Puss cat had the zoomies
By the moon she sang.
The stars blazed like footlights
for a meow band set.
Mic held aloft in paws
she pranced atop a tree
and supped a bowl of whiskey
Her voice was tiddly woo.
Snowy owls played gentle games
with backing choirs of mice
who twanged the golden whiskers
of that punk, feline lead.
Thankful, that an earthquake hadn't struck
on another nervous day of luck,
I sat, and from my coffee cup, I supped,
hoping a volcano wouldn't interrupt,
not knowing that in the heavens, sped
an asteroid pointed at my head.
"Alright beaut?"
The landlady said
As she poured a fresh pint
Of Ale for our Fred
"Hangin" said Fred
As he supped at his beer
"I been working all week
Restoring that pier"
Nice little earner
For someone, you see
Brings all the punters
Down to the sea
Property prices
Will go through the roof
But will be much too high
For Gethin and Ruth
They'll be displaced
Just over the border
In cheap rundown flats
Where others marauder
...or It's good to be the king!
What was't made King Cole
Such a merry old soul
As he sucked on his pipe,
And he supped from his bowl,
And he fiddled around
With three young court musicians?
And what was the role
Of his missus, Queen Cole?
Was she under a table
With a lad from the stable
Who was told he'd be able
To upgrade his position?
These royal highnesses
Were not known for their shynesses,
But more for their quaint peculiarities.
The queen drank from a chalice
That was shaped like a phallus,
While he labored away
Doing king things all day
In a black lace brassière
And a pink negligée.
But their subjects adored
Such eccentric vulgarities.
Now, getting back to the king,
That sweet silly old thing,
Here's how his story played out.
He had good years aplenty,
Then at three score and twenty,
He finally retired
And expired of the gout.
They trained their birds to stay incredibly still.
Like statues, reported my cousin Mrs. McGill.
The birds did not make a single sound as they supped.
The table was linen, and all prissily gussied up.
The birds were the best trained I had ever seen.
Their statuesque presence was totally pristine.
They silently stayed in position on that tea sipping day.
Pooping white goo on the shoulders of Mrs. McVey.
gotta be evasive of worldy things
gotta keep it straight
broken arrows
won't fly anyway
tryna watch my mouth
be careful of what
I say
tender feelings bruised hearts
and love
never mixed anyway
check my regimene
nd keep my back straight
lack of proper posture
won't let it the way
I aint supped
better get sumthing
clear minded and
a fresh start
is the best catalyst for change
get my saddle ready
be back after while
grab my gladbag
I might something to snack on
still warm out
Baby I see ya later
be back in a while
i'll be back in a while
check my feelings at the door
My Baby don't want me any more
Looked me in the eye and said
she never did
said the weddings off
And I can go
said everything was just a show
get it right
she called me ah buster
said she refrained
as much as she could muster
told me I can find ah' nutha
get my coat
saddle my horse
clear my throat
change my voice
deep inside
what I want to say
but won't matter any way
Misty muted days in Scotland
part before you
making room for your own silence.
Now Beinn Mhòr's summit is under my feet
There was no spectacle,
no one to shake hands with.
Yet as I stood, shakily at the top,
looking down
upon 'Loch na Keal' far below,
I felt like a real climber.
That night back at an Isle of Mull pub
an old timer,
(a small dog at his feet),
leaned toward me.
He appeared to be blind
and used a white stick.
He politely inquired
had I gained the peak?
With some pride I declared
that I had conjured the mountain!
He supped his beer thoughtfully.
”Aye laddie,
tis good to stretch yor legs a bit,
I used to climb her twice a day
but yer see
yon wee dog is getting old noo.”
I paid for his ale and quietly left.
Drinking wine is a pleasure. Supped at leisure.
He came and dwelt among men
And shared a vision of heav'n;
To Him some opened their doors,
But more denied their favors.
With sinners He sat and supped;
Thus, others called Him corrupt.
But they did not understand:
He changed their hearts with His hand.
He walked and taught in byways
And always with gentle gaze;
Some gladly took His offer,
Others remained a scoffer.
Still He sought those who were lost,
Those who felt were tempest-tossed.
He healed the sick--gave them hope!--
Granted them the strength to cope.
He knew He had few days left
And sorrowed for those bereft;
In His heart, He put us first--
Both good and bad and the worst.
In spite of His love so clear,
We pierced His side with a spear.
Then as He drew His last breath,
For us all He conquered Death.
April 6, 2023
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They came in by hyper drive
Just a quick trip from the stars,
Parked their ship in orbit
Just slightly north of Mars,
Switched on the intruder shield
Around the hatched front door
Then set off for Blackpool
Kiss me quick hats to the fore,
Took a trip around the lights
Complete with stick of rock
Supped six pints of bitter
And by eight o’clock,
Having done the tower
Toured the sights
Decided to call it
A very decent night.
Vacation over,
Splendid day
Time to be back
On their way.
Transporter drive
Took them back to Mars
Then the hyper drive
Took them to the stars.
Meanwhile
Back on a rainy Blackpool street
Waited the four birds
They’d promised faithfully to meet.
They stand there for ages
Pouring out angst and woe,
Seeming to gain strength
As their words start to flow.
They curse and they swear,
Stand, scream and shout,
And I’ve really no idea
What they’re talking about.
Just these loud strident voices
Hammering away in my head
I’m losing the will to live
I’ve long lost the thread.
If you thrive on your misery
Then that’s just fine
Done make me feel guilty for
A happy out look like mine.
I came here full of optimism
But now I’m near suicidal,
Reflecting on the merits of
The old Scolds Bridal,
A quick burst with a taser
Even E.C.T. shocks
Maybe even an hour or so
Chaining them up in the stocks.
I’m finished, I’m leaving
Driven out at last,
Just a relict from
Their very recent past.
I’ve always supped
From the half full cup.
Just a final message,
For God’s sake, lighten up.
Are we less superior to ourselves than realization?
Our temporary shell, our salt, our generation.
Our streamers flutter like snow in Antarctica.
longing and valid expansion, made of mica.
Striving to liberate us, it rips apart its body.
Once again, envisaging us embody.
Systole, diastole, adventure indiscriminately.
The wide open oozes a scent of love imminently.
Shimmering between each of the drumbeats.
Summer, you are the windlessness of such feats.
We ate, kissed, cuddled, and then supped food.
A day's total is a unit of measure for what you lewd.
Need and desire exist in an interdependent reality.
We bury our bodies as a sign of our mortality.
The fate of our remains while wearing the shell
The land utters us the title of a spare body smell.
Synapses are memories, and we are waiting.
In order to cross its boundary, there is no gating.
Written: August 09, 2022
Fresh to this world, we have learned all things new.
Luck and fortune only smile on a few.
As death would sneak up bestowing our rest,
chasing windmills of mind we should askew.
Our life lived will be put to a strict test.
Conditions propitious for a gabfest.
Secrets we argue over and debate
will be made clear; astound the very best.
Live a life of renown and be first rate.
Our allotted time is our earnest fate.
But at the final curtain call they drew
of the same Cup of Life we’ve supped of late.
What manner of man is this, they asked,
Whom even the winds obey?
He speaks and calms the angry seas,
Yet He's humbler far than they.
To hear Him speak come thousands,
This man so meek and mild,
And yet throughout His busy life,
He still had time for a child.
They come to Him from miles around,
The sick, the lame, the blind,
And in one day He makes them whole,
Not even a scar could they find.
You've lived and supped with Me, He said,
Together we have slept;
And lo in spite of all I've done,
You don't know Me yet.
Have a Horn Haiku
saw each Aspin quake
another big breath would take
then my breakfast make
after we had supped
whole world Putin would disrupt
extremely corrupt
destruction apply
his modus operandi
harm all he would try
price to pay for peace
we must respect police
nephew or a niece
what we all had heard
Putin and herd are absurd
up much trouble stirred
My poems are either part of the
problem or part of the solution.
Why would Putin want to destroy
whole country. What will he have
to gain by destroying whole country?
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