My love, come down
from the act of killing
the sincerely
of tributes.
Your cousin's
been jumping
on trampolines
of her own making,
like sweet devoted.
How rhyming
I have heard
is magically
unseen,
like spokes
in a bicycle's Tyre.
Fanatically
and rapidly,
on a pavement,
slamming pressure,
into opposed virtue
since days of our youth.
My husband is like a ripening pumpkin
Loves to lie down inert on the ground, most of the time.
Lack of exercises has made his belly bloat,
Like pumpkin, that now he looks a comic sight.
A pumpkin carved in shape with a light inside,
Serves as an adornment in Halloween season.
Though funny to view, he is beautiful inside,
With a light shining bright all through the seasons.
As the pumpkins are so versatile and can be put to use,
In making a number of dishes, both sweet and savory,
He has multi talents and adds so much of spice to my life,
That without him, I will be like a flat tyre with no spare!
Yet a new journey began
I don’t know where life will take me to,
Things may be in my favour
But I don't know what it will make me do.
Just holding my pen
I can't see future ahead,
Maybe I am just over thinking
so, I went to bed.
A new day begins
with the same thought in mind,
Maybe it is just a lie to which I am bind,
It's like I have lost my soul. I don't know where to find.
My life is like a tyre in a taxi increasing its fair,
It certainly is moving but spinning in the air,
It's like a moving rocket but not changing its layer,
Got a bunch of things to deal with but no one to share .
Always hoping for a help but nobody to guide,
I hope for a person in my life to whom I have nothing to hide.
In past days I have learned more than I ever
Got so many questions but can’t answer them clever.
STOP! screams the sign
As the bus slowly glides
To a place made for safety
For the children's home rides
The blare of the horn
On the old wagon shifter
As it ignores the stop
And skirts like a drifter
The children cry out
In shock and dismay
As the old wagon shifter
Screeches away
Up ahead on the pavement
The old shifter has stopped
The police are all there
And the front tyre is popped
The driver reflects
On this karma magnetic
As the school bus slows down
To see justice poetic
The eerie thing is
The day of your dying
Will be a normal day
You may need to clear your head
You step out, saying bye to your wife
And just like that.
Or maybe you're travelling back to your mom
And the car in front of you losing a tyre
Killing you and others
Having a normal day so far
Or maybe you will be used to the cancer
Because till then, it was always a normal day of pain
Or maybe you go out to lunch
And you swallow wrong on a date
Or maybe you are old and expecting
But it still catches you off guard.
Or maybe you planned it all
But still, you will lack the faith
We all die the same deaths suddenly
At least to our perspective
My Best Mechanical Friend
You pester me with the slightest errors.
You bing and bong
Giving me night terrors.
I want drive along
And not listen to musical scarers.
It’s three degrees and you let me know.
You shout at me.
And then you show
On the dash a disaster ahead
And you bing and bong
While but nothing is said.
You’re a lovely car I wouldn’t swap.
I just want the bings and bongs to stop.
Let me drive in blissful peace.
And not steer while grinding my teeth.
An eighties car that’s what I need.
It doesn’t have feelings, it doesn’t bleed.
It’ll carry on until it drops.
It won’t flash and bleep if a tyre pops.
Then I drive you just one more day
The sun is shining, so beeps are okay.
David Cox 23/04/24
Awoken before dawn by rooster call
To greet the day from my rocking chair
‘Twas the purest morning of them all
Something special filled the air
Noble gases became excited
That early morning ambient feel
The day was about to be ignited
Then the sun arose like molten steel
Bright sunflowers stood erect and proud
A plethora of colours bloomed all around
Frogs croaked happily aloud
My gentle stream, a distant sound
The throbbing buzz of dragonfly wings
Dandelion seed gliding on the breeze
An old tyre swaying where my grandchild swings
All overseen by ancient trees
What a privilege to reap such perfection
To conclude with a morning so pristine
In the waters, I saw my younger reflection
Splashing joyfully in a playful scene
After many children and plenty of days
Suddenly, I’m fading like a seasoned flower
Called by a figure beyond the summer haze
That pure morning would be my final earthly hour
in my colourful world of lego,
there was once a clash of big egos,
postman and fireman blocked road halfway!
Pat and Sam two old friends had a fray!
Sam said as fireman, he had the right,
Pat said I agree there is no fight!
My van has stopped with front flat tyre,
would not block your way to a fire!
shall guide your fire engine past mine,
You are valued, your job is divine!
No said fireman, and got out of van,
no fire! let me help if I can!
So that was that in my lego land,
two old friends went to work hand in hand,
Fixed the post man’s tyre in no time,
let’s sing to their friendship in good rhyme!
1st Placement
9 syllables each line
quatrain with abab rhyme
Eve Roper sponsored Legos Nursery Rhyme poetry contest.
written 8/11/2023
Pot hole, O pot hole
I saw you too late
And fell into your clutches
Before I could brake
A teeth rattling crunch
Told me the worst
You'd won the battle
My tyre had burst
And now I am stranded
In the back of beyond
With no cell coverage
And the moon long gone
The tyre was new
And now I am stuck
How bloody typical
I'm fresh out of luck
Adoringly, she stares at you,
trusting that you will see her through,
her rescuer from direst straits.
So at your feet, she patient waits.
The master’s children first are fed;
bewildered not by what He said,
she knows her place, but doesn’t care.
She’s certain there’s enough to share.
A Canaanite does thus inspire
the object of her great desire;
In Tyre no less, not synagogues -
great indeed, the faith of dogs…
----------
musings on Matthew 15:21-28
Muse
===================
Just an un-thought thought.
The least touch of a feather or
draught from
the beating wing of a bird;
A telescope taking focus on
Saturn's rings,
resolved in image,
cut and colour.
The idea gestating in a crate
sealed shut under a slatted grate
asking to be prised apart with a
number nine tyre iron as
the gyrating stars gazed down
upon nothing,
rounding Earth's scimitar sharp crescent
with an ineffable and total
cosmic indifference.
They crawl in a line
along the esplanade
between beachfront mansions
and the bay's indifference,
windows down, elbows out,
hands tapping on doors in time
to the doof doof base
pulverizing air and eardrums
inside their metal sanctums
of pure testosterone.
Throbbing engines ease them
along the street, slow
and deliberate as if to give
pedestrians time to admire
and take in such potency.
An occasional pump
on the pedal sends a roar
rasping out of twin exhausts
and stutters a squeal
of tyres announcing to the locals
and all gathered, the "boys"
are here.
Marooned in another era,
they seem oblivious
to the derision flung at them
as they pass, misinterpreting
a smirk for an approving smile,
the shake of a head a gesture
of wonder rather than a judgment
on how silly they look.
Their egos blaze like the sun
reflected in polished chrome.
When satisfied
they've given onlookers their fill
of metallic ****, they hang a left,
plant their foot
and in a wake of tyre smoke
and deafening noise, rocket off
back to their own private planet,
time frozen somewhere
in the exhaust filled clouds
on the far side of their minds.
A boss can The Vigorous retire
While the latter is still a live wire,
His arms still sinewy, his feet sound tires:
The one who vibrant kids sires...
A boss can send home his firm's tears' dryer:
Saver of company's cars from mire,
It doesn't have to die down: 'the fire'
Nor does it need to corrode 'the wire'.
Then, your arguments could hearers tire
And, dragged too long, make you little liar;
Ones clearly seeking a confused buyer,
Wherefore you could not but go that higher...
Bosses mostly retire The Tired
And when they do they have them just fired!
This subject is too fraught for eloquent poetry
So please indulge me in a straightforward thought or three
For the first time in its modern history
Israel is on the brink of internal catastrophe
True, there's been bleeding before, sometimes severe
But to the rescue rode a Menachem Begin or a Golda Meir
Yet never before has the military been disaffected
And without it, the specter of an Israel unprotected ...
Morphing into invasions by Syria, Jordan, Hezbollah and Iran
Israeli captives marched to their doom in Tyre and Amman
Leaving Russia and China free to move in for the kill
Every holy site in Jerusalem ~ oceans of blood spilled
The world thrown into chaotic darkness, its center destroyed
All thanks to cowardly Bibi, who, fearing jail-time, turned paranoid
May his senses return immediately ~
Or may he vanish mysteriously
How many more young men
How many more young women
Must fall victim to those
Sworn to serve the community?
Needless deaths, senseless violence.
Upholders of the law
Laying low the guiltless?
What lies in their hearts
What lies in their minds
What lies do they live by ?
The uniform, their badge of honour
Demeaned by soulless depravity.
Wholesomeness without
Corruption within
In God we trust
The devil in the police detail
We must no longer witness
The cruel loss of young lives
Let Tyre be the last
In such a painful litany
That writ must run no more
Let the beacon of his light
Blaze forth for all to see
Never again such tragedy
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