Pink hue flamingo it must be due to all
the carotenoid pigments feasted on
algae and crustaceans
An elongated neck spirals
and filters such sensations
Sharing color is Okinawa salmon sushi,
bolster lobster and shrimp scrimp
Graceful qualifiers primp poised tropical dwellers
balancing effortlessly on one outstretched leg,
A ballerina’s pirouette in fuchsia tutus’
Statuesque stillness in shallow water
Rosette feathers flair flamboyance
Passionate plumage, blushing boas
Webbed feet tap and stamp below,
an aquatic burlesque show
The flamenco dance named after you
Rose-tinted creature tranquil, wader
Hook-billed blackened lamellae
sieved nobly, an intense look in a print
Cluster buster of pink with lengthy legs that sprint
Riverboat on the Mississippi
Folks dining on scrimp, grits, and cornbread
Drinking booze and gambling like crazy
Going to Bourbon Street just ahead
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on rolling
Down to the Cajun Queen of the Gulf
Where the real money is unfolding
And a thousand green bucks is small stuff
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on churning
Black coal keeps that steam boiler humming
Noxious fumes from the smokestack blowing
Nightlife on Bourbon Street is jumping
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Cathedral spires standing very tall
Off Canal, near downtown Bourbon Street
Near a hotel by a shopping mall
Where folk are getting some daytime sleep
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
They wait for night, ‘til just after dark,
To find the places of blues, jazz, and rap
A swamp of raunchy acts, joints, and bars
Folk can get caught like mice in a trap
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Marie Catwonette said “let them eat cake”
She has no concept for goodness sake
That some cats scrimp and claw and fight
For alley scraps, which is their right.
Marie Catwonette was born with a golden spoon
In a warm bed of feathers, against an autumn moon
She dines on tuna fish sandwiches and such.
Wondering not about about others who don’t have much.
Her wings, like leaves, have fallen limp.
His arms are armed to carry her.
Christ’s sacrifice - vice did not scrimp.
Her wings like leaves have fallen limp.
Angel was brave - she was no wimp.
On heaven’s bough, dry bones will stir.
Her wings like leaves have fallen limp.
His arms are armed to carry her.
10/4/2022
When people are in dire need,
And cannot afford food to feed
Their children wear ragged clothes
And holes appear in their socks and hose.
How do you explain to kids,
You've lost your job; you are on the skids.
How do you explain that they can't have toys,
Like many other girls and boys.
Cakes and cookies lollies too,
It isn't fair; what did we do?
It is tough indeed
When you're in need.
As other people around you thrive,
And you scrimp and scrape to stay alive.
You've been waiting for that pot of gold,
That's over the rainbow, as it's told.
Sadly you realise there is no pot,
And you will never have a lot
Because some beings are selfish and greedy.
And do not associate with the needy.
Some moment dreaming the middle of a day
Some hopeful dreamt touched spiritness
In sometime of a while you spent
Some place of a time when you touched
The fleeting ghosts in rightful pursuits of happiness
As a wistful sigh escapes your breath
Wafted upon a memory of where you'd rather be
Preferably not where here is this day
Help to pass the time away
Some day you say
Some day I will hold that hope
Hold it whole in my grateful heart
Echo humdrum carries on
It's ever demanding rigmarole leads you on
Scrimp and save, saves the holiday
Each tiny eked out momentary
To wish for a life better than this
Some blink of an eye dreamt in a day
Lingered on its wishful rememberance
When peaceful never was a struggle to be
Where living it in life
Is the rightful pursuit of happiness
Helps
To pass the time away
Your time away
Dream a wish for another life
Sigh then and hope it comes to pass
In the life you have
The majority of mine lxiii years
expended delving deep into imagination,
yours truly escaped, loosed, thwarted...
reality courtesy bookland
roaming cerebral cortex terra firmae
did not amp pulley satiate
seemingly depression found me
(an uncompetitive, oversensitive,
intuitive, contemplative bookworm)
with scrunched pate,
a day short and a dollar late
one dime a dozen lad
hood scrimp and scrape,
a familiar pattern typified fate
viz - hand to mouth bleak
how zing existence aye equate
extant throughout three score
plus three years date
journeys round el sol,
this varsity schlepper, procrastinator,
malingerer did create
current emotional state
mottled with sea henna tint
financial, emotional and
psychosocial characteristics stint
aye serum eyes while
in utero the blueprint
indelibly etched analogous
brand York Peppermint
also analogous to musician
recording tracks upon primed glint
ting digitized compact disc
clear polycarbonate plastic substrate,
a reflective metallic layer,
and a clear protective coating
of acrylic plastic
breakable as flint.
Sitting with a lap full of tears
Asking the air for help
The blubbering sobs that scrimp and save for recognition
Help me please
but the nothingness holds its breadth
twisting my agony
in its tortured game of hide and never find
Somebody please help me
but the silence amplifies my fear
Alone
The Night looms over
The bed , stars twattle moon scrimp
You lay eggs of love
In my crevice and cleavage
Warmth that can open the door
Christmas day now over,
The turkeys now all dead.
While the bloated celebrators
Sleep their gorging off in bed.
No matter what it cost them.
(Though it cost the turkeys more),
They’d enjoyed the Christmas spirit
They’d invited through their door.
With plastic in their wallets
To finance their spending spree,
They ensured that all they’d purchased
Was on show for all to see.
They let family, friends and colleagues
Know what Christmas really means,
That by spending, spending, spending
You can purchase all your dreams.
Alas for all tomorrows
They may have to scrimp and save,
While the lucky Christmas turkeys
All lie peaceful in their graves!
Ivor G Davies
Spinning top doesnt stop
Nor does the pendulum on the clock
Sticks and stones on brittle bones
In the end its pointless what you own
Scrimp and save, still a slave
Nothing follows to the grave
Sweet surrender, heavens tender
One life passes, another rendered
Well, Railroad Bob’s done lost his job, he’s got no place for working,
his wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby’s head’s a’ jerking.
The union man don’t give a damn, Big Brother lies a’ lurking,
and boss’ in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
Bob walks the streets and begs for eats or little jobs for trying
“the answer’s no, you ought to know, no use for you applying,
and don’t be sad, it aint that bad, it’s soon your time for dying.”
The air is thick, his baby’s sick, the cries are multiplying.
Bob’s wife’s in town, she’s broken down, she’s ranting with a fury,
their baby coughs, the doctor scoffs, the snow flies all a’ flurry.
Hard work’s the sin that’s done them in, they skirmish, scrimp and scurry,
and midnight dreams are filled with screams; Bob knows he needs to hurry.
It’s getting late, Bob’s tempting fate, his choices cruel and blurry,
He chooses gas, they breathe their last, there’s no more cause to worry.
What is bad stock?
Plasticine people smiling within Formica walls
Where hippy drains a fathers fool
As Ma Baker dominates the town
By day before taking her draws
Down...
Shes a ho.. He's a whimp
Out dancing with Lucy
Sky high
So return with a bump to earth kids
And scrimp
And scrape
The crap from the local rag
A coal fire infused
With amusing fags
Thirteen coppers and a few irate
Snobs
Armed guns
Be loyal littuns and
Shut your gobs
We... Were bad stock from the filthy side of koi
Five little girls
Not one boy
(As twas)
The day has cooled,
into a recliner
muddied.
Rinse it off...replenish...repeat
mud sloughs off into somebody else's drain.
That's ok because I'm clean again.
Recycling this mud of the mind
into porcelain, attic spiders
entwined.
Scrap and scrimp.
Grow fat again
swing the battle axe of id
growing thin.
Toss red flowers on mother's grave...
what color was her eyes?
I've forgotten the color of the sky
The same color as a messy demise?
it doesn't matter-anyway.
Move along stagnant doesn't fit my cup.
Movement is life-stillness is death.
but there are exceptions...I've seen zombies...stumbling along.
I've seen still (ponds) explode into stars
(confused)
bloodied...rinse...repeat...
living in their drain.
Once again it's that time of year.
The time that we've all come to fear.
They take every dime,
It's tax season time
And poverty's getting so near.
All year I try to scrimp and save
And with spending habits to behave.
They snatch my savings
Despite my ravings.
Depression makes my spirits cave.
No matter how much you have paid
Your hope for a refund will fade
When forms are revised.
You'd best be advised
They really want ALL that you've made.
for Carolyn's "taxing time" contest
Francine Roberts 29/01/2011
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