quellulent quotatudes
quantify quirky, quiet
qualitative quibbling
quailing questionnaires.
Choking, churning dense river of clouds.
Vengeful, raging, wrathful airspace,
where seraphs and cherubs are murdered,
where cold torrential demons are unleashed.
Dank deep noons and nights interbreed,
incestuous and quailing, unholy waters
wailing, exploding, spilling specters,
erasing, defacing, disgracing all that was.
We all know the inequality of cruelty.
Cloudbursts inflict the most on the least.
Drenched hopes and soaked assumptions are
undone by mudslides, unhinged in flash floods.
There are so many conversations we wish
we once had, before the rains started,
before the blast of tainted waters scoured
our private rooms, and it was too late.
No, we don’t know we’re drowning in
the life we repudiate.
(Patterned off the famous folk song 'Men of Harlech,' which is in the public domain.)
Men of freedom hear them wailing,
from the truth they’re always quailing,
scared of work or real travailing,
not like free-born men.
Men of freedom stop their screaming,
and their socialistic dreaming,
give them all a much-earned reaming,
all those wokish men.
Slavish souls disgusting,
cultish minds untrusting,
silencing all who dare speak true,
because inside they’re nothing.
Men of freedom don’t surrender,
these fools are brainless pretenders,
cannot tell a him from a her,
not like free-born men.
Men of freedom must hold steady,
keep your A.R.s clean and ready,
when time comes make your aim deadly,
fight like free-born men.
Take your boot and on them impress,
recall sic semper tyrannus,
tyrant scum will all be banished
faced with free-born men.
The ‘elites’ insulting,
they’re pedos revolting!
Living in an endless fear
of free-born men assaulting!
Men of freedom give no quarter
to those who would give us horror,
save your land for sons and daughters,
fight on free-born men.
Secret Battles—Silent Wars
Telling my secret battles
Celebrating the untold wars
Unfolding my choicest memories
Surfing the virgin’s pathways
Rhyming sacred hymns
Recalling stolen graces
Unveiling the hidden shadows
Parting the puffy clouds
Unmasking the hidden faces
Untangling woven phases
Quelling our sumptuous yearnings
Quieting every inner wailing
Quailing at the broken words
Stoking my ethereal flame
the chill of death fills the room:
quailing, faith lost flees out the door.
To the ship they row
Pirates Pete and Bo
Sea prowess to show
Sailing!
Argh! They proudly crow
Greeting all they know
With a 'Yo-ho-ho'
Hailing!
Sea terrors, heigh-ho!
Stolen treasures stow
Overboard men throw
Quailing!
Storm winds fiercely blow
Apprehensions grow
Enemy adds woe
Trailing...
Formidable foe
Tragic overthrow
Sad, their ship's death-throe
Failing!
Sloshing to and fro
Amid undertow
Down and down they go
Flailing!
Out the waters flow
Bath-time over, so
Out the pirates go
Wailing!
Another attempt at a Lai poem... still not sure whether I'm getting it right, but either way, it was fun! ;D
This season spoils with orchestral splendor
A cloud beams in irrepresible render
Spreading opulently past the stars
And raindrops fall from the sky jars
A crying ladybird groans tearfully
Quailing with blackened fury
And hoping determinedly in delightful twists
As winter-end cavorts playfully in chilly mists
At the point, when the cool is gone, evermore
And skies do not dim anymore
Awaken me with the cries of feathered friends
When the warm twist blows toward me ascends
course of the willing knave
Raise yourself, find the leading thrall. See the reflection, that misleads us all. Follow the darkened shadow, Loss of personal strength, one of mental exasperation, identity depression, the quailing way.
Need, the expressive lie, take from the others, so that the nation can survive. Follow the path of the hiding raver. integrity weakening, course of the willing knave.
The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.
Both immersed in trailing thoughts
Mused on nigh, and what was naught.
The Pea fans its tail in public splendor
Cramped raptor prefers an opposing gender.
He clasps a plume of gleaming thread
To implant it on his own stark head.
On and on, a grueling day
Feathers plucked; cold work at play.
Peafowl’s once featured feathered shafts
Now forlornly bare and subject to draft.
The predacious bird, a cocky thief
Snidely at par, to a native chief.
Clips of sun reveal a shadowy bane
The unlikely pair cast as one and the same
(the following piece I wrote, the anniversary of lost friends, their sons, and daughters lost for the lies of war.)
Father wondering, sons permanent sleep. Oh, the forsaken, the harassing song. When one has passed on. True deep depression, washing eyes, failing innocence, words never spoken, the lacking grasp, empty self, world flaw.
Ah, the brother or sister, absent, never to repeat, the waking, the piece of mind, thought gone wrong, Slaying, the haying, used, then tossed away, like the stone in the way. Interests given, none to personal effect, only those for the defined. Serve not question, this I decline.
Mother’s child, reborn. Memories quailing, spent the life, once bore, for whom, the what, will it not end? No, not extend, the wrong given, lies addressed, then sold for world malcontent. Child, Child giving. Curse chosen, lives frozen, shock.
The unwanted passing
Father wondering, sons permanent sleep. Oh, the forsaken, the harassing song. When one has passed on. True deep depression, washing eyes, failing innocence, words never spoken, the lacking grasp, empty self, world flaw.
Ah, the brother or sister, absent, never to repeat, the waking, the piece of mind, thought gone wrong, Slaying, the haying, used, then tossed away, like the stone in the way. Interests given, none to personal effect, only those for the defined. Serve not question, this I decline.
Mother’s child, reborn. Memories quailing, spent the life, once bore, for whom, the what, will it not end? No, not extend, the wrong given, lies addressed, then sold for world malcontent. Child, Child giving. Curse chosen, lives frozen, shock.
feasting on high
with four mahler horns quailing
r. strauss on my knee
on my lips claude debussy
blue shirt cheap seat seduction
old photograph
faces from the grave
sepia toned by years
paranormal shivers
two way mirror
Dave Austin
One can almost hear them whispering,
knowing they are linked to us
and more intense than memory
they cannot stay within their tombs,
for by some sort of grace not understood
we lack the power to leave them
to their faded history.
How many meadows set away
accommodate the dead,
accommodate this surging love
that inundates our days?
How may we take into our hearts
the light these spirits share,
their passion to reach out to us,
to let us know their world and ours
is one?
I think it may be up to us
to seize this holy joy, remembering
there is no separation, only change.
Remembering the presence
always known before
when oceans intervened.
And what of science and of doubt?
What of the white-stolled priest
and of his vial of dust?
What of my quailing faith?
The stars crash down around me.
The trembling mountain that I did not see
now looms before me, shaking me.
Shall I become the one
to turn away?
~
All betrayers cause deep emotions,
Fearing great heartache in jaunting knowledge,
Love may never overcome pain,
Quailing real sensitivity
Time umbellate vessels
While X, yields zero
Last seen in the newspaper shop.Susan.Susan
Deakin.About 11am.Small blonde girl of eight.
An impassive constable was recording the statements
Inwardly weary with the usual hysteria.
Inwardly quailing at the thought of her daughter's reaction,
Her frantic grandmother was stumbling over the details.
Once the story rippled through the village,
A miasma of fear settled like a haar
Upon the sunlit streets
Where mothers now kept their children tight to them.
Little knots of elderly women stood chattering,
Every utterance dripping with deadly speculation,
Drowning any pious hope that she was off safe with her friends.
Solitary males must have keenly felt
The sharp glances of suspicion and wondered why.
Beneath the warmth of an otherwise bright sky
Swam an icy current of deepening distrust
Threatening the community with its riptide of rancour.
There was now nothing to be done but wait.
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