No jack-of-all-trades
but master of one
it's safe to say
the combination spun
Jack was a safecracker
had it down pat
and a crackerjack
cracksman he was at that
not a people person
he'd sneak down halls
more a steeplejack
and shinny up walls
jimmy a window
then with stealth
jewels unload
remove the wealth
crack the code
find the fault
turn the tumblers
open the vault
locks he'd smash
break the bank
relieve the loot
of locked stashed cash
Sometimes in a store I browse
And other times I buy.
It all depends on what they’ve got
That might just catch my eye.
And even if I fall in love,
An item might not make it
For if I can’t display it,
There’s no reason I should take it.
Today, 3 times that happened -
Two with posters, one sans frame.
I just don’t have the wall space
So I couldn’t stake my claim.
The last, a set of tumblers,
Painted with assorted eyes,
Turned the concept of “eye glasses”
Into such a fun surprise.
Still, I had to stop and ponder
If the joke was worth the price
And I came to the conclusion
That the mem’ry would suffice.
Yet I also made 2 purchases-
Some clothing and a gift
Which, along with pumpkin ice cream,
Gave my day a welcome lift.
T'was eighty two wonderful years,
Before you departed to leave me in tears,
My loneliness hearkens to the fears left by the hearse,
Even the harmattan couldn't dry my streams of tears,
Because I know now you are no more near.
You left through the corridors of November,
Twenty eight is a number I will forever remember,
It can't even be withered by any winter,
As long as the sun shines and the stars twinkle,
I will remember you even after my cheeks wrinkle.
I came out first under your big umbrella,
You rhymed my name and I became a Cinderella,
You left me on a path illuminated in high candela,
You decorated my life with beautiful chandeliers,
You poured wisdom full into my many tumblers.
Before God made all the angels your trumpeters.
Now with God your soul now forever stays,
Your demise messaged more things than you could say,
To your honour I shall live my days,
May God almighty continue to guide my ways,
Rest on dad, till we shall meet at the heavenly quays.
after Ho Chi Minh
I
The stone basin holds
still water. The still water
drinks the arid sponge
as rays of pure energy
slake their thirst on
the ebon wings of crows
II
Yangtze flows from widows peak
pooling briefly in the lock
of a tired eye. Dirt
and salt cry brackish tears
before leaping from sallow chin,
like rain from languid boughs
III
Frogs turn dirges beyond
translucent glass, their croaks
fold and crease the air
putting dusk on the shelf.
Aphids eat the pithy stalks
and drown in sudden morning dew.
IV
No callused hand washes
in the same basin twice
V
The kettle boils, pallid
phantoms push through iron
walls. Prescient tea leaves show
time’s current—fish swim
upstream. Two worlds away,
a young girl draws a bath.
VI
Forehead donning liquid rosaries,
each dawn anoints a king anew
Each afternoon, grains of rice
cling to one another, fulfilled.
Ink spills quickly each evening,
the white page laps at pitch waters.
VII
Eleemosynary sunlight burns
through the keyhole, tumblers
click in the lock. The stone basin
is once again filled with still water.
Lisbeth was a gorgeous oak tree faerie, pretty, light and airy.
The seventh faerie of the seventh faerie of the seventh faerie
We brought her acorns and tumblers of autumn mojo.
She loved everything we gave to her and often told us so.
She may be the best oak faerie we have had in this forest fair.
This was said by a smitten squirrel who stopped to stare.
She won’t bite said a bullfrog, who was trying to get his own peek.
Oak tree faerie handed them both an ice cream treat, shiny and sleek.
I must admit I do enjoy watching the country unravel at times
That's what spices up a mundane life
makes us appreciate calmer times.
How I do enjoy watching the uncoiling mayhem
Martin Luther Kings and Drama queens
trying to ignite a darker form of change
(passive resistance and civil disobedience be damned).
How I do enjoy watching the uncoiling mayhem,
a combat sport at its very finest.
A twitchy thin blue battle line versus
a pulsing cluster of malcontents...
A mixologist's dream:
tumblers of tear gas
Molotov on the rocks
pockets of flaming shots -
Goblets of salt-rimmed shattering glass -
whirling cherry bombs and baton.
Wrestling matches-naval shots and Bloody Mary lips.
The Blue Man Group atop Battle horses
sirens and flares inter-coursing...
Wish I had the balls to join in the fun.
But I do the next best thing,
steer my recliner straight into the fracas.
smell from the grandma's kitchenette
that fills the whole abode
my little heart and my hungry tummy too
Pithas or Rice-cakes
this are native legacies
wrapped with fondness
served on english platter with elate
Roadside stalls
Buzz with traffic's cadences
Benches lined up with the critters
Along the whirls of leaves and the roars of branches
'The tea tumblers cuddles the pithas'!!
Stephanus Marcus Book 1
Canto 6
Verses 4 and 5
Now herald monarch's late arrival nigh.
From east his royal standard shows design.
A lion bold displays from pennant high -
courageous beast, a brave and noble sign.
King's escort knights are seen a riding line,
protective shield defending great their Sire.
Soon castle makes a feast of meat and wine,
Duke Morley's servants whole will never tire.
To please his Sovereign great is Morley's main desire.
Buffoons and jugglers, tumblers, actors make
King Richard’s stay that night a pleasant time.
Then day's new light brings jousting games that take
the stoutest knights that need must be in prime.
On mule clown rides, the winning knight doth mime,
and archer's contest made concludes the day.
A lutist plays a sweet song's tune of rhyme.
Soon priest chants prayer, an eve's melodic lay.
Forsooth, another night king's knights and he will stay
Our fingers interweave, like a key in a lock
The tumblers click into place, and the world opens
Warm, orange glow between our hearts
Coursing down our arms to each other, tearing through
The amber cocoon around my inner being, awake again to
Your beige perfection, my scarlet, grateful unworthiness
And the vibrant greens and blues around us
Your fluid grace and power unmask your freckles:
The rosettes of a leopardess, proud and powerful
Tan skin and graceful lines, at once camouflaged
Yet with a profound presence that welcomes me
Your mocha eyes lock with mine, and the energy flows
In a growing crescendo of electric blue and yellow
Between us in a complete and perfect circle again
6/8/16
© by Author
The locksmith of my heart
By
Jude Kyrie
When the night is silent.
Deep into its slumber.
A bright moon smiles its bloom
as its doorway to outer space opens.
In the kitchen the dog sleeps.
Children making dreamy noises
In their rooms.
I feel the tips of her fingers
Upon my skin she is a locksmith
of hearts.
I have known her so long.
Familiar with its mechanism.
She uses the tools of her trade her fingertips
deftly and silently.
I can feel the tumblers falling
on the vault lock.
Her lips caress my skin
The combination has been broken again.
And the great door
to the vault of my heart
creeks open.
All my emotions and love
and desire are right there
in front of her.
She looks at the
hidden pirates treasure.
And takes from me
everything that she wants.
And everything
I have to give her.
(There was roast chicken too with potatoes and cheese, though in the picture not seen! Before the shot it had been gobbled up...)
A table laid and baskets heap'd,
Sheltered in the deep scented darkness of the trees;
The wild strawberries picked ripe in the elven woods,
Jam in the pots delicious sweet.
Wine's enchanted icy cold, tumblers filled up to the brim,
Been touched with specks of gold, poured from a bubbling spring.
At the foot of the hills, and dressed in black,
I stood there still, and a few yellow'd leaves.
Rising against the wind, a rose bloom twirls in the breeze;
Sends her perfume to the silver greens,
And to the far corners of the vale.
Under the lids, dripping dew from twigs, I watch
The rolling mist that hides her face,
And the forsaken wedding feast.
A shadow falls on her heart.
Beneath the tall oak her secret bed,
The flower simply drops to the earth,
And there it goes to sleep.
As the distant music, and the autumn wind from hills;
Fall into a hush, the final notes recede.
For Giorgio AV's : Ekphrasis Contest 01
Listen, do listen a cry from that hut among bushes
No human voice, no human words but humanly
Beats and brutes too raised their crazy heads
But no human hand waves at them, worried
Cry, no hand sympathetic, no caressing humane
But only a cry, of a mother, broken down by ails
With broken glasses and dented tumblers empty
Luring her kids, a feast on the way, but illusion
How those innocent eyes are waiting and waiting
And in their dream, they cry and cry bitterly
Reaching far ends of humanity, lying down in ignorance.
Day one...
Hot sunny September
New at the High School
In white and grey trousers
Radiant like rays on a pool
Flooded my face at my pausers
Vividly, I could remember
Many friends won.
Day one...
I cruised the scholar chambers
All at their success tool
As the fixed of lovers
I found it cool
That scene in me still hovers
New, songs and tumblers
In the sun.
Day one...
A new me
To a new life.
World of books,
Bank of knowledge,
Great looks.
My pen, my golden staff.
I felt the real scent of a son.
I don’t want to sit
on a patch of fear,
tangled in occupation
while fighting with the locks.
The theater of tumblers.
I am here, not there
making dents in air
on alarmed street.
Time was out and time was in
against the jolted clocks.
I have stopped to get
an imprint of amputations.
You will not get ruby
you will not get gold.
Dust will go in dust
after the fall of royal debris.
Satish Verma
I hear music
Distant, but clear
Such soothing solace
A pleasant tone
To my ear
You lay before my eyes
Swift grace
And tumblers pride
I hold you
A warm embrace
Together our souls melt
Listening to a sound
And feeling its twin delight
Timeless hour
Love’s filling all around
Next full moon
Coming soon I hear
We prep our hearts again
To be soon
Again, be near
Russell Sivey
A very old poem
Lines 2 & 5 rhyme
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