Short Emporium Poems

porridge lama street
emporium dock
comb lobster freckle...

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Writing loosens screws      of tightly wound neurosis 
into a plethora filled emporium    of creatively flowing
psychosis...

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My thoughts are caught on a cattle grid
Tractor tyres rumble over my ideas

The farmer's wife's bosom holds all the secrets
To an emporium of scent and voluptuous spheres

The bell rings for dinner and the daylight dimmers
The cows are a lowing and the z's climb for the clouds

It's night time in the Sussex Downs...

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THE  TERRARIUM
 
           For my tantalizing terrarium
           brought pilea, peperomia and palm,
           selecting  from emporium.
         
           Precious plants are growing faster 
           inside my bottle of water.
           Shining in sheen and lustre.  
          
           Exuberant bottle greenery.
           Me caring being miminy-piminy....

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Slaphappy monkeys swinging from trees to trees
Cartwheeling giraffes heads nodding in the breeze
Burly sea lions chasing sperm whales in the seas
A menagerie of animals dancing as they please

Bushmen collecting emporium honey bees,
Whistling cardinals chasing pretty chickadees,
Creatures playing pinnacle, cards upon their knees
Greedy gorillas wondering if their life’s carefree....

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The chain of LAM'S
a banner clout.
A house of noodles.
A quaint take-out.

An emperor's block.
A staple foods.
With much respect
their employees broods.

A treasured jewel.
A China girl-
to serve them food-
A tilta-whirl.

This geisha Sally
a fine servant.
Her nimble fingers
a wine fervent.

A blossom smile
to serve her suey.
Her sparkle bright
without a phooey.

A lovely maiden
Sally Trac.
A princess running.
A LAM'S serac....

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The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut.

I dust a beautiful porcelain lady.

My Nikon needs to be taken out of its case
like a coal black memory.

I pick up a quartz crystal,
put it to my eye
don't know why.

I drive out at night
with no aim or destination.

I go to the Oriental grocery emporium.
Cooking into the unknown
is my space travel.

These things I do are tramlines,
These things I do are rituals
for the safe-side of my mind....

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