwined in her green eyes
Earful of stories engraved under the skin
Unseen, rather fairly thin!
As we prattled along that summer evening prolong
All the pleasances flanked vigorously down the spine
When it sunk into the linen I was obliged to align.
Gladly the offer to cherish stood
Firm, as a grip on her hip,
And the preparedness that stimulated tenderness
As I have been asked to be kind
With the conventional approach from behind.
Smile, and I touched the bare flesh
Averred to embrace her with discretion
As one would the finest eglantine
A finger deep into the bloodline
After which the green eyes - shine.
Their elan and their eclat only made my ennui bloom
It made me long, made me yearn for the womb or tomb
When given carte blanche by the dilettante masses
I found my creative spirit to be lacking true passions
I pined to be a paradoxical paragon, a peculiar paradigm,
An anomaly in the cacophony, not a soldier in peacetime
I had a feeling of deja vu while they bantered and prattled
In the baroque anteroom I was illuminated yet addled
To be avant-garde, nay, prototypical, I must make them look inside
To see the truth, to eschew the ersatz, to embrace what's bona fide
In an attempt to establish an uncertain linkage between 2 parables,
Ivo Torena resorted to impress his colleagues all night long; hence,
awkward as a cow on a crutch, he was cowed into pilfering bananas,
and when he was caught red-handed by the deputy, his eyes showed
no response even though his arteries were friendly. Thus, a series of
tribulations took place inside his troubled mind for outlandish
reasons, and his whereabouts were commended by one of the top
enemies of the state: The twerp from Antwerp. On a serious note,
a cabal of notorious hotshots devised an agenda to unnerve Ivo
until the cow comes home. Still and all, Torena has a truly unique
composure, unlike the belligerent Belgian, and his mannerisms
can't be reciprocated with ease. Furthermore, the notoriety with
which he prattled and sprattled was momentous! His uneventful
birth can't hold a candle to any cinematographic invention although
his water bottle company is a candle in the wind and the pieces
begin to assemble duly without second thoughts whatsoever.
Whispers as the trees gently swayed,
Each leaf having their own story to tell,
Millions of voices quietly Jabbering,
Incomprehensible to human ears
They prattled to each other,
Sometimes as people walked by,
They would rustle their leaves,
As to draw attention,
Seemingly very interested,
People often got scared,
Looking all around as they hurried away,
Thinking they were been followed,
The leaves would stop talking for awhile,
Then continue as the people speeded up,
Constantly chuntering none stop,
Other times people were braver,
Camped in tents to investigate,
With their tape recorders,
Trying to listen to the strange noises,
It didn’t bother the leaves,
They got more excited as the wind blew,
The more remote the woods,
The louder they got,
It was like they were been orchestrated,
Putting on a performance,
By the winds arrangement,
People not understanding,
Their ghostly like nature,
Of keeping nature free.
16/09/2016
I walked into the hardware store,
A place I’d never been before,
And knew that I would surely find
Exactly what I’d had in mind.
The narrow aisles were like a maze
Which led to crowded wall displays.
The owner, deep in heavy schmoozing,*
Left me to my own perusing.
Finally, I earned a glance
And asked him if he had, perchance,
A drainage trap or some such thing
To catch a slipped-off wedding ring.
He pointed to a set of shelves
(I guess we had to help ourselves)
And then went back into his chat,
Not budging from the place he sat.
The whole time I was on my search
He prattled from his counter perch,
Not caring if I would prevail
Or even if he’d make a sale.
I found my prize, he named a price
And handed me my merchandise.
His goodbye smile said, “Good for you!
You found it, like I knew you’d do!”
*conversing
Fool an i
we lay so incredulously
In a love....
That it seems our sorrows rest in mind
and all is enabled,
now we able,
to weave mesh of this light as we bind...
seemingly caught up in webs of time.
But stood it may
like a shadow
was the thoughts that attest between us..
how uncouth the prattled battle lay,
all it consumes,
as it presumes ,
to arrest and attest for our lives...
keeping us caught up in lies 'till we die.
I met a man -
one could hardly deem old.
His smile was warm, yet
his hands were quite cold.
I asked the gentleman:
“Do you remember my name?”
I queried the chap:
"Do you know why I came?"
I solemnly wondered
if this tranquil soul heard.
Again, the man beamed;
speaking nary a word.
I harkened his heart
'bout my wares as a child -
the man calmly listened;
he comfortably smiled.
I prattled on
'bout my debonair Dad -
how I truly valued
the cherished moments we shared.
Private passioned spirits
rivaling a deity's gold.
Handel's honored messiahs
chanting secret fables untold.
I asked the quiet nobleman:
"Can a son's tears be reposed?”
My Father simply smiled as
his maple-casket lid -
closed.
And The Rose Said This To Me...
by Rick Rucker
I was talking to the Rose I held in my hand,
A long-stemmed red Rose, perhaps the fairest in the Land,
You see, I was a bashful guy, who really never knew,
'Bout the Power of the Rose, and the things that it could do.
I poured my Heart out, there were Tears involved,
I had serious issues, many of them unresolved.
As I prattled on, trying to talk, not whine,
I told the Rose, it took a tragedy, for me to grow a spine!
I went on and on, 'til something I detected,
The Rose was talking back to me, wholly unexpected!
The Rose offered to help me, like it had for others too,
If I would give a lovely Rose to Someone just like You,
That I would be rewarded by a big old juicy kiss,
Finally, The Red Rose also told me this,
In order to not Build your House of Love on shaky sand,
Never meet Your Love without a red Rose in your Hand!
This man was there when I breathed first life,
This man was there when I took my first steps,
This man was there when I ate my first staple meal,
This man was there when I walked from a crawl,
This man was there when I prattled from an incoherent gurgle,
This man was there when I got my first spell of education,
This man watched me grow from child to woman,
This man was forced to as I was his seed and social care,
This man was a greedy man,
This man was a lecherous man,
This man was an antithesis of society,
I discovered as a woman,
He broke norms and more norms of society,
saw me as woman and not as a responsibility,
He broke faith of my other half creator,
He broke my faith,
from faith to faith,
he broke,day in day out,
now I sit sullen depressed and quiet,
with a belly thats swollen,
with the seed of the seed,
with my mother do I compete.
why oh why'd I have to be a cowboy
Riding on the range like Roy and Gene
Singing in the saddle with their guitars
Strumming to the humming
Of the sons of pioneers
Young boys were shooting rustlers too
Even now the memory lingers
Despite the long forgotten years
Imagined six guns spun on fingers
Blowing smoke and smiling through
Poorer times with held back tears
Thirty years of working still don't have a single dime
No such thing as overtime
Dark t' dark is normal every week has seven days
Watching dawn awake the sky With fresh coffee and new day
I see the answer to the why I live the cowboy way
Digging ponds and mending fence Is just a bit of self defense
from City life and hassle seen Driving truck and smelling gasoline
These boots wa'nt made for walkin'much
These lips aint ever prattled such
Both old and cracked and losing touch
But comfortable tight
Wasted words so seldom heard
Cep' maybe by the herd
Golden chrysanthemums littered the frozen ground,
fading grasslands stretched towards the horizon,
rain sifted through the apple trees,
a mournful cuckoo lamented the dying spring.
I leaned over the ornate balustrade,
a thousand memories filled my heart,
the glistening river painted her face,
gusty breezes brought her enthralling fragrance.
The shadows of sunset gathered around me,
nostalgic thoughts rippled through my mind;
rain drops prattled on the lonely road;
I scanned the road awaiting her return.
An empty wine jug shattered the silence,
the cruel darkness swallowed the past;
I again found myself drunk and alone,
in the flickering glow of a blurred candle.