It looks funny
To so many
That, verbs have moods
And attitudes!
On their way out
Some stare wide pout,
Going, not gone,
They linger on.
Obsolescent
As if on Lent,
Not obsolete,
Down in a pit!
In a death bed,
But not yet dead!
______________________
Epigram |07.09.2021| Humour
Poet’s Note: A poet is generally confronted with Muses, very rarely with moods of his poetic diction. This one is a tangential take off from moods of a verb: Indicative, Imperative, and Subjunctive. The third one is now largely obsolescent, if not already obsolete, on its way out, if not gone, in a death bed, if not duly dead.
Categories:
subjunctive, humor,
Form: Epigram
Grammar Series
SECOND CONDITIONAL
If I were a gambling man as my sin;
(I confess an occasional flutter)
Then if I had an acceptable win,
I would buy myself some new schmutter *
Note: it would make my verse more refined
If instead of "if I..." I wrote "we're I" and "had I"
Then perhaps The Immortal Bard would not mind
And Jane Austin would give me the glad eye
While I may forgive modern language’s slur
Wanting that which is sadly defunct, if
We avoid "if I was", rather say: "if I were"
Mindful that we are using subjunctive
Now the First Conditional suits admonishment
By uncles from Amsterdam, Delft or Utrecht **
While the Third is rueful and penitent
For sins of commission or those of neglect
But the Second tops my panoply
And it always has me beguiled
Inspiring creativity, phantasy
And imagination run wild
E.G.
Had I the combined wit of Wodehouse, and Wilde
I would put my pen to write such a tale
That would make the face of God crack a smile
And the heavens to burst in a giggling gale
Categories:
subjunctive, language,
Form: Rhyme
If I could just step back in time
I'd sojourn by a waterfall, and every morning
I'd drink of all the beauty and the mystery
that it affords. I'd note with gratitude
the little watermill, and for its silent slave
the ponderous millstone grinding endlessly.
I'd sing the praises of what might have been.
The peace that finally decided to remain--
that donned the robes of nevermore,
a fitting tribute to a war whose only spoils
were obsolescence, sacrifice and pain.
The master poets might just move a bit
along the bench to make a little
space for me to take my place among them,
though this is merely flight of fantasy
the sun could never shine upon.
It could, however, flame the skies
with joys we do not even know. More,
they will surely owe their genesis
to us, not air or space or star.
I see subjunctive journeying as its own eponymn...
another tool of consciousness to say:
"It is not time for rest. Seek on."
~
Categories:
subjunctive, allegory,
Form: Free verse
we are here as elsewhere
in the subjunctive of souls
in the verb to love
in the déjà vu
in the art nude
without silent
without noise
Categories:
subjunctive, missing you, spiritual, stars,
Form: Free verse