The Oboe City Whore
____________________________
Her words speaks an unspoken reality
"If you go through it first then I'll know
How to act. A model of leadership might I keep
My sports intact. Oh the ancients fooling people what came first. I ain't got act, no I ain't gotta reherst.
Vile wicked woman I caught on to what you been doing. I ain't gonna be your scapegoat, you out here deceiving people. Love no it ain't that simple. This is a complicated trust. See the Stupides speaks the loudest if you get what I am saying
Call every God you know, then you'll know I am not playing.
She said, been a whore in listed episodes, a snitch for my Mister. You don't mean much to me, your demise is my concern
. Your days are numbered, and you'll never reach that conclusion, when it comes to revenge; baby it's my turn!
Signed X’s and O’s
Through the tears…despite my fears,
I’ll be back home again.
Though the war rages for endless ages,
I’ll be back home again.
Though I’m far away from you,
You have no need for concerns,
For my love remains true,
And my passion still burns,
And I’ll be back home again.
Though its dark and lonely here,
Thoughts of you keep me strong.
Being kept from you is my only fear,
But I know it won’t be for long,
And I’ll be back home again.
And though the time I must be away
Drags slowly on and on,
We both know there will come a day
When from this hell I’ll be gone,
And I’ll be back home again.
And though I say, “Don’t forget to pray,”
That I’ll be back home again,
And when I’m through, you’ll know it’s true,
‘Cause I’ll be back home again.
When it’s my turn to come back home,
It’s on the first plane I’ll be,
With no more desire to roam,
And it’s your lovely face I’ll see
When again I’m back home.
I’ll do what I must,
And in God I trust,
While my service I complete,
Till I’m back home my sweet.
Signed with X’s and O’s--
That’s how the letter closed,
That the chaplain brought to her door.
A soldier back home never more…
I cannot write what I do not feel.
I cannot feel what I do not know.
To write without passion
is to kneel at the nameless grave and weep,
to mourn the soil and not the dead,
to beg meaning from dust
and call it poetry.
I lie on the floor of my bathroom
just to feel the weight of my bones.
Cool tile against warm flesh,
as if the divide between body and ground
might spark something
some rebellion of thought
against the white noise of nothing.
I scroll the blank screen,
cursor blinking like a flatline.
There is no pulse,
no poem.
And still I return
no better than the hand
that finds comfort in the bottle,
each stanza a swig,
each line a confession.
I only write when I’m bleeding.
I only bleed when I’m empty.
I just signed up for a boot-camp course in how to be spontaneous
earth life tests
that’s its job
be at peace
our response
is what counts
be mindful
don’t worry
life’s a dream
let it roll
03-April-2023
Tricube
Green means Stop
Red means Go
Welcome to Chicago!
to my friend about the busy plane we were in
to my friend about the busy plane
I used to be a poet…
A god among man became I
Until one day I met a maiden fair.
She was as lovely as a dream of heaven;
Hell on earth to punish my profanity.
More than a gift sent from heaven
Was she, but heaven;
Thought I:
For my sanity ceased to be
At her site.
Her smile told a story;
A story scary but worth listening to.
Each time and again I felt her teeth
Peeling away my flesh,
One bite at a time.
I flirted with the devil ignorant to
The repacussions of my little stunts.
In no time I was held by the neck—
Jaws of death;
The certificate ‘my Angelina’ signed.
I was never taught and I never knew
What it was, the golden rule:
Do so to others as you
Want them to do likewise to you;
Until I took a sip from her bottle in awe.
The hearts I broke prior,
As if by ether, transmitted
Their pain to mine.
All around me was pain written
In blood a symbol of vengeance.
The pain of a heartbreak jerked me awake.
I paid reverence to my guardian Angel,
Who my fears made known in a dream!
And ever since then, before I break a heart,
I imagine the pain!
I signed.
I signed the paper when asked to,
The sergeant said, lad, your in.
But do you know what you have signed,
And what you're expected to do.
You took the shilling
Which meant you were willing,
To go wherever you're sent.
There are places around
where you might think sound,
But there are folk who want to see
You,buried deep in the ground,
I told him that it's true what you say
And for that shilling I will obey.
So it was until the day I left
Always wanting, but never got.
I did my time without an angry shot.
I was sent to places with troubled past,
All quiet when I got there, quite sublime
That's how it was as I served my time.
Not a bullet fired or a medal won
But I'd took the shilling and wrote my will,
Because maybe one day it was shoot or kill.
© Dave Timperley 03/01/2020
did I hear
poetry being
read or was
that all in
my head
because
everything
you've said
well written
what i've read
that your words
are poetic
but enough said
because you could
say the word s**t
and
my
heart
would
take a
dump
Bluebells carpeting a shaded wood.
Reading a well written book.
A live band playing all their hits.
all bring joy, The real McCoy.
Holidays in far off lands.
Making party plans .
Meeting up with the one you love.
These all bring joy, The real McCoy
A babe in arms.
A puppy dog.
A kitten with a ball of string.
Simple joys, The real McCoy
A winning bet.
A nice pay rise.
A lottery winning line.
Its all true joy, The real McCoy
No more wars.
Or politics.
Just living life for life's sake
This is joy, The real McCoy
This world is full war and strife
Ignore it live your life
Let others stress and scream and shout
I'm just going to enjoy this life
Signed Mr R McCoy ***
Limerick crochetés: Once Angela signed pact with Doctor Jeckel
Once Angela signed pact with Doctor Jeckel
Needed urgent help her kitchen all pell-mell
In far-off torn country
People turned refugee
By turnip-head Mephistopheles in Hell
Angela’s wise friend Faust told her to toll bell
To tell the world how much her heart bled with knell
She’ll take in all who flee
Bitten by bee or flea
Life-jackets galore Mephisto jumped to sell
In Mid-Land-Sea punctured floats jackets did spell
Drowned refugee yells worse than arrows Will’ Tell
Angie slurped sea-green tea
With Jeckel invitee
While survivors charged through blockades raising Hell
If Angela dug an underground Chunnel
From her kitchen to Mephisto-lands un-well
Käse-Kuchen* Mummy
Made by hands refugee
To boost her economy – Angela! Hail!
*Käse-Kuchen: German for cheese cake
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Oh damn any nonsense accession!
That so called Lion of Kashmir
Had signed,
Bowed before an Indian woman minister,
Had half-cut hair, an instrumental seductress—
I have heard.
Withdraw your troops!
Why this border between us?
We have our brothers and sisters across,
Don’t you understand???
As you have halved Our land into two?
And gifted some to China!
Oh God we poor people are occupied--now for long;
We flutter as parrots in cage,
And no one ever has ever felt our pain.
If You Yourself come to our aid?
Caro-LYN,
is an old friend,
extremely dear.
She renews our
contract
every year.
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