Quite often it seems subdued
But in need of a little support
Best avioded any kind of fude
When in that moment caught
The constsnt change in mood
Because she is now distraught
The sudden change of attitude
But a battle l have never fought
Though don't be missconstude
What she'd often smoke or snort
I mean it is not my kind of food
Never given a second thought
A follow up to a stark reallity and chassing the
Light written 2014....
if ninety fine
slightly mounted mint
chipmunks can sub-
sist on tiny yin
fins tied togeth-
er like some jamba-
laya snort cakes
zen can you imag-
ine all of the Vandals that would be sacking those very
same cakes when in Rome?
.
deep vibrate'n
mine
bellow'z rhythm
grunts
snort
snort
shhnort
clack shhtomp
scraaape
daddio holdz on
woops
thar him goez
swooosh flop
flip
like uh hunk uh poops
plop
']>
*bardeo; mine portmanteau for,
bard and rodeo <]')
The fair was filled with pies of every sort,
And Simon longed to taste a single slice.
Approaching the pie baker with a snort,
And begged for food without proper price.
The baker sneered, "Your coin must first suffice,
Before you bite this golden, flaky crust."
But Simon smiled and gave some odd advice:
"True wealth is found in starlight, not in dust!"
The crowded marketplace began to trust
The penniless philosopher’s strange scheme.
They threw away their wallets in disgust,
To chase after a wild, pastry baked dream.
Thus Simon ate for free while others prayed,
By selling nonsense, all his debts were paid.
You, the great blasphemer, did snort
“I will be Christ. I will be the Most High
Above the fifty stars and courts
Above every deity of the sky”
Worshiping the idol of forts
With gold and silver, but with no ally
O orange morning star… O Don
You will be brought down alive
By Life, the daughter of Wisdom
To where no rose can grow and strive
With no oak tree to rest upon
With no eagle to arrive
Trampling you underfoot
Generations will think
“Is this that man who put
The whole earth on the brink
Turned his kingdom to soot
Killed liberty in a blink”
(Influenced by Isaiah 14:12-17)
O greenish blue neighbour of mine
across my kitchen window, sunning in shine
perching very high on the doctor's house fig tree
resonating your tunk...tunk louder than metronomic glee
Saw you today, puffing your yellow throat,
the silk floss petals plucking with your hand glove
bobbing your red head and flicking bluish tail,
have you tracked a sincere mate?
have you picked a red berry or two for your consort,
hope allopreening is not building on snort?
what about fluttering your blue grey black wings side by side ?
start a "Beak Game" in a full stride?
Keep flight straight, with rapid flaps
Be away from that, extortionist Blue-throated barbet
avoid flying klepto red-vented songbird,
eyeing at your red berries and burd.
PS:A coppersmith (barbet) , very old next tree neighbour, annoying sometimes by her incessant calls ,many times reminds me that that is how a life goes on
Spin and curl in nights tangled cradle,
a puzzling witness.
A breakless brain buzzes on -
an endless blunt toothed saw.
The body belches and rumbles
tirelessly works to produce
the odd snort or snore.
All is a stepless stasis on an escalator
speeding to nowhere,
just the random outtakes
from under-rehearsed thoughts,
dying moths dropping into darkness
At last, flesh becomes a glove for a ghost.
A see-through voice,
one that had been left aside
ventures now to charm time.
This is how the All speaks, said one voice.
This is how the All listens, said the other.
A third voice says:
and here is the grace of silence.
I'm an old man and I may wheeze.
I may cough and I may sneeze.
If I do any one of these,
don't spank me over your knees.
I may snuffle and I may snort,
I may not grow taller, but instead grow short.
If I do anything of this sort,
don't laugh so hard that you abort.
Spring shower,
dew drop flower
in your hair...
I put it there.
But, only, I confess,
because you chose to read this mess.
A dew drop flower rhyme,
might happen any time.
Dear reader, you may snort,
but sorry, now I can't abort,
because it is too late.
Chalk it up to fate.
Memories for sale the ticket master said to me.
You have to enter seventh street, at a quarter after three
You mean in the afternoon, I said, “right?”
He laughed and said “no, our machine does not appear in plain sight.’
It shows up after three a.m. when the world is asleep.
When you get close, you have to approach it in a kind of creep.
there might be storm troopers there; if so, go away.
If they do not shoot you, you can try another day.
But what memories are for sale? I asked. How do I know I’d want them?
They have your favorites- the ones that made you snort milk onto your chin.
They’ll make you laugh and remember the best times you ever had.
I trusted him, and so I set my alarm for two-thirty, and I felt very glad.
The troopers were there when I started creeping up the street.
I rolled myself into an alley and had a little bite to eat.
Waiting for them to leave was agony of course.
But they finally did, and I bought a favorite memory of me and my old horse.
I was thrilled and went back to that machine- time after time after time.
Buying memories I had forgotten, they were worth the trouble and my dime.
on that fence are the three cutest pigs you ever hope to see
I ran over to look, he was nuts, this city-slicker, Tommy Lee
These are piglets, not pigs, I yelled to him rather snottily.
The piglets began to snort and whistled with glee
We are Patty’s pretty pink piglets, polished and persnickety.
Puffed up and prideful, perhaps you know our uncle Paulie Lee?
They began dancing around on ham hocks, showing off their glee.
I now wanted to meet their amazing mother, the glorious Patty.
Having counted wooly sheep
was woken from a deep delta sleep
in the middle of the night
thought I'd heard a pig snort
but no that can't be right
tho' kicked out of bed
and landing on my head
knew where I stood
for delegated to the floor
then relegated to the room next door
when in no uncertain terms she said,
'You're sawing wood, you snore!'
Not as such a silk purse,
but a sow's ear would be worse.
Not so much a pig in a poke
(jiggery-pokery),
more a poke at a pig in a joke
(piggery-jokery).
All in all,
Sy-hokery!
First, remove the eyelids—
they hold too much fiberglass.
Grind streetlight into gunpowder,
cut it with gravel—snort the cocaine dusk.
Take the sidewalk like heretic communion,
metal-flake wine, asphalt host.
She blinks razors.
Stars break in her clavicle.
You don’t touch her—you calibrate.
Banana fingers, bruised and humming,
plucking vapor off the fencepost.
Storm-laced teeth.
Voice as hinge,
breath as cordless vacuum
throat tightrope over a cheap
motel dirty sink.
We lit the penguin rodeo in her Glacial ribcage.
Called the roots collect.
Spoke in wire glyphs.
The cancer slept in our gums,
soft, radiant.
I opened her chest
found an IPhone
still blinking,
still ringing,
with no one left to answer.
First, remove the eyelids—
they hold too much fiberglass.
Grind streetlight into gunpowder,
cut it with gravel—snort the cocaine dusk.
Take the sidewalk like heretic communion,
metal-flake wine, asphalt host.
She blinks razors.
Stars break in her clavicle.
You don’t touch her—you calibrate.
Banana fingers, bruised and humming,
plucking vapor off the fencepost.
Storm-laced teeth.
Voice as hinge,
breath as cordless vacuum
throat tightrope over a cheap
motel dirty sink.
We lit the penguin rodeo in her Glacial ribcage.
Called the roots collect.
Spoke in wire glyphs.
The cancer slept in our gums,
soft, radiant.
I opened her chest
found an IPhone
still blinking,
still ringing,
with no one left to answer.
The knights that in histories lurk,
They never wore spandex to work.
O’er heroes today
That dress in this way,
The dragons, they snort and they smirk.
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