Event that happened long ago,
The departure of a rainbow;
Because it had adorned the sky,
More than anyone could comply...!
He was pigeon among eagles,
Many played the roles of seagulls;
His preaching pricked their hardened sculls,
They soon turned like pins and needles...!
A deer have a say before lions?
A lamb standing in defiance?
In a land known for tit-for-tat,
Who would dare to bell the hate cat?
By slaughtering the lamb they thought:
Good lesson to rebels is taught;
Though the lamb went through much blood-shed,
No fur of his glory got shred...!
This is, hence, Good Friday is good,
Goodness embraced the cursed wood;
Empires and kingdoms give away,
Their pride before Holy Cross Way...!
Good Friday is, yet, not an act,
That got ended like a war-pact;
Crucifixion is daily fact,
You and I merrily enact...!
12 April 2022
Categories:
sculls, jesus,
Form: Rhyme
crowded poppy field cover the trenches
red crowns hide bone meal and sculls
abundance disfigures the pain
and yet Field Marshall and Tambourine Major
demand endless encores
as if another take would enhance the applause
while puppets on war strings scatter engraved
on tombstones and grief devastated and soulless
march on and paint the white flag with blood
because innocence is not for the fainthearted
honour and glory will grant you a medal
for posterity to cherish instead of your smile
the markets will take stock and wrap human remains
in balance sheets for you are merely
a number on ledgers and history’s accounts
a fallen hero on somebody else’s sword
25th March 2021
Categories:
sculls, war,
Form: Free verse
its a kilt and not a quilt we are free dangling souls
not out of kilter for we value balance and freedom
there is no hidden agenda as we battle opposition
with harmony and steadfast equilibrium let loose
left right left right we march on belligerent fields
careful not to have the kilt pin pierce our pride
in case of too much passion we hide any sense
of arousal although war is an emotional business
dressed in sporran and fastening strapping we fight
for our women children and fierce independence
we tread through mountains valleys and thistles
prick resistance and domination right where it hurts
swords lances and crossbows spill justice’s seeds
maces and tribuchets defend rightful possessions
caltrop and quick lime disperse our enemy’s lines
cull sculls and bones of our foes and burn with desire
today it is the ballot box and rugby pitches on which
we stake our claim where we score tries and convert
stand up to history’s decline and conquer intolerance
and the Tartan Armies march on in elevated disguise
02nd March 2021
Categories:
sculls, anti bullying,
Form: Free verse
I don't need mawkish photographs to see
the drowning rowboat tethered to the dock,
a withered seahorse clinging to debris
as umber water seeps through feeble caulk.
The cord grass will have grown up through the planks
to marry splinters teeming on the pier,
putrescent pillars tilted by the banks;
a pallid corpse beside the marsh's bier.
Those summers when we sailed through brackish mist
have long since gone the way of floating sculls
that languish in the asters to be kissed
by empty oarlocks perched atop their hulls.
Your August ghost still flounders on the fen
then sinks beneath in nightmares now as then.
Categories:
sculls, death, imagery, metaphor,
Form: Sonnet
Yeterli Gelibolu Yeterli
(Enough Gallipoli Enough)
Passchendaele and the Somme all those battles
~ To end all wars and all we got is poppies ~
More ‘papaver’ red petals in Gelibolu as far as eyes can
see and minds can take sprinkled over constant denial
like rancid blood sweet talked in icicles of raging demise
~ Hypnogogic Hallucinations ~
~ Dreams are for real ~
Not in my name but surely it can’t be the fault of
those flowers that they seed so happily where the
sorrow remains fertile on sculls engraved under
~ Crosses and Half Moons like ~
~ Weeping Widows clothed in a scarlet sea ~
Nature works well when left alone from sick human minds
beauty does not require money power bullets or greed
but poppies seem to grow best when rooted on bone meal
~ Humanity crushed into osseous matter ~
~ Calcified depravity forever and when...~
04th May 2018
Categories:
sculls, farewell,
Form: Free verse
Before Laurence survived bone cancer,
Chemotherapy and everything, he swam,
Competed nationally and internationally,
But afterwards rowing became his gram.
He was born on August the 29th in 1991,
And comes from North Yorkshire, moors,
He went to Hurworth House and Polam,
Schools, he won triathlons for his spoors.
Taking up rowing in 2011 at the Tees RC,
He competes in TA mixed double sculls,
And initially he raced with the able-bodied,
But now enjoys para-rowing which gulls.
So in Alguebelette in France at the Worlds,
2015, he and partner Lauren came second,
And in Rio, the open stage of the strongest,
The two secured the gold, rightly reckoned.
Categories:
sculls, sports, strength, water,
Form: Rhyme
Lauren became paralysed suddenly overnight,
When she developed firm transverse myelitis,
An inflammation of the spinal cord, a huge fright,
Which gave no feeling chest down, a mantis.
Born 24 April 1998, she comes from Birmingham,
In Bromsgrove District in the area Cotton Hackett,
Where she sat her A-levels which got her a gram,
At Oxford Brookes Uni as a law undergraduate.
Originally a wheelchair racer with many medals,
At the junior level for sprinting and distance middle,
She’s now in trunk and arms mixed double sculls,
Coupling with Laurence Whitely to warmly griddle.
Lauren only began the sport of rowing in 2015,
And rose through the ranks with speed and creed,
In 2015 in France the pair won silver real clean,
And in Rio they rowed to gold at tremendous speed.
Categories:
sculls, sports, strength, water,
Form: Quatrain
They stood poised to rise like sons
A collective of kindred spirits to wars
From this squadron pose they chose
They rose to face their foes
Arise like thorns from bulbs arose
Thrust their blades into their souls
Of war cries and the songs of idols
Their fears worn like sculls on spears
Prayers like a kite to the heavens
Courage like feathers to the winds
Crows poke at their startled eyes
Disappear with their gaze like a haze
Fake alliances and poor strategies froze
In this battle defeat is reward for the skeletons
To dowse forever their ignited fuse
Refuse their mummies escape from the killing fields
To amaze the masses arrested in the maze
Kaizer shooting instructions like fireballs
The enemy retaliates by clipping our feathers
The Glamour boys simply regroup their wings
Categories:
sculls, football, hero,
Form: Rhyme
“I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true.” -Dorothy Parker
“Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone” -Dorothy Parker
Angels connecting
in real live
Thinking reflecting
and keeping us strive
'Say no to consensuality
that's your best quality
You've the audibility
so keep on your prosody'
Always on time
Mr/Miss/Ms/Mrs I'm...
'Shhhhhhh'
with an eye rhyme
"That heinous crime"
Jumping off the metrics
Holy sculls!
Writing isn't mathematics
Such as friendship
Do everything intensively on your trip
If you stumble in the footpath
It's just a turn on
High in raciness
No Life Span
In the wrath
I am You Sylvia Plath
Nightmares and Dreams
In your life
You were anarchical
one of a kind
my new heteronym
named Wolfed Golf
because is worth being Virginia Woolf
In my paintings: pastels oils pencils and markers Paranoia(s) converter(s)
In being a reporter
In my disorder
sometimes being dark and darker
I am you,
Mrs Dorothy Parker
Categories:
sculls, how i feel, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
Complexity of human minds
Somber thoughts occupies slumbers
In the night the sound is deaf
Massless dreams useless thoughts.
In the day performed are dreams
Desolate, like deserts sand huddles
Heatrd to loss of purified waters
Heap upon heap smothering another.
Out of the deserts bones and sculls
Softly weeping, quench this thirst.
To late to far for human race?
Whispers heard ever so gentle soft
Awake, awake, wake you multitudes
Take care of all of your brothers.
Yet the staff with gold adorned
Speaks another with poison tongue
Listen not to the still,still voice
For I am the ruler of this world.
Oh skull and bones empty you are
In a whisper your days are numbered
Rulers you think you are,rich adorned
Your time is, yet it will fall like all others.
In one breath of purification, a calmness
Amidst the rumbles of wars and greed
The Earth will stand in all of its splendor
To those who hunger their thirst be quenched.
Humanity listen to the ever so small voice
Give no heed to the voice of this world
Rome the leader to doom predicted
Ah. men a sheep, a specie to be pitied.
Categories:
sculls, inspirational
Form: I do not know?
You’re gone for days, and
you always show up most
unexpectedly.
Like the mushrooms
that weren't there
the night before—
a ring of pallid sculls,
sleepers pushing through
the dark moist earth.
I always wonder:
are you toxic or
are you a delicacy...
Oh how I wish I knew
the plan that is set before me,
and your intentions...
Categories:
sculls, allegory, angst, introspection, nature,
Form: Free verse