A well of knowledge we're not privy to
The Atheist fills with ridicule
Construing God as something else
While their Spirit longs to find Him
Their common sense; so critical
An insult to demand proof
Yet Jesus traced His scars with Thomas
Are we again to crucify Him?
Some allotments have been Biblical
By no means limited to
If all our hopes in Him turn true
Is that not more then words could do?
My phone a private gadget
Sweetheart-
My dress a private garment
Sweetheart-
My weave a private attire
Sweetheart-
My Sop a private program
My roam private trekking
Dear-
My wallet a poach in heart
Lover-
My calls meetings in camera
Baby-
My texts unpublished docs
My utmost toast -
All of this belongs to you
Except what I've said not
This wrist dear you for
This private your public lot
Sweetheart-
I love you a lot
Limerick : Once a Privy Counsellor at Lord’s
Once a Privy Counsellor at Lord’s*
Watched a bowler* throw balls like gourds
Convened judicial com.*
Summoned bowler to come
And sentenced him to eat bitter gourds.
Lord’s : The Mecca of cricket grounds in London
where the Marylebone Cricket Club has
its seat.
bowler : The player who lances the ball at the
batsman ; yet during the act the elbow
must not be bent – at the risk of being
called by the Umpire a « no ball « , that is,
even if the ball hits the wickets and the
bails are dislodged, the batsman is not
given « out.».
*Judicial Com(mittee) of the Privy Council, the highest
Court of Appeal in England (and the former
British territories) until the Supreme
Court was set up in 2010 to hear some appeals.
The Privy Counsellor/Councillor
is a Member of the House of Lords and a judge.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
If you pull on her leg slightly lifting her skirt;
She’ll consistently remind you that you could get hurt.
She claims she’s short on attention just like a cat;
So best throw out some tricks from under your hat.
She’s an angel of mercy familiar with pain;
With the skill of a mystic that dismantles your game.
To performers as victim broken of heart;
She’s the carver of excess that could cut you apart.
She’s good and she’s bad and stays to herself;
But she keeps her binoculars there on the shelf.
He’s layered and sweetened salted with nuts;
With a curse that’s forever much like king tut.
A piece of him cares most of him don’t;
And it looks like she might but he knows that she won’t.
It’s all just diversion a genderless klatch;
Perhaps but a race that the Talley man scratched
Privy, the potty place, putrid and purple,
Peeling paint is not appealing,
Plaster, patch and prime,
Purchase pail of paint,
Paint the privy.
Primrose…
Pretty!
So here's a who's who is the Zoo,
Sue the snake petter, that's who,
She was hugged by the Boa Constrictor,
Who could eat her but only licked her,
And scared it out of her in the loo.
For Linda-Marie's Zany Zoo contest.
The path was worn from traffic seen,
From accommodating those with need to tread.
Upon it's borders, lay thick padded leaves,
Spilling to the path, leaving it, as soft bread.
Bare feet used this path, unannounced,
As a turkey trots, never at a slow gait.
Little ones never allowed enough time,
And would yell to mother, hurry, I can't wait.
A house, It's start, and It's end a "privy",
The path, stretched forth, for each the same.
While not sure of It's destination,
It seemed to know each child by name.
Heart pangs
Beats skip
As breaths become irregular
Calm resends to foreboding fear
While emotions are sorted and maintained deep within the core
Will all this continue?
Will ways merge and move in time?
Or, will they continue on the bipolar orgy of confusion, lies, and regret?
With fears increasing
While ways become more severed than the ones before.
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