-What is a flower if it doesn’t catch your eye the first time you set eyes on it .
Says the dreamer in him .
-What is love if you don’t pursue it ?
Asks the soldier in him .
-If I say I love you , would it become the truth ?
Asks the little man in him.
-Because I never say what I don’t feel .
Says the delusional liar in him .
-What is love if it requires too much effort ?
Asks the quitter in him .
-What is a flower if it is not perfect?
Says the child in him .
Then he goes and picks up an eyeless weed .
Categories:
quis, boy, corruption, vanity, youth,
Form: Other
Quis? Ego
~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson
So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins' tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere
© Gail Foster 24th July 2019
Categories:
quis, anger, celebrity, england, language,
Form: Sonnet
Quis ut Deus
Heaven's own
In slowest anger a
flaming resolve
kindled in the
lowest pits
Essence of light,
hound of darkness
Bringer of new life,
harbinger of death
Through life's dark
caverns true
traveller's ally For
warmth, For safety
True companion,
Heaven's own Kindled
with joy, For life
to light For the
path now clear Ye
art blind nomore
Burning bush's
wonder Rain of fire
and brimestone
Pillar of fire that
went before the
children of Israel,
chariots of fire now
come for Elijah
Heaven's fire burns
in the lowest hell
Life it consumes as
it increases Essense
of God who is like
him
Categories:
quis, anger, god,
Form: Free verse
Hoist our flag high, our spirits taken,
from the very foundation that was shaken.
And all the colors we know and love,
rain down upon us from above.
No quarter for those bleeding to death,
stitched up wounds and one final breath.
The smell of charred remains this night,
is unquestioned as our skin is white.
The battle of blood and diamonds ceases,
yet the casualties of this war increases.
A torn up man who looks for his son,
dries his tears and drops his gun.
Flames burn on through the city streets,
women and children wrapped up in sheets.
Even though there is not one passer by,
their world is emptied fully when they die.
Brothers who are forced to split apart,
their ideas different with the same heart.
Now pitted against each other to kill,
is just another lonely grave to fill.
Our world is in the hands of judges,
watchers of men that hold no grudges.
Remember this one forecast of the hour,
and those who really did have the power.
Categories:
quis, world,
Form: I do not know?