not a collection of life’s greatest hits
more the matter of odd pieces and bits
most aspects of existence left to chance
not always leading to rapid advance
jumbled together through disjointed time
risky, no reason, hardly a rhyme
lots of narrative describing mundane
trivial matters of somebody's reign
not every one of Shakespeare's written lines
proved to be earth-shattering or sublime
the glue which held the product together
background, filler, conditions of weather
creating the common vernacular
not all ends up being spectacular
There's certainly a wide-ranging variety of different cars
From the Model T to the Tesla -- no longer wildly popular
People want choices to match their lifestyles and moods
Manufacturers want trustworthy cars that can 'deliver the goods'
Reliable rides -- solid, unspectacular engines under their hoods
Rich sports stars tend to go for muscle cars and speed
Jaguars, Porsches, Ferraris; Dodges, Pontiacs, and AMCs
Famous celebrities, of course, crave the ultimate in luxury
Rolls Royces, Mercedes, Lincoln Town Cars, and Bentleys
Nerds and computer geeks worship the ways of the Japanese
They drool over Hondas, Toyotas, Mazdas, even Mitsubishis
Which brings us to the environmentalists, willing to pay a bit more
For hybrids, electric cars, even ones that run on cooking oil and Indian lore
But I've saved the final two lines for a new car so incredibly smart
That without any driver, it appeals to cutting-edge intellectuals
~ and fearless hearts
It isn't just the wonders of the world
that dominate my mind and memory.
Sometimes it is the trifles that cement
in me that dawning consciousness that
makes me suddenly aware, "I'm really here!
I've stumbled on that rare completion
of a dream I only dared to think about."
Of this old globe no other part
retains its power to capture me
so well as one exciting synthesis
of light, of tower and of art.
However it's the unspectacular
that moves me most of all.
I've seen magnificence in Rotterdam,
Brussels, Munich and New York--
all wonderful, and yet it was
the transient things
that framed a city for me then
some fifty years ago. They would again
if they remain today: those little
bookstalls along the Seine.
~
IMPRISONED (collaboration)
by~ Jun-jun Villanueva
Urbane cavalcade - flaunt in gaiety
Warbling hymns in ego - cyclicity
Jigging gracile moves in vivacity
Relishing in zest in this gravity
Kinsfolk in flamboyant fete - oh its fate?
Smiles, elation in face delineate
Like nothing's wrong makes me exasperate
No one cares? No one adores? it's too late
Recurrent nightmares peeve me in sublime
Making incubuses remorse in rhyme
Bequeathing qualm, fright and fear - death like crime
Kith and kin in laughs while I'm in grave time...
by~ Poet Destroyer
Twittering chime parade of glee
Unspectacular weed flowing trough me.
Boxed in a box like a tick or flea.
No one understands- what they can't see!
Outside myself holding my breath-
Or should I say what is left?
Trapping torment with false courtesy.
Preexisted past, without certainty.
Locked in a sanctuary grave of ivory ribs,
My life in a vault- trashed crib.
Feet lashing against my skin.
Twirling the rootless valves of sin.
No one cares! No one adores!
My prison trash coffin brought ashore.
~~~~~an entry for " POET DESTROYER's MY COLLABORATION CONTEST"
IMPRISONED (collaboration)
by~ Jun-jun Villanueva
Urbane cavalcade - flaunt in gaiety
Warbling hymns in ego - cyclicity
Jigging gracile moves in vivacity
Relishing in zest in this gravity
Kinsfolk in flamboyant fete - oh its fate?
Smiles, elation in face delineate
Like nothing's wrong makes me exasperate
No one cares? No one adores? it's too late
Recurrent nightmares peeve me in sublime
Making incubuses remorse in rhyme
Bequeathing qualm, fright and fear - death like crime
Kith and kin in laughs while I'm in grave time...
by~ Poet Destroyer
Twittering chime parade of glee
Unspectacular weed flowing trough me.
Boxed in a box like a tick or flea.
No one understands- what they can't see!
Outside myself holding my breath-
Or should I say what is left?
Trapping torment with false courtesy.
Preexisted past, without certainty.
Locked in a sanctuary grave of ivory ribs,
My life in a vault- trashed crib.
Feet lashing against my skin.
Twirling the rootless valves of sin.
No one cares! No one adores!
My prison trash coffin brought ashore.
A collaboration with * Jun-jun Villanueva
My collaboration contest
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