Where have the matchstick men and women gone,
they used to walk home from the smoky factories
just to light up?
Where has the Pork Pie hat flown to?
Even the birds chirrup less sweetly,
Is it because my shoes are old
that I walk this way?
The world has shaved off its hairiness
and lovers are both bold and bald.
Where was the 'candlewick' spread
transported?
Blackpool used to be goofy,
a ton of chilly fun,
now the donkeys are unionized
and all smirched up.
I wish I were silly again, not this
cranky, potted egghead.
Where and when did I scramble myself?
Zippo stole away the matchstick men
that's who,
and they never came back again.
Sad but true now and then.
"Grab it", said Bob rabbit,
And went hop, hop,
The bacon was taken,
From the meat shop,
The cops pulled all the stops,
To catch grub thief,
They searched for bunny smirched,
To Bob's great grief,
He hopped until he dropped,
With fatigue sheer,
His bacon forsaken,
Ran off in fear,
Jack got his bacon back,
Thanked the police,
Chuffed that Bob's work was muffed,
Gave each a piece.
8th April 2023
inspired by Andrea Dietrich's Footles
Meat Market Robbery
Bacon
Taken
Pickpocket Bunny
Grab it
Rabbit
For Margarita Lillico's "Find Your PS Muse" contest
In a land far, far away,
Where courtrooms were made of clay,
The judge and jury were but mere puppets,
Dancing to the tune of the media's trumpets.
The accused was brought forth to stand,
His fate already sealed by the press's hand,
Guilty before trial, his name besmirched,
His reputation tarnished, his future smirched.
The trial was but a formality,
A charade for the masses to see,
The verdict was predetermined, the outcome set,
Justice was but a thing to forget.
The media, the true judge and jury,
Wielded power, a dangerous fury,
With their words they could make or break,
A man's life, with a single mistake.
So be warned, all those who tread,
In the court of public opinion led,
For the media's pen is mightier than the sword,
And their verdict, the final word.
Subtlety is the lexicon of exquisite mindfulness.
Kintsugi is a Japanese method of mending harm.
Another soul, another brilliance, another imperativeness.
Kings platter broke death, distress, and a phony delight!
In any case, there's gold and platinum dust here.
Avail Chinese polish tree saps to recuperate breaks
I can't discover repairing for my frail love.
Is anything but a special salve known than these?
I decided to assemble my demolished self, pieces and shreds.
Demolished photos from the garbage, I sorted them.
Smirched sheet, blurred shades soul contemplations remain.
Anxiety breaks the brain and hinders Kintsugi from aiding artwork.
A brilliant waterway of life might have the splendor you need.
As broken memories are recast, so does the clay.
Craft skill, gold trim, and heal the breaks in the earth is alive.
The words inspire trouble that strikes the spirit.
As recollections are restored, clay breaks retouch.
A bare soul, a wrecked heart, sorrow, and despair
Tears will recuperate your inward love and mental wounds.
Our spirits are bolstered when we love and care.
Written: August 14, 2021
I shall go hence
back whence I sprung
to shed, disgorge, eviscerate
all that I have ever known
all that I have ever learned
all that I am
all that is me, I be.
A full hard refresh
to be what I could be
untainted, smirched
unbiased, neutered.
Hence to whence
and thence I be,
freely
impotent.
Robert Lawson claimed to be a saint
but some people said that he ain't.
He smirched them
unchurched them.
Now lives in hell a man quite quaint.
A damsel beckons to be heard
Saddened Andra hides underneath her blackened hair
Abandoned by the one’s she loved
No longer harvesting joy or flicker a sweet smile
Brooding loneliness nothing felt but pain
Words not spoken just taciturn
Her failures make her crumble
She vows to see another
But how could she when no one will see her
Her face has been smirched of its glow
Conceded from her inner struggles
With a lack of confidence she bows to others
But only seen as a harlot upon the earth
Sacrificing her morals, she’s hollowed inside
I plot to have her by my side
So I can be content and fill my voids
My emotions begin to flutter, I become possessive
To grasp her by the wrist, and wash away my fate
I have a feeling of dismay
Gae into me and kill my vices
The way I feeling is baffling
Now my heart goes thin within a feverous sting
Am not buried in some cemetery
Where the graves look smirched and old,
Neither interred in some forest deep
Where it's always dark and cold.
My tomb lies not in some valley green
Bathed by the morning sun,
Neither hidden in some desert sand
In a mystic puzzling pun.
I lie embedded in parchments old
Were my forlorn verses tell,
In the hearts of men my crypt shall lie
It's there I shall always dwell.
***************
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