Sun's passion in soft carnation pink
pink ink in lapis lazuli sky
Sky dazzling in bright colours sunlit
sunlit is that wistful twilight sigh
Sigh disclosing gloaming arcana
arcana which won't simply vanish
Vanish from horizon's shadows dark
dark dusk saga that sorrows banish
{A poem without the letter 'E' using chain rhyme}
Last week, my houseplant (his name is Bill)
claimed he invented chlorophyll.
He uses it, he said, to absorb light.
As ideas go, that's pretty bright.
"Good idea, champ", I said,
then forgot to water him. Now, he's dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Press one for eternal sunshine, two to speak
with a representative currently buried under
three feet of seasonal despair. All other options
have been disconnected due to icy conditions.
Your call is important to us—please hold
through blizzards, black ice, and the existential
dread of winter.
Your estimated wait time:
until lilies break the thaw.
We apologize for the delay,
but spring’s already listening.
Twilight Saga
Eyes too heavy sweetie
On halfway to the realm of dreams
Behold, a sweet harmony
Dance of fairies, whisper of angels
Swan bath in the twilight
Startling eye- catching delight
And my heart throbbing with joy
Admits the words triumphantly,
That you are not just the sun
In whose rays I am bathing
You are not just the inhaled breeze
Into my cute lungs flowing
Well, you are also an eyelid
Eye-fitting holster
You are my lips and cheeks
Limbs, neck and ribs
Fingertips
You are every Me
Born in me
Born for me
Born with me
Born to be with me
I humbly confess
With the deepest breath
Sealed by transparent silence
Marking my restless life
The miracle of my style
The very guy
This confused beast
Determined by God and me
I long to be your angel
Dozing in your arms
The buzzing alarm
When your morning starts
The curtain of the eyelid
Covering your eyes
Your gravity, Moon
Sun Star that shines
I wish I could be
The curve of your nose
Your lips in a grin
Dimple on your cheek
Your vision in a whisper
A sensual smile
I wish I was your body part
Bloodstream veins and heart
Participating in your blood
United in our flow of love
Yes it looks like you're late again
let me guess
you missed the bus you missed the train
then 'Bang!' I heard the front door slam
when you walked away
taking the life out of who I am
here we go again with the same old story
I've already seen this movie and it's oh so boring
not the first time you've been busted
and caught out
with your excuses and can't be trusted
when 'Wham!' I heard the car door slam
then you drove away
driving the life out of who I am
here's that same old song and dance yet I still care
but why do I have to relive this same nightmare
there's always something
drama trauma tragedy no matter what you do
saga stigma calamity no matter where you go
always something with you
wish I had a silver bullet like cupid's little dart
and if I had that magic slug I'd shoot you through the heart
Sorry Gaza
Excuse Palestinians
Thanks Nobel
-Dharga Nagar Safa
A filigree of veinlets, briefly jeweled with dew,
In mirrored pools, peeps saffron's rusty hue,
Maple’s serrated script, twirling in autumn's view,
Summer's green surrendered, in fall's golden cue,
Lifting spirits once gently, deeply subdued.
I sold a bunch of gold for a price of nothing
Just because I am a human being
Did not think anger was anything
Till it took much of everything
I now know the grass on the other side is not always green
Making you frown could be the worse I have seen
Have no idea what would recompense such sin
The purest blood has to wash me so clean
That I would be forgiven
To at least catch a glimpse of your grin.
We're grown-ups being
A caregiver and fixer
Of our own mistakes.
Betrayal cuts deepest when it wears a smile,
a friend turned foe, a shadow turned to blade.
You plotted with my enemies, unseen,
waiting for the moment to strike your blow,
believing trust once shattered could destroy.
But know that karma stands, a silent judge,
the friend who writes the ledger of our deeds.
Each wound you left became a spark in me,
a fire no treachery could ever douse.
I rise, defiant, forged from pain and steel,
a flame that lights the path, relentless, fierce.
To my last breath, I will live and defy,
unyielding in resolve, my enemies,
know this: I will never, ever yield.
Each strike you planned has only sparked my blaze,
a light so fierce it sears the world itself.
I rise beyond defeat, unbroken, whole
my life not mine alone, but theirs I guard.
I breathe, I fight, I live, unyielding flame,
the proof that I will not be overcome.
A warrior bound by love and rage alike,
burning through shadows, claiming the dawn.
I am the flame that refuses to burn out,
a force unmatched, relentless in its rise.
I fight not just for me, but for my own
to be the father, man, and guide they need,
the unyielding pillar in storm and calm.
This battle is no marriage of convenience;
it is a contract written in sweat and blood,
a pact between duty and raw, searing will.
Every dawn I face, each burden I bear,
a testament that I will not surrender.
I saw a stupid movie just four years ago.
Will Ferrell starred in it, and he’s a funny guy..
The plot was so insipid I barely liked the show.
In Iceland it takes place, where Lars and Sigrit vie
with Eurovision singers in a contest with their song.
The movie played on Netflix during Covid times.
I listened and endured their vulgar “Ja Ja Ding Dong.”
As I remember it, the dumb song kind of rhymes.
That film was this American's first and only taste
of a competition Europe likes a lot.
I’m sure this famous contest isn’t a huge waste
of time like that lame film that had me thinking “What??”
I bet that Eurovision is a wonderful event.
I even heard on Youtube this year’s winner Nemo
sing “The Code,” a catchy tune. My time was better spent
with “The Code” than the “Fire Saga.” Nemo is supremo.
This is the saga of Veronica Vole
Who committed the perfect crime.
She murdered three lovers,
But not all at once,
She did 'em in one at a time.
The first was a lemur,
A two-timing schemer,
Who seduced all thirteen of her nieces.
Every female enticed him,
So she sliced him and diced him,
Then stir-fried and ate all the pieces.
The second, a lobster,
Was also a mobster
Who threatened her once with a putter.
So she got him alone,
Then boiled him well done,
And had him for lunch with drawn butter.
The third was a vulture,
Devoid of all culture,
Whose name, she remembers, was Vince.
He was planning to eat her
After he bet her,
So she tased him in self-defense.
In a big pot she tucked him,
Then scalded and plucked him
And served him "en casserole"
To her fourth beau, a critter,
Who'll make a good fritter,
She thinks as she spoons out his food.
'cause though she doesn't tend
To have good taste in men,
She does tend to like men who taste good.
Ms. Vole is not a siren or a femme fatale,
The kind of dame who'd tell a guy to take a hike.
At heart she is simply a sweet-natured gal
Who never met a man she didn't like.
I'm tired of life with Smelly Sid -
that sock just stinks of sweaty feet,
no matter what they wash him in
(in winter's bad, but summer heat...)
I rolled out from the washing pile
and got away from Sid, but then
some boxers joined me - just my luck -
and now I'm stuck with Skid-mark Sven.
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