Your Phosphorus, twinkles as the morning star -
lovely Venus...how beautiful you are.
Your Hesperus, sparkles as the evening star -
how enchanting to see you from afar.
Named for the Goddess of love, divine,
when the sun is up, still you shine.
If one knows where in the sky you're residing,
he can see you coyly hiding.
Poets, you would always beguile,
but now, scientists, too, find you worthwhile,
sending crafts to sidle by your side,
immersed in atmospheric carbon dioxide.
Up close, your beauty transforms to doom,
Our probes, your heat will instantly consume.
Is it fiery love, passion, or CO2?
See what a greenhouse gas can do!
God will not sidle alongside an idol
Or will He sidle with the idle
God will not hang with the tongue harangue
Or listen to this world's slang
God will not accept a wrong Weltanschauung
God will suffer long, His judgements He won't prolong
God became a Child for those beguiled
God became The Tamer of those gone wild
God accepts no treason, only proper reason
God is the Reason for reason
God is The Word, there's no atheist's redaction
(Remember that you can't burn an abstraction)
God will oust any verbal joust
God has defeated Faust
God gives us a right to defend
The right that bare arms extend
Love to God Who is Your Neighbor
By extending love to your earthly neighbor
God is our Bower
God to the Third Power
God The Trinitarian Tower
Amen
I am empty of empathy
come sympathise with me
Cue the violins,
or just fiddle
like a bad-tempered Roman
Offer me hope:
bring flamboyant symbols,
cheap gold pendants with wings
Maybe a big gaudy
unflappable albatross
nothing too flash,
mind you!
Take my hand,
lead me towards the edge
it’s time to fledge
Sidle me onward,
watch as I waver
Try not be over-critical
of the albatross
He’s become a hanger-on,
too far gone
and addicted to flattery
If I drag you down
or appear inhumane,
it’s all secondary
I’m merely feeling depressed
by a pouch in my brain
A séance sensed
it was next of kin,
X-rays revealed tiny pleats,
masses of tissue within folds of skin
An exorcist said it’s
my vestigial twin
Google diagnosed
(Visual agnosia)
taking shape from within
Oh! And the indifferent
chatbot I confided in,
has begun self-harming!
Written: February 26, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whilst an ivory sky, my mast ignite.
As tidal waves flicker in sparks that gleam.
Igneous scarlet pyres still blazing night.
The amber sparks hover in swooping sight.
Amid thunder, boisterous shivers scream.
Whilst an ivory sky, my mast ignite.
The limestone chunks resemble carved calcite.
With furnace flames in phosphorous agleam.
Igneous scarlet pyres still blazing night.
As I gaze upward, pitch and haze relight.
Steadfast, I plunge where evil spirits teem
Whilst an ivory sky, my mast ignite.
Rancid stench of the city stinks of blight.
Above lagoons, as muddy smog or steam.
Igneous scarlet pyres still blazing night.
A phoenix amidst the fire, set alight.
overhauled from ashen sidle, wings' dream
Whilst an ivory sky, my mast ignite.
Igneous scarlet pyres still blazing night.
Your smile was one of innocence before you looked away.
Was that a bit of fear in your eyes as you looked away?
For a month you served me breakfast every morning,
but tawny eyes never meet mine again; they turn away.
Cinnamon blush painted your cheeks as if by artist's brush.
I saw your hands tremble before you quickly moved away.
What I would give to see you smile as you did the first time.
No price too dear, for it hurts my heart when you sidle away.
The sun shines when I see you. Is there something I could do
that would sway you to talk with me instead of stepping away?
I'm not one to offer a sweet cliche' that's used too often.
I'm afraid you'd just bow your head and keep walking away.
I don't know your name but I heard someone call you, Brooke.
If you would once more look at me, I couldn't be pried away.
I'll show respect for your demeanor by avoiding your eyes.
Forgive me if I make you feel uncomfortable. I will stay away.
Less than eighty, now ... they're, unaccounted.
'Tis sad ... NEXT: the hawk hovered that founded
fresh sedges, grasslands, and deserts idyll,
God in the detail, Red-Tailed Hawk sidle,
Blitzkrieg mob by crows, females sized greater,
social-less wingers, life mono-mater,
dives one hundred twenty miles per hour,
kills owl young BOTH nesting competitor,
Prey spotted one hundred feet in the air,
Their eyesight to man, seven times finer,
Two feet, two pounds, twenty-one years lifespan,
Roadkill, hunting, and human expansion,
Diet: various birds, and small rodents,
Scrub deserts, farm fields, rainforests, woodlands.
under the lych-gate shall I pass
before the wait in holding hands
for the robed man of God to steer
me to my resting days
and shall I then be added to
the sanded brick of grotesque face
that stares across the standing stones
to look beyond the yew
and those who sidle in the rain
with shoulders loaded down with strife
will keep their head and eye to ground
and unaware of mine
then as I learn such higher ways
and freedom casts me from its stone
so will I then bargain forth
and leave the world behind
now in the realm I find myself
among ancestral light and warmth
the pain and heaviness has gone
and I begin to shine
then glow do I a little more
in understanding what has been
while bathed in voice of honey tone
and stole for my return
When you try to solve your problems
with the swing of an angry fist
that cannot be unswung
nor the damage caused undone
regret will sidle up
hollow out your belly
and set your mind awhirl
conveying very clearly
that what you should have done
was take a breath or two
go back a bit in time
to when that fist
would not have swung
to when Boots
raised from just a puppy
relied on your protection
and came to you for comfort
unclench that angry fist
and remember how it felt
when Boots was in your lap
and you used that unclenched fist
to gently stroke his warmth
as he lazily stretched and yawned.
The town I was born into was a grit incubating slum.
It was the worst of places yet had some gruff-faced
high-headed days.
On those few times
(days that did not seek to hammer me down
into the brick and rubble strewn ground),
I would walk like a lord-ling
in my own spit-rinsed and grubby manor.
I would swagger, daring all to cut the throat
of any withering word
or to blast the staring eyes and ogle-mouthed louts
as they came at me, only to ski-daggle or sidle.
In those long hours, in those dank drenched daylights
I would fight knuckle-hardy and win
then wear a trophy cut on my chin
that ached in the stony-breathed air.
I was a tough and scrawny king atop of his small heap
and the town bowed down to me until the next day
when it sought once more
to murder my rough-hewn soul.
When one is mostly idle;
Laziness is one's idol:
Things are stopped in the middle;
To use your time you fiddle...
The idle hears out riddle
But feels not its sharp needle
It's a voice that can tweedle
And - watch it - feet that diddle
He can't hold horse's bridle
And while walking not sidle;
Surely can read the Bible
And try the describable
But won't any verse scribble...
On that point choose to dribble.
Ancient oak mythology predicted rainforest would have a large gnarled root.
She'll show up on a Sunday and have a loopy-loop fit for a bandicoot.
Bandicoot will curl up in the root and show the world an amazing show.
Of stars and fireworks, you will see where ever you sidle, slide or go.
Prophecy came true on a Sunday in October in Twenty-Twenty three.
The giant gnarled root grew in one night and yelled “yippee! Yippee!”
Rainforest asked crescent moon to take a look at gnarled root of the tree
“I think this is part of the prophecy,” said the moon, “go ask the sea.”
My father passed a few years back, and he keeps appearing in my dreams, always on the same street and roughly the same dialogue. The poem/story has no real format. Just my feelings on it. Thanks!
Silent Street
On streets where past and present collide, holograms ride delta waves
You sidle up, gate light and easy, mid conversation
I Parse the rhetoric for glimmers of acceptance
But again benign, drivel muddles the way
The one sided blather on photography labors uncontested
Your catalogue, a thorough exhibition of you
Fitting. Buried emotions etched in celluloid
Reveling in silent shame, feeling a camaraderie
of sorts
Time is short, so silent I stay
Ears hinged for signs of accountability
A modicum of responsibility
And so I wait...
The pipe store beckons, it's almost time
Fading into the night he says We'll meet up later
I know we will. So Maybe, next time.
Till then, in silent space, I standalone. Apologies unrendered.
He is more than idle,
Idleness his Idol;
A sloth without bridle,
Along sidewalks sidle …
Now begun to languish
And had been in Anguish;
You can guess: Empty Tank!
His heart this morning sank;
Why won’t it in basement
For a rump on pavement?
A human to demote
Or send to camps remote;
One I would never quote
Nor in election vote.
he was pouring at the happening and usually there is a fair amount of disdain for the enthusiasts
who like to sidle up to sample the snacks, libations and what have you goodies.
he was a wisp of fair blond - a hippy kid.
he asked me if I would like him to crack my can of brew
I told him that this was not necessary
I looked at some stuff and listened to some other stuff
trying to maintain a bit of elbow room
while the crowds swirled and yammered
biding some time before refill and then I went back for another and he
cracked this one for me and said "cheers"
I drank it down and went for a walk down the street
I did not want to appear to be too gluttonous so I gave it some minutes
when I resurfaced in the crowded room and foraged thru the groups back to my man
he smiled and said "I grabbed this one at the bottom so that its chilled and now it needs to be shotgunned".
I laughed and retorted with double thumbs up
Impressed that this cat accurately assessed my quench and provided a
responsive and congenial atmosphere in one that can be rather unpleasant and clannish
my man had it
and I salute him for it
the damn hippy dippy
had it
kindness
Mason Mount a legend in the making,
His skills are real, he is never faking,
He doesn't pass ball without thinking,
At just 22 years he is record breaking,
He always leave the defenders shaking,
A blue superstar in the making.
Alongside Kante, he plays in the middle,
His haters tongue wag with no bridle,
Infront of the goal he dares to straddle,
As sharp on the field, he is like a needle,
Confusing the defenders when he sidle,
A blue superstar in the middle.
He is creative in making those passes,
Drifts the ball wide when he possesses,
Shoots it at an angle when he crosses,
Picks a teammate who heads and scores,
A player which every Chelsea Fan adores,
A blue superstar giving passes.
©Kelmwa
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