Short Mete Poems

It's meet that we met
 that we met over meat
   at the Met
where they mete out the meat
   ~ s'Howie Met...

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though tis spoken when we meet,
begrudging, we mete
out cold, absent any meat


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A Ukiah, 7/5/7 with rhyme...

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The message they mete out is strong
It's cooked at the top but smells wrong
This cursed wurst to eat 
Slice of life that looks neat  
A baloney treat for the throng...

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marred this mead of honeyed brew
yet flaxen still thy rotten spike
and spoil it so inedible
but haste unto her charge, she will

and grail be this austere cup
to carry off ignobleness 
and watch it drain through gullet of
a wrongsome hound, the cad, it must

and mete thy charm, ye witches grail




...

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Gently probing her vulnerabilities
     seeking only the slightest advantage
   He parries her feints most delicately
     awaiting an opening to do some damage...
 
   When she, shockingly, reveals a secret so deep
     then casts aside his sword to weep
   and declare: A man who jousts with a lady fair
     is mete to unseat in her heart's affairs...

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Doth thou Parle the night's
                   Vastidity?
       Wouldst be thine haver of thy
Uneyed, thought-sickness strewn umoving
                    Travels?

       Ratherst, it be that, it is thine
    trade-fallen quarters; thine debt as
         the Militarist is mete by the
Languish bestrewn on thine epochtic mind.

            The morrow breaks......

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VICTOR HAILS FROM MALTA

I picture you on your island of Malta,
fine treasures you mete with nature
and lovelorn memories. My mind’s eye
froths with imageries and portraitures.

You stir the sea of Poetry Soup’s lot,
ladle out friendship and kind words.
Halfway around the world, the sun
And moon shine with blessings stirred.

12/11/2019
Tribute to Victor Buhagiar...

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Of all that is free in life
there's one that stands out
passion without any strife
that's what it's all about

Take patience and passion
and mix the two together
until they part in fission
neither now the aggressor

In total harmony they meet
patience adding temperance
for'bearingly giving us mete
now loving without hinderance

written 09/03/2013

contest Passion Pays, Not Patience...

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Burn Baby, Burn!
Like my soul for her.
Burn Baby, Burn!
As if you were saying “burrr.”

Burn Baby, Burn!
Cast a fire unto me.
Burn Baby, Burn!
Let the world see,

Burn Baby, Burn!
Our passion for the heat.
Burn Baby, Burn!
Let the smoke be our mete.

Burn Baby, Burn!
Don’t cross over that line.
Burn Baby, Burn!
Reach for the flames so divine....

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Beneath the banner "FREE TO CHOOSE,"  
algorithms hum what thoughts to lose—  
a labyrinth of tailored streets  
where every turn pretends it’s mete.  

The app says "yes" but limits "no",  
while search bars choke what seeds might grow.  
Drop-down menus mock the "free"—  
liberty’s a loading spree.  

We swipe left through infinite feeds,  
terrified to close the apps we’ve kneeled.  
The tightest chains are coded thoughts:  
ghostwriters scripting what we’re not.

-...

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