The crow dived in one
full swop
A chick to be picked for
lunch for her chick's
So the mother hen in
a daring response
fluttered her wings to meet
the crow in mid air
To redeem her chick's
This is maternal instincts
in foreplay
Writen 3rd March, 2025
One often tries to set things back,
to fix and sort without the knack,
HUMPTY DUMPTY comes to mind,
don’t be silly, rash or blind,
but looking round as best one can,
for stuff alike a top class scan,
a swop or close match just began,
though broken pieces I recall,
now is not the time to stall,
this former figure once stood tall,
an inspiration to us all,
bounce astride that hapless fall,
what time revealed one never knows,
where this tragic story goes,
as human beings cling to hope,
nebulous an off track scope,
edge of cliff wild sway of rope,
fancy vision left to mope,
clouded prospect not a chance,
faint image of that dream romance,
reflections from that mirrored stance
One often tries to get things back,
to fix and sort without the knack,
HUMPTY DUMPTY comes to mind,
don’t be silly, rash or blind,
but looking hard as best one can,
for stuff alike a top class plan,
a swop or close match just began
I am Urundi, the daughter of a king,
I want to tell you a story about my destiny.
The king wanted a son, but mother had me.
She devised a plan before she would be hang.
She swop me for a farmer’s son,
That’s how the conspiracy begun.
I grew up as a farm girl but inside I know,
That’s not where I belong.
One day in the woods I met a handsome boy.
He was not dress ordinary like me,
But very rich indeed.
He send a servant to ask for help,
Because he fell of his horse and needs attention.
This was the beginning of our adventure.
As days go by, we will meet there,
And soon he invited me to a fair.
That day I learnt he was the prince of our land,
Immediately I could not see him and was ban.
He refused to sacrificed our relationship,
And it leads to his mother’s heart ship.
At the end she had to confess,
That I am actually the princess.
We got married in the woods,
And live happily as couples should.
enthralled forr noww
ineptta jazza bop the stomp "she" 2is a sheep she said
the.traces
pearls plentyful made in skyy/ scuffed
/landscapes/embraces/ invented /fluxes
rendetion an entire year
& akingdom constructed) & /a trance tiltscorissa
""" chris crossess immashort off breath widerhides her
onntootoo/many gabrielle hire the!tin can man
unkept /pigging cleaning,every quarter
on all times many many many-/cut/ _so forth
theendsmendingfreefall _a room invented along , noww
melting/rims
& (&the-rites)&the/rebuttallgeriane
soo free _-- b itt itt is still a bett
you see? . hula hoop/// off themerry go around
numbs mi is wett/where eevr
she is is _she sheputts mi minus you
carryon men cause the ferry is free finallyy
/slips/ozzes / door to door/door to door/manyy made more
burntt /stomped swaps a swop/look/
vacate again all
Lost her mum at thirteen
Worse news there’s never been.
Her youth alone
No mum to phone.
Dad tried his best
Once mum was put to rest.
It’s not the same
She still felt the pain.
No mum when wed,
A tear she shed.
Nor for her first born
Leaving emotions torn.
No mum to go shop
For that she would swop
All the nights with the girls
And all her expensive pearls,
But nothing can return
The loss that will burn
A hole in her heart
Knowing she wasn’t part
Of her life to be.
Nothing can set her free.
Fifty years on
The pain hasn’t gone!
I travel to quench my thirst
To break away from everything I know
In an attempt to meet a different sun
And to finally feel the snow
I travel to swop my language
And taste the life you live
To soak in new feelings
That I can invariably relive
I travel to collect wisdom
And stretch my mind a little more
To ask new questions and find answers
That I didn't know I was looking for
I travel to put my imagination to rest,
To feel lagged in every zone
By releasing customary methods
To explore the dark and the unknown
I travel because Id feel empty
If I only walked down one road
To meet strangers who become family
And to call the unfamiliar, home
I travel to unravel and fathom this life
To be at home under the sea
I travel to live a thousand lives
I travel to set myself free
Sanmati, my messenger, is no more a milksop.
Ardent though is she never will yawp.
Nagging sometimes though in some shop.
Merrily walks in crowd alone till atop.
Amends her needs; tackles one with strop-
Till he agrees with her, else does lop.
In always high spirits, ready to swop
Joy or sorrow equally treats like gumdrop.
Angry if treats us like a bellhop
In our home or out, but never plop
Nor cry in public to show us flop.
Book is the only stop
Where all halt from top
For knowledge or whop
Of all sort and thoughts slop.
Though it clear drains prop
For teacher or for carhop.
They are vaguely clear lop
Whenever read makes plop
Of cognition to take you atop.
This is for money a great swop.
These are sooth in great strop
For those who keep them at doorstop.
What a pleasure they are as sop.
I loved to have ignorance to mop.
One by one
They come and go;
Bus-stop blues
On the way out,
Smile as you go;
Embrace forgetfulness
Surge of passion
No need to feel;
Go with the flow
Bedtime stories
We swop tales;
Laugh stomach cramps
Basketball court,
Two sides stalking;
Win-win losing
Cable TV
So much to see;
Time fritters away
Hypermart queue
Long as usual;
Impatient sighs
I see you,
You see me;
No need to talk
Roadside beggar
Asks politely:
Please help me
Alleyway music
Lone troubadour;
Straining guitar chords
By and by,
How and when;
Nobody stops
Leon Enriquez
29 Mar 2014
Singapore
Assimilate your view
To match the status quo,
Consensus starts to skew
Hypocrisy on show,
Now you seem the clown
The eager willing pup,
It’s not the beating down
But how you get back up!
A friendship ill-advised
Treacherous and vain,
Before you realized
They’ve dissed you once again.
Smile into a frown
Superior or sup,
It’s not the beating down
But how you get back up!
Alcohol and drugs
Became your sanctuary,
Psychogenic thugs
Cleaving reality,
Out upon the town
Common sense you swop,
It’s not the beating down
But how you get back up!
Tattooed to the hilt
Judgement, every eye,
Predetermined guilt
Archaic in their lie,
Blackened, gray and brown
Squeezing ink to cup,
It’s not the beating down
But how you get back up!
07/09/2013
© Copyright 2013 Adam Parker
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