George Bernard Shaw
had no idea what the laundry room was for.
While writing 'Pygmalion'
he looked somewhat tatterdemalion.
At the risk of coming off turgid
I offer this tale esoteric
Hoping it’s not found insipid
Nor causes one to be apoplectic
But rather received with alacrity
Without the need for paroxysm
My word there’ll be no chicanery
And avoidance of anachronism
Far from being sesquipedalian
Nor need for any razzmatazz
The tale of the slubberdegullion
Who thought himself full with pizzazz
Though being so supercilious
His affect stirred only dudgeon
Any good was so very fugacious
From this untoward tatterdemalion
Yet still he persisted a mumpsimus
If you will, and worse a panjandrum
So aggravating and rumbustious
Redeeming qualities not a modicum
An unquestioned snollygoster
Given to being quite vagary
An ill-reputed hugger-mugger
And a voice of such cacophony
But I see that you are insouciant
And consider my warning malarkey
Since you wish to be recalcitrant
My apologies for being persnickety
I end my tale of the rapscallion
Without further ado or rigmarole
Avoiding becoming ultracrepidarian
I have met my supererogatory parole
On days I read…
O dread
The poets are dead!
A taste of bitter
A tatterdemalion squalor
A thread
that dangles
in black death
in the abyss
The art is lost
in those times
The craft
on a cliff
Words swish
then spit
without mystical scope
Spring forth
O poet
Prepare thyself for thy muse
the amusement of thy readers
If thy words
hang upon
thy precipice
let it be stupendous
spectacular
Let them peer
perch
leap
glide with whimsical wings
Fly, poet, fly
Nose dive into the sea
Capture the depths
of eternity
Put a pretty bow on it
or a ghostly hue. Abscond
into the spider’s closet
fiddle on the roof
hang on baby
until you're foolproof
ne’er perfect
leave room for edits.
So the albatross
went diving
but it is the fisherman
that is thriving
up, up, up he goes
into the blue nose
his line
divining
reeling in silver and gold.
Treasures
to share
No dread!
The poets live! Live it up to the end!
Dirty, tatterdemalion in appearance
He's clothed in worn-out raiment, his hair unkempt;
Perambulating through concrete jungles with...
No place to call home.
He carries his entire life in his backpack.
No money to spend; hunger pangs relentless.
On the move from shelter to shelter, he has...
No place to call home
He's but a man the rest of the world forgot;
Loneliness written in his sickly sad eyes.
It's so harsh life devoid of creature comforts;
No place to call home.
Date written: 12/20/2022
Confined, slowly lightness vanishes
Darkness engulfed me
No longer at peace
Tatterdemalion mind,
Has curved me into shard
As I try to escape my mind raddled
Feels like I'm in hoosgow
Slowly hope in me fades
I wait in aweary
Haggard,
Hopelessly,
I am caged,
Within my mind
“When we contemplate the globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty.” John Muir
THE TATTERDEMALION KITE
the restlessness of the profound can only follow a Gandi-path. alone in a wilderness, where God performs breathlessness of CPR. his cold-damp cloth covers the forehead and his pierced and merciful palm keeps one from falling into the abyss. the euphoria of his creation, often curtailed for a season — the tatterdemalion kite with long tails, unable to keep one’s feet on the ground. the dank earth gives way to unearthed caves; the kaleidoscopic kite sails to highest heights. if i can only touch one finger of God, in childlike fervor, the same finger that created Adam…weightless, ceiling debris like asteroids surrounding me. do you feel the excitement of the cracking. smiling, the Son of God allows his glory to peek out through heaven’s door.
10/31/2019
tall, proud emerald stems like the West Witch’s guards
ruby-throated hummingbirds click in a homespun garden
tornadic spin thrusts homes, hither and thither, like flying brooms
strange snow lingers like torn pieces of Glinda’s tatterdemalion gown
a tin can, scarecrow and stuffed lion attempt to rescue Spring
rain and no oil rust the landscape — no drought in sight
the poppy overpopulation causes this season to slumber
the cold claims the North and whizzes Southward.
dare we kill off Winter white?
4/23/2018
Rag doll, received, ready for play, except for her tatterdemalion dress.
Yet this child, of doleful tears, hugs tight her ragamuffin, sans regret.
Sweet child, with soiled cheeks, sings sweetly in whispered tweets.
The final gift ferreted from under the giving tree, was meant just for her.
She asked of her mother, who listened feverishly, then perished forever.
How odd, but not to her, the calico dress, just like the one she last hugged.
10/24/2017
Nette Onclaud’s 6 To 8 Contest
Three bangle bracelets
three initial charms, discrete
July birthday gift from my grandkids.
Three bangle bracelets
initially a set complete
until one bangle hit the skids.
Searching for a small bauble
proved very unsuccessful
December has too many places.
Searching for a new bauble
proved equally distressful,
I must buy a whole new bracelet.
Four months later a downpour
caused flooding along our ditch
checking it out, discovery!
Four months later that downpour
had washed my dogie from her niche
April rains had set her free.
Tatterdemalion
she looked deplorable and mangled
having spent months on the street.
Tatterdemalion
she looks adorable, re-bangled
now - good-luck charm – oft-beat.
written May 2, 2017
...
....
.....if you truly searched and found me not
for five weeks.
I'm sorry 'cos..
I fed little or no poetry.
stories are meant for the tellers
this, as accorded :
my muse bled painstakingly
I wasn't just robbed
my gadgets were too.
At first, I spoke like a goon
identity forgone, fear has risen
on my scale of actions.
Even though the mirror hurts
later found the reincarnated me
feeling once more, the childhood I left.
Assault in rounds of slap
beaten to pulp, factually , no bandages .
my diary explains more while time lapses
indeed it was a witness
I nearly lost my mind
after loosing some utterances
Cat and dogs ran, I feared to live.
They dare not come to my rescue
I'm no tatterdemalion! non adheres,
some thought I was begging for alms,
left inbound like a stray ?? .
Thank holiness,
pejoratively, there exists no male urchin
I was there in the street, weeping like a stream
still, they believe the gold digger hath come.
Men ain't faulty,
little do they know about faults
even I lost all hope
here I am, life is still
my naked ??
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