Rough and tumble like a wasp getting pulled into the sludgy earth.
Sleep and I.
Gave up twilight.
Separated.
We both eat butterfly legs or so we think.
Sleep and I tangle with other stuff like old coffee mugs with a musty smell.
And chalk boards in a secret room that I thought was hidden by keeping my eyes open.
I feast on whatever is left on the floor.
After most stuff sinks in.
Sleep borrows stuff like that.
Fight me! Styx wants to say
It comes out as a ‘mew’
They stroke his fur and pet his head
Tickle, fuss and coo
Too soft! He thinks, Where are the claws?
The hard knocks and the teeth?
His friends, the other wampus cats
At least brawl like they have beef
But his clowder mates are holed up too
Hunkering from the hail
What he wouldn’t give right now
To bite another’s tail!
Adrenaline makes his muscles twitch
Pent up frustration writhes
Oh to be outdoors again
Running with his tribe!
Fight me! Styx wants to roar
All six legs set to scrap
He doesn’t want an invitation
To sit purring on a lap
Fight me! Styx insists
And receives a little shove
Yes! Physical contact!
He interprets it as love
Fight me! Fight me! He’s shoved again
He nips, inviting more
He’s rewarded with rough and tumble
And is sent sprawling on the floor
When it comes to good play fighting
The humans don’t quite know how
It’s not the same as wampus wrestling
But it’ll do, for now
Dusk is blinding, but champagne illuminates.
—Poet
Champagne Date at Purple Dusk
Purple champagne and candlelight.
Dusk’s hue through flutes; the beach forthright.
Butterflies; two chairs sink in sand.
Her crescent smile as moon takes flight.
They’ve been beached in gleam of dreamland.
Bashful lashes rise; sea tears land.
Bubbles rise to her nose; she snorts.
The chortle of horizon scanned.
Her twilight eyes - amethyst quartz.
His aquamarines, she supports.
Alas, rough and tumble, this date.
High tide and tension as he courts.
His romantic gesture isn’t late.
He’s new to this dame…and there’s fate!
Lips lock as they’re kind of tipsy.
Friends set them up on a blind date.
rough and tumble fight fight fight
F.B.I. show on TV tonight
jackhammer sounds, gunfire too
battling a huge quagmire in blue
bodies flying through the air
grabbing guns without a care
rough and tumble fight fight fight
F.B.I. show on TV tonight
I know why you follow him.
Dolls can never admit a rough and tumble
bad boy is what they want. In your stainless
steel world? There is no room for graffiti.
It simply isn’t okay for something to feel so
deliciously dirty. I promise you, I get it.
I know why you follow him.
Dolls never want the ones who are polished.
Until they are cracked in half by the guys
with unholy rough edges. Even then?
Nothing else but their blood can fill the
cracks. It’s a hell of a glitch of the mind.
I know why you follow him.
Baby doll, stalking is so much fun isn’t it?
Just imagine finding one exactly like him.
Honesty will lead you to the promise land.
But you’re content with a cuss and crush
session every time you read his poetry.
I know why you follow him.
Dolls get addicted to a fantasy so fast.
It’s a living breathing romance novel.
Will he? Could he? Does he really like that?
A twin flame and he’s so safely away.
But you get with his head every single day.
Baby doll I know why you follow him
because I follow him too.
The Two Little Cubs: A Quest for identity.
(A Cautionary Tale)
Two little leopard cubs
One shy, one bold,
went out to play
in the wild wide world.
Bold so bright -
Life a big adventure.
Shy so quiet-
Life a no go venture.
Played games together-
Shy learnt from Bold,
Rough and tumble
Not always gentle.
Which one do you think escapes
the focus of real danger?
Hidden out of sight...
Aqua Marine Musing again...
31 March, 2025.
True story captured by a wildlife photographer.
Lions are the fiercest of enemies for leopards. They attack and kill leopards without hesitation. The more adventurous cub, not yet
fully experienced in life was killed by lions. The "shy" cub escaped... To live another day.
Reminds me of Proverbs 22:3
"The shrewd one sees the danger and conceals himself.
But the I experienced keep right on going and suffer the consequences..."
WHERE ARE THE MEN
Where are the men that once lived here
few men remain of yesteryear,
Beautiful masculinity,
Artfully carved of dignity
The command and gruff within his voice,
The rough and tumble is his choice,
His love for femininity,
choosing the woman he'll wed to bear his seed
First a crown to his own mother's head,
Adjoined in the authority of his father's stead.
Takes his place within the world,
Only leaving his mother when he finds his girl.
Where are the men braving the fight for truth,
for the branding of mankind from his youth.
Where are the men, the way men were meant to be
God is calling his creation, "Come back to me!"
Waves slapping me all over my body
rocked by the riptide of your embrace;
Rough and tumble hanky panky,
there is nothing left to chase.
I get a little bolder
getting older
since my unravel,
voice travels
to my Beholder.
Rough and tumble, rolls along,
but you’re not wrong
if you are shrinking,
not thinking
lyrics to a song…
————
A Streambed Quintet: 7a:4a:5b:3b:5a
She was never a girly girl
did not care about wearing her
mother’s high heel shoes,
or painting her nails.
Wasn’t interested in putting on lipstick,
or smearing makeup on her face.
Had no attraction to the color pink
like most girls do,
nor did she fancy pretty dresses
carefully selected for her.
When she was permitted to make decisions for herself,
and choose what style she wanted to wear,
she wore clothes the same as her brother and
liked to rough and tumble with his friends.
No one in the family felt the need to ask "the question”.
Her identity she chose by herself.
She matured to be phenomenal
despite a world so cruel at times.
The belief in the person she had become
helped to make her strong.
She is intelligent, kind and caring,
lives by great values
she gathered on her journey through life.
A person more than enough
for Those who love her.
This is how God made her
born the way she is.
Dawn seeps soundlessly in to scatter the darkness.
Around is silence and quiet and calm.
From my lofty balcony, I can admire the serenity
Of the vast immensity of the ocean, all smell of balm.
Let tranquillity invade my lonely soul, O Lord.
The arduous day will soon be full of all its pains.
And I am old, too old to face the vexatious turmoil
That surrounds me, for I am all aches and sprains.
How can I face the rough and tumble of this misery?
I need wisdom to discern all that is foolish and vain,
I need peace to avoid worries and other upsets.
I need love to forgive others’ injuries and bane.
Life is short and I’m much too old to bear pains.
Death will be a relief from all that troubles me.
However life is precious and I will live it through,
Only with your genial grace that comes from Thee.
What lies ahead, I do not know,
But I will confidently go
Along this rough and tumble trail
O’er mountain pass, dank, boggy swales,
To scale the heights, be brought down low.
Though ‘twas ordained so long ago,
I find there is no cause for woe;
Nay, joyfully I look to scale
what lies ahead.
I may befriend a would-be foe
To sanctify and flourish, grow,
Or stumble over some travail,
Cry out in need, or badly fail,
But I know all is apropos,
what lies ahead…
—————
For the Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Written on 06/06/2022
Politics has always been rough and tumble
a bare-knuckle fight in a concrete jungle
Those who preach togetherness and unity
flail their arms at windmills uselessly
Was not a rough and tumble kid
A sissy boy they said
As I recall, I even took
a Teddy Bear to bed
With countless tears of wondering
What is it that they see?
Why am I so hated
just for being me?
I preferred some crayons
or games on city streets
and chores to earn some pennies
to buy a bag of sweets
Dismissed by words of parents
“Kids can be so cruel”
I still felt the sting of constant
torment all through school
But I survived and yes, I even
learned to love myself
I had my mom, a friend or two
my books up on the shelf
I worry for the ones, perhaps
not strong enough to see
to know the worth of being loved
“just for being me”
I thank the heavens for this darling boy
who's given my life new purpose, joy.
This little scrap of humanity, who sits
on my knee and expounds my vanity
and completely disarms me with his
'Hello, granddad' and infuriates when
he misbehaves then saves himself with
a smile and a hug and I give a shrug
and beckon him near, this grandson
so dear, who melts my heart and leaves
a gap when we are apart. Who angers
and pleases in equal measure yet gives
my memory so much to treasure. Our
knowing looks, the story books, the
afternoon naps, the selfie snaps.
The rough and tumble when you don't
really want to, but you oblige for the smiles
and the giggles and then you collapse in
a heap of wriggles and try to be straight -
laced whilst he probes your face to see how
your eye works and plays with your lip
then, off he'll skip on some other ploy
and ask you to play with some other toy
or else bombard you with imaginary snowballs,
until, tuckered out, sleep finally calls and he kisses
goodnight and lazily crawls into the land of dreams
and childhood schemes and I'm left, bereft, aching
and sore and anticipating more in the dawns early light.
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