Short Dyed In The Wool Poems

Dyed-In-the-Wool! 

Stains there in your palms, wallowing, ling'ring, 
Metamorphosed into tears and so drips, 
Tainting where they plunge, and you're unsullied?  
19:03:12:08:52

Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral Form. Dyed-in-the-wool...

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Don't ever be, dyed in the wool,  be wise
   Against anyone, who's always spinning yarns.
   To them it's just another game, to pull wool over eyes.
   As every time that they cry wolf, it's always false alarms.
   For a wolf will wear sheep's clothing, to catch you by surprise....

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file for reversal
separation of dew 
from meadow 
nor the progress 
of eventide 
awaken the sunrise 
at first blush 
stalk the night hours
and pen kisses 
the source of spring
and thaw
nestled, on a bed of roses
dyed-in-the-wool,
my three pointed star 
a rain that replenishes the soul
and desire...

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There’s nowt so canny and nowt so deep 
As the musings of the highland sheep
They’ll talk of this and talk of that 
Of what they ate and where they shat
Or ponder on life’s mysteries 
Like, is the grass beneath the trees
Much finer than the one that grows 
Down beside the old hedgerows


© John W Fenn  18-09-2009...

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eyes etched'n mystery
wielding wanky slips
on epileptic drips
centered on clips
hanging on hits
punctured per clip

delicate draw dangling
lousy limb lustrating
pulling chaos's mist

vying courage gulped
in mystic mist
punctured passion puking

lusty lips leak
dyed-in-the-wool demon creeps.
      20:01:15:16:55...

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Born of a cloth wrapped in fear and loathing

A dyed in the wool wolf in sheep's clothing

A scoundrel at heart for all here to see

No sacrifice made or hero to be

A braggart that speaks only tongue and cheek

A coward at best that preys on the weak

What goes around comes around without a sound 

So when the time comes lies dead on the ground...

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Surveillance across the border
Can't stop this tricky misfit
Dyed in the wool habits
Propagate my quantum unzip

Features festering on a broken age

Creatures gesturing to allocate sage

Where grass grows plenty
Ill be unloading the Chesapeak
Shipliner still dazed

On animal plantation 
We'll circle the globe
Figuring out what to do
And lay in jewel tombs
The way we're supposed to...

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He thought she loved him as the dense clouds of wool filled his mind,
but she was there for only one thing, to fleece him of his money.
A dyed in the wool sex addict, an easy mark, she knew his kind,
but he knew her too, every penny was worth her soft fleecy skin, sweet as honey.
She gave herself to him as he let the wool cover his eyes, part of the game, he wasn't blind.


01/16/16...

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He gets into her room,
and shuts the door behind him,
with the lustful call to open her dress
like a rose opening up in spring.

He's hungry to feel her touch and warmth;
his eyes drooling to the sight
of her feminine nature.

He is blinded to her dyed-to-the-wool
hatred to his wife, career, and life;
they killed her husband, burned their house,
and killed her pet dog;
little do they know the ''baby-sitter''
is a ticking time bomb.

She plots only revenge.........

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