All of the secrets
are already known
The sages in moth balls
old king on the throne
The answers requestioned
new fruit on the vine
What’s hidden uncovered
—as seasons rewind
(Dreamsleep: October, 2022)
Qu'est-ce qui nous port tous les bonheur, surtout le créatif mécénat?
Qu'est-ce qui nous ôte tous les malheur, surtout la moral fange?
C'est ce brin de muguet, au début de mai, tout en arôme d'appas
Tout en sérénité il s'ouvre, tout en ordre il s'arrange.
Tandis que toutes les autres fleurs se rivalisent d'éclat,
A nos yeux leur coloris donnant souvent le change,
Sa modestie lui a remporté un distinctif vedettariat,
Moyennant le blanc le plus pur comme un ange.
Cent fois s'entend son chuchotement,
Mille lieues s'écoule sa douceur,
Résorbant pour tout le monde toute la dépressive rigueur,
Remplissant tous les coins de brillance et d'enjolivement.
If your apartment or your house
Could use a slight expansion,
May I suggest, instead, that you
Just build yourself a mansion.
Today I've toured a couple,
Both in Hudson River towns.
With property like that, your moods
Should have no room for downs.
A bit of ostentation
Seems de rigueur, though, I guess,
But servants take good care of it,
So you don't have to stress.
If you're looking for an upgrade
And you've mega-bucks to spare,
Do like Vanderbilt or Church* - construct
A mansion for your lair.
*Frederick Vanderbilt and Frederic Church
Let's start out by saying that love's not a picnic,
Though blue sky's de rigueur, there's no guarantee,
In love, you may feel you are higher than Sputnik,
But if she's "the one," can you say your heart's free?
To feel with your heart is the fount of what's human,
Our dreams too have outcomes that we don't control,
To block any feeling suggests heart's bitumen,
(Perhaps value burning but hell for the soul!)
And sure, Love brings heartache, but pain too is "feeling!"
To feel both in excess suggest's we court doom!
A balance exists between failure and dealing,
But champions always must "stay in the room!"
So if this is you and your lover reflects this,
My friend, you are lucky, a mensch with few peers,
And even though rogue has a "notch" cut for each kiss,
It's "time in the room" that's one's luck through the years!
Brian Johnston
October 19, 2017
The world became broken
The moment words were spoken
An eradicating epiphany
Or perhaps a silent symphony
Life is simply a caricature of death
We're dead with our very first breath
With red tape wrapped around our minds
We're hindered by beliefs like blinds
For in this world there is no haven
Only a fiery pit for the callous and craven
And if I spark a brazen phrase
To light the path through this darkened maze
Perhaps I'll burden your illusion of life
By raising the curtain on a world full of strife
There is no justice for the homeless and poor
Because we wear injustice as if it's de rigueur
This world is just a playground for despair and wars
When corruption and greed are the government's favorite whores
All of my life I believed myself a pacifist
But in reality I was just a manic masochist
With an eradicating epiphany
Or perhaps a silent symphony
The world became broken
When inhumanity was awoken
A plate of deep-fried chicken,
Slaw and greens and ice-cold beer
Did provide the perfect harmony
For what we came to hear.
When the blues is on the menu,
Southern fare is de rigueur
And the biscuits, honey-buttered,
Only added to the lure.
While the saxophone was wailing
And guitar strings nimbly picked,
We were chowing down on vittles,
Fingers prim and proper licked.
The proprietor was clever
In the name that he did choose
For we savored every moment
Of the biscuits and the blues.
"Biscuits and Blues" is a blues club in San Francisco
The chipmunks are oblivious
And so, too, are the birds.
I doubt if they would even care
If they could speak in words.
But humans and their calendars,
At least where I reside,
Know Fathers' Day's upon us;
By the rules we must abide.
A card or call's expected
And perhaps a little gift.
It needn't cost a fortune
But should give your dad a lift.
A barbecue's de rigueur
And the drink of choice is beer
To make the masculinity
Of this day very clear.
So here's to all the dads around
With grandpas, too, included.
Enjoy your burgers and your brews,
Though chipmunks are excluded.
Who’s on top?
Really,
You didn’t know that it’s a contest?
After all,
There can only be one
Poet Laureate can’t there?
Both’s fingernails are bleeding,
Both’s knees are scraped and scabbed,
Both sweating profusely from the strain
Of climbing the sheer rocky face of passion,
Their injuries mostly self-inflicted.
(All poets are born stinkers!)
Poetry is not a day at the beach
Where the only hazards
Are forgotten suntan lotion,
Or that your Mai Tai is low
Because service is not up to par.
Or a day on the golf course
Where your only gain is
A lighter wallet, which cannot really serve you
At your next Weight-Watchers weigh-in.
Apoplexy coloring your future
As yet another ball lands in the drink.
And certainly not a game of tennis
Where service is de rigueur, isn’t it?
Though I swear,
There is more Physics in women’s outfits,
(Action/Reaction - You know!
Do women ever play fair?)
Than in any momentum, spin, or angle
A man can even contemplate.
So who’s on top?
Ask the woman!
Does ‘top’ even matter?
She’s where she wants to be.
A man can only dream! Ha!
Brian Johnston
October 21, 2014
Commuterland
Our estate is very posh,
Executives, and oh by gosh
Our Sunday evening cocktails are the thing.
Mortgaged to the eye-ball we are,
We don't even own our own car,
Matter of fact we don't own anything.
We're all driving 4X4's,
And mine's as twice as big as yours,
Every day we drive to kids to school.
Ladies luncheons are de rigueur,
Then they exercise with vigour,
Dipping painted toe- nails in the pool.
We do our bit to help the nation,
Try to combat the inflation,
Knocking back another G&T.
We get all our goods on Access,
And it is the usual practise
Not to actually pay for anything.
From the bank we have to borrow -
Fund our lifestyle for tomorrow,
Louis Vuitton luggage is "tres cher".
Golf club, gym, and school fees rising,
So you see it's not surprising
We can barely pay for the au pair.
We're very nicely ticking over,
But it's not a bed of clover,
Sometime very soon will come the crunch.
Not far off the day of reckoning,
Bank manager will soon be beckoning,
Hope the pension fund will come up trumps!
A turkey gets stuffed
And so do we
And that’s Thanksgiving
To a T.
For overeating’s
De rigueur
Since that is what
A feast is for.
The food left over
Might entice,
But there’s no need
For gorging twice!
There was a time when tennis players
Had to dress in white.
Appearing on the court in colors
Wouldn’t have been right.
But rules have changed and now we see
A medley of attire.
In fact, to be a fashion plate
Some players do aspire.
Both men and women choose to wear
Ensembles bright and bold.
A few stroll out in outfits
Rather shocking to behold.
Though some may yearn for former times
When whites were de rigueur,
To me, the freedom from those rules
Improves the court’s décor.
When i share my hopes and ambitions,she gives me a derisory laugh.
Her dereliction,as my better half,of supporting my strides,worry's me.
Not fulfilling her desiderata of comfort,sinks my ego below the sand,drags my dreams against the sylvan of this island of dissatisfaction.
Money vindicates time from the poor.
That's a minatory statement from a deranged lover.
I'm not a derring-do in an animated dote story,am as real as the sole of a terrapin.
I descry your desiccated heart.
No more fear,no sympathy,zero tolerance.
Vicissitude of covalent romance is at threshold.
Your bolder than ever,saying wise things of truth that shake me.
I act tenaciously to keep us together,then you utter another tentative sentence.
I pause and remember,Responsibility is de rigueur in a family union.
By M.O.O aka Carswell evoL
Refined dame with polished frame
Strewing rose petals from lofty pedestal
Sparkling eyes from which stardust flies
Bright smile spindling on embroidered dial
Pallid face shrouded with humble grace
High cheek bones with sculptor's chisel honed
Coiffed strands of hair so De Rigueur
Elegant neck sharing femininity with regal dignity
Voluptuous bosom with silky folds rolled
Roon paps flowing with sweet, sugary saps
Frothy balloon hovering over silted cocoon
Swiveled hips whose billowy curves in rhythm swerve
Heart-shaped hands from which dexterous tendrils
expand
Long, shapely legs with slithering grooves bathed in silky
lube
Dainty feet whose comely features do entreat
Blue velvet blanket mantel dresses
Satin lace trim daintily caresses
On border, golden twine tresses
Azure light-display luminesces
In background, silver candelabra recesses
In foreground, satin Lilies rimmed with lush cresses
Overarching, marble angel with copper harp blesses
Underpinning, tidy Spruce wreath butresses
Footstool, bronze crèche a penitent tone expresses
The Devil got the sack last week
He’s feeling at a loss
For several thousand years now
He’s been in charge, the boss
The new man’s changing everything
Hired a whole new team
The place is so much nicer
A more relaxed regime
Red hot pokers up the ****
De rigueur, they are not
Only those that ask, will get
A poker up their bot
There’s been a change of fragrance too
Well, sulphurs so outré
Seems Lily of the valley
Is the order of the day
We’re getting leather sofas, which
Could well be here quite soon
And a squad of decorators
Working hard in every room
Now they’ve fixed the air conditioner
It’s behaving as it should
Hell is rather pleasant
In fact it’s jolly good
So when you pop your clogs
And you’re deciding where to go
Forget the trip to Heaven
It’s much better down below
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