There once was an old Pope from Rome
who had the Good Book a huge tome
an altar ego and mass appeal
so he made the Vatican home
2015 he addressed the environment
on climate change caused by man
and issued a Catholic Church encyclical
the first-ever since Popes began
let's trust instructing his cardinals
to avoid any more scandals
when pontificating and preaching to the choir
to burn less incense and light fewer candles
altho' it's a slippery slope here's the dope
and no I won't soft-soap
there's not much hope of Pope on a rope
but I can cope so I won't mope
now hear my voice as it's a choice
if I may be quite so bold
religion is discretionary not hereditary
and the herd of sheep in the fold should be told
Under eighteen
hot tears spilling
nowhere near serene
at the end of your rope
cannot cope
need fulfilling
please don't mope
there's always hope
here's the dope
find someone thrilling
you can soft-soap
who is willing
and won't say 'Nope'
to a clandestine marriage
on the slippery slope
of the blacksmith's anvil
hire the carriage
you prefer
defer the billing
and elope
As with a well baked cake,
That will not be palatable,
If one does not have a recipe to follow,
And take too may shortcuts,
A well baked friendship will need the right amount of patience,
And tastes better if you don't add any soft soap.
Friendship like a well baked cake,
Needs to be baked at the right temperature,
And if you have faith in the cooking process,
With an accurate means of timing,
And know how to cool things down,
You will not be opening the door to a half baked cake,
Or a half baked friendship.
As for the icing on the cake,
One needs to understand that some cakes,
Taste better without it,
Just as some friendships taste better,
Without extra benefits.
Most of us experience baking disasters in our lifetime,
But that does not mean we should stop baking cakes,
Or give up on looking for lasting friendship,
That come with or without the icing.
Have you not felt that subtly zany urge
That blinding flash of wonder’s pulsing surge
Rippling across your tingling hairs
that silent shout “go on, nobody cares”
Then leapt across the chasm of your doubt
Strayed off your path to seek another route
Challenging Frost’s inane “Road not Taken”
Sat alone and chewed on day old bacon.
To questions, this bane of misdirection,
A future’s upcoming intersection
No road signs just the two divergent paths
Bordered by two wanderers taking baths.
Therefore, I wait for towel and soft soap
And soak myself in Frost’s forever joke.
©7/21/2023
Black girls mollycoddle,
dandle cranky babies;
some cradled on arm and hip,
some hustled along
on low-riding wheels.
Brown men lounge outside bodega’s,
some soft-soap, play imaginary guitars,
some flash smiles at the slackening sun,
dare it to glitz elsewhere.
White girls sit on the steep stoops
bare knees out and breezing,
smoke with dreamy eyes,
pass comments that time-bomb tick.
From high wires
pigeons rubberneck like parakeets.
Thin city winds dodge washing lines.
Blouses and dresses
grip their hamstrung trapezes.
Black backyard mechanics
lean over engine blocks,
imagine curvy garbs air-dancing,
blown outward from street grates
slow billowed from vents.
The brownstones take a knee,
sweat breaks over rooftops.
A scurry of hands snatch
rumbling city transports
that beep ways to late shifts.
Those that ply less punched-out trades
slip into hankering gaps,
alleys, half-way loitering’s
that flicker into sight
juiced by the scatter and clatter
of pigeon wings.
Soft Soaping
Written: by Tom Wright
3/15/2016
Don’t soft soap me attempting to gain my favor,
Or use abrasive words thinking they might sway.
After time dedicated to thought, I will not waver,
Nor from my early impressions do I seldom stray.
Nothing harder to change than a made up mind,
Unless it would be a three dollar bill;
Tom
Edenic-winds release brash Autumn’s kiss
— a mellifluous flutter of gold leaves.
The confetti-glitter surrounds their hearts,
a-shimmering around the swoon of bliss.
The fall of rushing birds and gust of wings.
They land on high, soft-soap — the pair surprised,
as skin to skin of chilly-cheeks ascend.
A bright and cheery folk a-blush — love springs.
Though skies are gray — a storm prevails, yet she
has clear blue eyes and his are heather-green.
The lightning spoke a-twirl with hands held tight.
O nature sings with all its tricks to thee.
The vortex lifts — the dance of lover’s spree.
Her hair awash — the silk brunette does float.
The handsome beau - his breath hangs on the tow
in ecstasy —they fly — so light — so free.
11/1/2018
soft-soap - flatter, persuade
Next to each other on a fabric of satin-
I'm floating on air with the richness of sin
Grappling yarns with our version of Latin
Helps passion along, helping feelings within
Trying positions we thought were not done
Sensational moments, we're all having fun.
In line with our age does consent need to be,
Next door loving neighbour's, and being quite free.
When two hearts collide on a slippery slope
Heightening our scope with a see-through desire
It's moments like this when I want to elope
Tonight in the heat of the passion, with fire!
Erogenous fabric from satins soft soap.
Secluded are we in a bundle next door
Attracted by fruits, from orchards of others
Ti's morning, and now from a dream I'd adore
Is something to do with those ultra smooth covers
Next time for real, it's a place I'll explore.