"Some of us have secrets – William Tell."
Some of us have secrets.
Well, we all have secrets, William Tell.
We sweep them under the carpet,
or trade, for better things.
Some things we exchange,
they see us captured and seized,
canaries singing in gilded cages,
well, some not so gilded;
some are chirping up
an opera, orchestra vulgate,
the percussion,
rattled and deceased.
We pretend to live in golden ages
the buried deep inside us - we,
claw a way out of the hidden
musty mausoleums
haunting
all
the poetique
people.
The external jest,
they love it all,
they smother us
in their velvet words,
or drown us in
a baptismal tide
of touch and tell, bugs,
truth or dare,
a looney tunes overture.
Some of us have secrets.
Well, we all have secrets.
We sweep them under the carpet, or trade,
for better things.
The Apple plucked from the tree
like a story, before bitten,
placed on a head
stood against a wall
William Tell
for better things
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"The Clementine"
for the plucking,
the Clementine
leaves were fresher back then
the light glistened stronger
each segment a morsel
a revision slow and deliberate
transcribed by Jerome
gates to be opened
and consumed
in latin passages
verdi vulgate ancient fruit
before the modern world
the meaning lost
for those lost
between orchards
of words, opened
before
the greater great war,
a harvest, the Q source
strange language
strange stories
some found
apocryphal,
the hidden
didymos Thomas,
buried by strict canons
revealed untrue
in that strange winter
the orchards
were all burned
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
apocryphal. Adjective
apocrypha. Noun
didymos/Greek, meaning.
Q Source
Thomas
Jerome
As You Departed
David J Walker
There is a certain beauty
Found in the dry sky hovering
Over your grave
But mother
You were never dry
You were a thunderstorm
Rumbling in the distance
You were a gray day
That never cried in
Public places
Your perfume was the cold
Humid winter air
Promising to snow and
Granting permission to stay
Out and play all day
In the cursive flow
Of heavy flurries
You were the enigma of ubiquitous
Lightning flashing in the morning
And evening as if each were
the same time to you
You were the author of
a chimeric vulgate
impossible to predict
with any accuracy
Mother
You were never dry
Even as I held your hand
As you departed
I don’t believe Donald Trump should be impeached,
He’s brought light to the Presidency, a dynasty,
Of a long line of ‘born again’ believers, screeched,
Wiling government into a god-inspired fallacy.
Burocracy is not an heuristic term or value judgement -
It’s a rational roll of reasonable deliberations, business,
Mirroring the typical American citizen as sediment,
Which Mr Trump places, to his credit and best guess.
He’s not a force for power without love and freedom,
Stealing smiles from unlikely Democrats, Pub’s alike,
He gives the lesser the right to arbitrate and custom,
When climbing the hierarchy an eager workers’ hike.
He’s not killed five people, an individual’s sadness,
Another quinquennial would see America great again,
With Covid faced squarely and firmly by flatness,
Joe Biden will take it as efficient, practical and fain.
Let the people speak from the Representative’s House,
Not one view, but proffering all view’s to regulate,
Bold with speech, he’s turned the stiff upper clouse,
Into commerce’s flutter, so please give a vulgate.
Dominique Webb