The POTUS, he known as "Le Miserblob",
is little more than an unctuous knob.
It's easy to ridicule
this feckless lord of misrule
as he continues to sleep on the job.
Maybe it was his love
of Broadway musicals -
you can’t listen
to that stuff without training
an imaginary voice.
Same with opera,
you have to find a voice
you weren't born with.
On the phone he projected
like a turkey-cock,
venting sonority
from a T-shirt cannon
of printable sound.
You sensed his epiglottis
pole dancing,
while he pummeled fat words
into buxom shapes.
Most voices, in time,
collapse like wet tents,
but Osgood’s voice
expanded like a Billy goat's scrotum,
it became an overripe mango,
a bouncy castle for elephants.
Then one chill morning
his voice froze and cracked forever.
Osgood's large frame wilted,
beefy vocals became unctuous,
hands dangled unexpressed.
Eventually,
his voice crept back,
but only as loud as a kittens mewl.
He now whiffled almost audibly
through a hole between his teeth
we all noted with relief.
Small, Unctuous frog,
Squatting on his lily pad,
Only yawns to eat.
--------------------------------------
Gaudy cherry trees,
Fearful of a rising wind,
Grip their blossoms tight.
--------------------------------------
The stream's headwaters
Have not yet seen the valley;
Nor we yet Heaven.
--------------------------------------
Lyricism of wisteria ruses…peacocking muses gushing tomes
Classicism flocking..roams & woos homes not garden gnomes
Colourful creepers cruising..schmoozing with boisterously blushing bricks
Spring exudes mysticism..oozes oodles of bamboozling serendipity flushing
Cherished fingers rushing freely..delivers..unctuous ravishingly rambunctious
Relished slivers lavishly lingers..embellished..proudly protrudes
Inspires rhyming platitudes about gratitude...fires fresh
Attitudes across a range of altitudes & latitudes
Sprinkling wryly of vintner's drily sparkle...ends strange debacle...
Skint stints of wily skinflint winter’s splinters..with hints of now..Spring sprints
But also somehow.. if one squints..get an inkling of change..
Glints of summer's tints slyly twinkling
Kiwi Cricket's Shangri La...
"Can still hear the deafening din of the Indian crowd chagrin.
Stunned shell shocked silence at mandarins' sins.
Yet somehow still so loud
Like thunder down under in the proud
Land of the long white cloud.
Daring to dream of derring do plunder.
Upsets’ unctuous umami.
Shocks’ sumptuous serendipity.
Cast asunder as against the odds.
Hallowed Gods' anguished..felled & fallowed.
Kiwis vanquished the voodoo of Indian home hoodoo.
This purple patch, so perversely plush...got a hunch.
Would make even Prince blush, proud as ribena punch.
Sporting nirvanas cavorting with crepuscular career nadirs.
Can’t pillory this Test expedition, like the Everest conquest & Hillary.
Black cap sedition…Indian perdition.
Tradition debunked by spunky funk.
Not once, not twice but thrice.
Teeming..awash with gleaming beaming white.
Emancipation...damnation & salvation.
The Indian’s cardinal sin…not being able to play spin.
No way you can naysay.. just
Another Bill Murray Groundhog day.
As we learned..the underdog winner.. we yearned had turned.
Fat cats burned & stats spurned..into a dog's dinner."
Ever snorted cocaine?
I watched some partiers snort cocaine last night,
in a dark, Manhattan nightclub corner celebration.
But I’ve never crossed that line. The white line.
When offered some, with unctuous camaraderie,
I shrugged and said, “No, sorry, I’m allergic.”
What are you supposed to say, “Crack is whack,”
or “I prefer my coke with rum and ice?”
The white line. I don’t cross the line.
It’s not the first time, of course, I saw more drugs
in high school than I have at Yale. I’ve mostly seen
“study drugs,” there, like provigil, adderall and alza (concerta).
Do they give students an advantage? I don’t know, maybe.
Call me a boxcut or a squarepants, but my parents are doctors,
and I just don’t cross those lines - those little white lines.
.
.
Webster: Unctuous: “an obvious, fake friendliness”
Slang: ‘boxcut’ ot ‘squarepants’ = a square, a no fun party-pooper
*I use artistic license for colors: for instance, adderall can be a blue, orange or yellow pill.
She lived to be the oldest of a staid,
unremarkable bourgeois family.
Lavender and off-white lace,
complemented her black ruffled attire.
She played the Granddame with much aplomb,
the matriarch of her passionless clan.
Occasionally her offspring
and her offspring’s offspring came to her for money,
a few with questions, appeals, unctuous compliments
She offered only sneers, curled and haughty lips.
In her days there were giants on earth,
they did not reach just for the middle shelves.
Their thoughts were painted hot-air balloons,
they imagined rocket ships made out of
bicycle parts.
Was it her fault that humanity had shrunk?
Day after day she gave audience
to unimaginative midgets, the small minded
affronted by her regal demeanor.
When she died they gathered
to pick the spoils, unfortunately for them
she had long disinherited her fortune
considering her kindred all just cheap satin
stitched over bovine buttocks.
Lithesome words like ‘love’, ‘loyalty’
And ‘liberty’
Lie, like mollusks on the sea
Bed; closed clam shut
Not revealing
Anything but
An unctuous feeling
And when prized open
By a devouring question
The contents give one
Indigestion.
So let’s not swallow
Such squirming terms
These loathsome, lithesome, worming words.
Meaningless and absurd
But if they are our sole default,
Let us take them with a pinch of salt.
© Barry Freeman – 18th September 2020
This bowl of lobster shells
looks very pretty
and yet so sad.
The bright red carcasses
all cracked and emptied out
have served me well
with their luscious innards
of tender sweet flesh
unctuous with brine and butter
that sated me
and gratified
my deep-sea desires
for this ultimate
New England joyance
on this
muggy Summer day.
If I had
any ambition left,
I'd dump these
scarlet remnants
into a big ol' pot
and toss in
onions,
bay leaves
and peppercorns
for a savory
perfumed stock.
But for now
I'm glued
to my chair
happily lobster drunk
and in a buttery haze
and licking my
salty fingers
for any last residue
of that
resplendent crustacean
now reduced
to a heap of shells
in an old glazed bowl
on a lemon-yellow afternoon
somewhere on the coast
wondering how long
I can last
until the feeling
comes again
and I don my old stained bib
and haul out
the nutcracker and pick
and get the butter drawn
for another
Homarus americanus
adventure
and find myself
staring down
a new warm mound
of cracked and emptied
lobster shells.
Your nose looks like it’s avoiding the smell coming up from your toes, you stick it in my business assume half the show and there you go ranting in an unctuous fashion slideshow of passion as you start thrashing a subtle superior bashing try and play down your snoot forgetting what suits as you honk your honour with contradictions full hollow concerning yourself with yourself and branding others supercilious as though super serious issues are confused away delirious as you don’t see the relevance with your narcissistic outlook and self absorbed intelligence assured you’re enlightened while others petty fighting up there on your balcony talk of level unity while you stare down assumably, remove yourself if you don’t know don’t tell me how I should go
Into her eyes I enter, free of unctuous pretense, my daughter, so I can feel it all as she.
Grease the binary palms ...
singular greed motive,
zero moral qualms
Paper cancer in the brain —
MRI diagnosis
(make riches increase)
reveals a tumorous mental condition:
Malignant Reptilian Imaging
Scaly thoughts
of poor widow inheritance devouring
Integrity bought ...
bottom feeders bank account scouring
Saliva secretions are amphibian amoral alien;
acidic lust spittle salivating,
queen Borg demands be ere evergreen pagan
Moss-colored bile offering
is an unctuous byproduct of ink greed
Slimy covetous proclamations
strip the pockets of those most in need
Bottom line projections
show gluttus in reel time parasitic feed
Darth Vader holographics
is a leech reality of virtual insensitivity
Waste landfill spill on a moral bleed ...
unctuous byproduct
yields a gutter harvest of dirty deeds
soft
smooth
creamy
luscious
unctuous
succulent
decadence
firm
yielding
delicate
sin
twice
I feel a chafing around you
With your coarse attitude
You're grotesque ego means nothing to me
You harangue in your hoarse tones
Anyone who you feel opposes you
I find you ignorant and arrogant in truth
Unctuous and obstreperous you be
Vacant of beauty manifesting all that's ugly
Yet through all of your toxicity
Know that I will be here for you
Should you seek to change your attitude
And discover your love and light
That resides deep inside of you
Beneath that darkness, anger and hate
And find the fortitude to eradicate
And wipe these negativities away.
O thee I praise, and I sure ain’t fakin’
The fairest ether of carnal substance, our bacon!
That unctuous crunch so satisfying
I can already hear my fat cells sighing
Yea, about you there’s not one thing faulty
You make fried eggs so impeccably salty
A special treat from the Lord, yes I dig
Which is why he hid you inside a pig
Kindly don’t regard me a barbarian,
But you’re proof that God's no vegetarian
There is no shame in how I thee adore
I’d even pick you up after six seconds on the floor
Sweet minutes after, the glorious aftertaste lingers
Extra can be found on my greasy fingers
O dear Lord, may we never run out
Of the sweetest treat behind the muddy snout!
5/16/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
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