When all is dark, and often- bright
And the walls- they look- So white!
I see them in my new settee
Sometimes, in the middle of the night
Glowing- like, a marshmallow- tanned
Just a tad, to give, a hue
To look, the way my grandfather did
When he wore, his old- "Brown Shoe"
And then, they took me by my balls
And they made me state some facts
But never did I give into them
They could never trace my tracks
Jehovah people-knocked, with pamphlets in their hand
I tried somewhat to tell them, but they didn't understand
I can't sing "Halleluiah" because I haven't got a voice
And when it comes to my religion- J. W's. not my choice
When all is bright, and often- black
The words I've spilt I won't take back
Truth be told, I would not lie
So, now I shall eat my pumpkin pie
I'm five and it's a fire-dive -
sweaty-skinned and flambé-limbed,
kindling tingling in my throat,
matches scratching sandpaper skin.
Lying on the terracotta velour settee
watching sparky scenes igniting the room -
a terracotta army of sparks
marching through the grate,
grating like bars on the old forest gate,
black bars of night growing tall on the wall
and I'm always up against it
hearing echoes of the ethereal eternal
Help us help us we'll help you...
I want to be well, to enter the well
cooling the heat and heart of the house,
dousing bouquets of firelight
petals flickering on amber glass bottles of medicine,
her hooked hands feeding me aspirin, penicillin,
cream and green torpedo tablets
fever-spearing, strobing swirling the room.
Now nightshade creepers spine-twine in dark dreams
black echoes build on a sonograph screen
descending into the no-way-out well,
the inescapable hell of not well.
Somewhere in the distant past, it stole my heart;
Time before it’s eating added to my girth.
It is not a fancy cupcake, pie, or tart.
Could it almost be the best dessert on earth?
Kings and Queens, I hear, they eat it on the sly.
Yattering with little princes over Chai.
Tasted better how my grandma used to make
On our weekly Sunday visits to her house
Following a juicy barbecue of steak;
Films of Western heroes, and of Mickey Mouse.
Every other Sunday, we all did the same.
Except when I was ill, which was such a shame.
Perhaps these were the favorite times I knew;
University was sticky pudding-free.
Darkened days in military eating stew;
Diet of a beer and pizza on settee
In a cold and dreary bedsit south of Kew.
Now, these days, I can consume it when I wish;
Grandma’s famous sticky toffee pudding dish.
.
I hear nothing but the
Cold wind
Whizzing past my
Ears
Likewise
It's brush against your
Visage's curtain
Exposing voluptuous
Your lips
I see the cold's effect
Upon your breast's
Titillating raiment
I see the wind hath
Caused the scatter of
Every your
Gold and sand
Tresses
Aye
Cloak and dagger
Left at your billet's
Entry
I taste
Beyond my
Express
Desperate ours
Enhancing your boudoir
Drapes retracted
Opened panes
The biting wind
Upon your settee
Rolls with ours
* rrrr, no, this ain't no "AI"
'tiz 'fore edvard'z dabble
into cant///that be, tuh
spell it's speak...'tiz alwayz
been mine babble...well,
until mine 2nd wife learn'd
me how tuh speak y'all..lol
much love ")
In His great slumberous periods
Mighty yawned, wedged in between
Love taking sips, beat ardours
That haze a hummingbird scene
This awaits, shaping comforts
Voluptuous settee.
Set on its coral paws to bear
The dreamt fruits of Deity.
My Bicycle of Imagination
The day and I are hand in hand,
brimming with a zippety-whippity-do.
I sit atop my saddle, my bicycle, my hill;
the morning mist is ragged like candy floss
on barbed wire, waggled fences.
Below a liquorice-tarmacked road
elbows through a mosaicked landscape;
churned fields sitting either side,
serrated into channels of earth;
suited and rooted in browned corduroy.
Then further on and along,
the sky sits sedately on the sea,
resting on a blue, rippled settee,
just out of close reach
of a mustard scarf of a beach.
Clouds rear - wild, white stallions;
they settle, then away at a gallop,
racing, chasing the prize in
the finishing line, the horizon.
Watch out, speedy swallow,
now, it’s my time to follow!!
I sense my bicycle’s stalled frustration,
so my body engine sets it free;
muscles tighten, pedals spin,
it’s time to fly, time to check in.
Off we go…wind pushing at my heels,
sunlight splashing off the wheels
down I swoop, a dance of balance;
the bike glides, the road slides.
Watch me come, watch me go
connecting, perfecting with nature’s flow;
sky, land and sea…………WEEEEEEEEEEE!
In a dumpster at a house close to me
were the contents of a home bourgeoisie.
In the night, it caught fire,
which did fill me with ire;
was gonna dive for a velvet settee!
All became purview in her constant gaze ~
eyes that followed, no matter my corner,
nor settee where fleur-de-lis begged recline ~
and, no peace was found in voyeuristic laze.
Even in the vestibule - through the door
she stares
~ her beauty lingers there and captures
daydreams that share this moment in time.
I wonder ~ did the artist love her too,
he, who captured every seductive line
of wanting eyes and impatient grin?
How can one wish they'd never met a painting
without knowing ~ lost love...
Oh, oh! pity party
I want my old house back
I want it summer
windows open curtains fluttering
in the ocean breeze
I want my carpet sofa chairs
desk etagere
coffee table piles of books
and magazines
I want my little kitchen
chopping block island
glass-front cabinets
with the Chilmark pottery
I want my garden rhododendrons
Montauk daisies
the curved path with
axioms carved into flat stones
I want my white-fenced yard
garden shed made by
the Martha’s Vineyard High School
carpentry class
I want my wide-railing porch
settee swing and chair
blue and white striped cushions
flower baskets hanging all around
I want my friends, my neighborhood
ocean beach plums wild grapes
for the picking
I want my old home back
.
Pouting
day long
Save mine arrive
Smiling in the settee
hern cute
limp
*shadang; there'z the sum who missed this
(this be the double entendre) like-
wise, as for mineself, there'z surly
no indecent within this write..okay,
risque' ,)
Reindeer at Christmas will often eat carrots
Though Santa once had one who liked to eat parrots
But parrots at Christmas can be hard to find
He wasn’t too fussy so he didn’t mind
He never complained that he felt out of luck
When push came to shove he would also eat duck
With Christmas upon them there’s no time to eat
But he wouldn’t grumble and he wouldn’t bleat
He’d fly through the skies with his mouth gaping wide
A mallard would soon sate his hunger inside
“Don’t swallow ducks whole,” that was Santa’s suggestion
“You'll belch through the night due to dodgy digestion.”
A nine year old lad hid behind the settee
And woke mum and dad at a quarter to three
He told them he’d waited since late Christmas Eve
And then he said something they couldn’t believe
“The presents are under the tree neatly stacked
I swear they were left by a reindeer that quacked.”
She did not have to guess.
She felt it in her bones.
Unfaithful he always was,
Unfaithful he'll always be.
She knew where he would be.
Anger flared in the pit of her stomach,
A heart-wrenching in the ache of fire.
What could she do? Revenge?
She rejected such thoughts
Knowing well enough
She was no match against him.
Why couldn't he love only her?
Why did he leave her dehydrated of love?
As in the Fall, her love-like leaves
Fell down, turned brown,
Definitely to be lost forever.
She'll do without him, come what may.
Thus she lay on her settee, love choked,
Folded herself foetus-like,
Relishing the darkness of her abode.
Another lonely night, cursing her dreams.
A wave of nausea gripped her soul,
Knew she'll have to take her medication
Before she really turned sick.
She swallowed the two pills,
She would not please him and have more.
But she could not resist
Drinking ruby red dry wine.
She felt confused. Did she swallow her pills?
Doubt after doubt after doubt.
Her bottle seemed empty.
So she drank some more.
Finally, she slept
Alone, abandoned on the settee.
A plump little girl named Betty
She ate copious amounts of spaghetti
She loved the stuff
It was never enough
She got too fat to sit on the settee
Do you ever think about film characters in the realms of reality?
Think about someone like Grima Wormtounge making Saruman a pot of tea?
What about the eye of Sauron trying to find someone to play monopoly or Frodo, giving the ring to Gollum so he can go just home for tea?
Ever think about the characters with their nail clippers, getting waxed or brushing their teeth?
Imagine Rambo with a lawnmower that’s gone faulty?
Or what about The Terminator assembling IKEA furniture quietly?
Ok, try to picture Deadpool trying to find something to wear to a fancy dress party.
What about the ‘man with no name’ listening to the payment options for a flat-screen TV?
Now, what about James Bond getting pissed on your settee or Jason Bourne, bag in hand, waiting to see if the dog just wanted a pee?
Do you ever think of film characters in the realms of reality or is it just me?
Night bring terrible memories,
shadows of yesteryears,
it takes my breath away
in fears, anguish and hell.
An ugly wolf runs after me
as I slither in the mud
heart beats burst my chest with pains.
Please take away those forces
that rumble in my midriff
driving me crazy with dread.
I cannot cry, I can only pray
that dawn arrives
with its damask cupola
when stars fade away
and the moon hides its face in shame.
Why is the break of day so far away?
I lie numb on the settee
Perspiration running down my cheeks.
I skate near life's edge
I try to grab a lifeline,
find only puffs of hot dry air.
And time goes by so slowly,
pain like the claws of an eagle
squash my soul of its life.
No, I will not cry, I will only pray.
Dear God, thanks,
You've given me a new day.
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