Blakean ghosts' boasts..frollicking in rollicking
Rolling hillock hosts..ripe shenanigans..perry toasts
Believing in hefty heaving heroes
Hallowed harbingers..halcyon hedgerows
Harbouring tranches of branches..ferry very merry berries
Majestic mosaic montage barge of balletic
Incandescent flowers..weaving wherries
Showering prophetic kaleidoscopic poetic dreams
Streams through towering mesmeric green tunnels
Full to the gunnels..reams of sheens teem..flowing funnels
Bestowing.. glowing transcendent beams gleam kinetic
Luminescent aesthetic barrage..overpowering iridescent fluorescent flowering
Every single one of Mother nature's tendrils tingle
Mingle..saluting seasonal succour..mooting rebooting from fruiting..pukka
Categories:
tranches, nature, spring,
Form: Rhyme
Southern Rata (is a stunning Kiwi Tree)
Red or scarlet harlots instead...a bucolic frolic..
Tranches spread as if bulbous branches have gorgeously bled..
Overpowering flowering towers glimmer…fanciful fairytale shimmers showering...
Such vim...swim on a whim..sprouting on an outing from their pouting wooden limb....
A delight..refining..shining bright.. defining.. these bizarrely beautifully gnarly trees...
Crimson collage..insisting snarling tendril darlings..timber tentacles twisting…a magical mirage....
Marooned yet cocooned in a festooned lagoon...wouldn't barter anything…
To swoon at the miracle..spectacular boon of Southern Rata ...
Categories:
tranches, nature,
Form: Rhyme
'Dinner won't be long, Dear.'
Burt puffed up his pillows and squeezed one out.
'Better wash your hands, now'.
The armchair smothered his glee.
Wallaby faggots,
Brown rice juices,
Lentils,
Barley and rye.
Jumbo morels,
Whatever she sells,
Liquid fish stock,
Brussels and hock,
Tranches of offal from Thebes!
Chilly jam and
Fruity brown sauce.
Round and round
The rotten rump,
The rancid ratchet rasped.
'It must've been that onion jus',
Was all that I could gasp.
Round and round
The rotten rump,
The rancid ratchet rasped.
'It must've been that onion jus',
Was all that I could gasp.
Categories:
tranches, appreciation, drink, family, farm,
Form: Free verse
Put on your soft mittens as you mete out punches
The stench of despair has sent the flies flying
As wretched voices die in the agony of the trenches,
Smoke, fire, death, silence, blood slowly crying.
Don't let those tears disappear without telling
Of how they came to be. From aching gland burning,
From swollen heart entrapped dreaming of belling
Of events that cause in all for justice a yearning
Don't let the fires chew up the browning pages
Where once sordid tales told the willing student
Of what would come this way, or that way, the wages
Of right, wrong; the way of the vile, of the prudent
Telling of wretched voices dying in the trenches,
Of smoke, fire, and of blood slowly crying.
Don't let memory die as they split us into tranches
To silence half, then lead both halves into trenches.
(c) nyonglema
Categories:
tranches, history, political,
Form: Rhyme
I’ve climbed up a thorn tree
In my rush, my escape to be free
There’s no haven up here
Only pain and torment surrounding me
I’ll bleed on these branches
Only my tears will escape these dry leaves
Crushing on the rocks below the tranches
Falling down to my meaningless sorrow
The lies I told poke at my paradise
I left a life worth enduring, crash landing
There’s a gaping hole in my existence
Dying to rejoin the world of the living
Trying to hold on, bearing no fruit
I’m up here, but I’m really down
Arms across my aching heart
I’m falling apart, but I'm not done
Categories:
tranches, life, tree,
Form: Rhyme