Mardi gras Allie from New Orleans
Flipped his tail and showed his greens
the decorator was thrilled and dressed him up
in purple waistcoat, so he could go to sup
at a genteel lady’s house, her name was Kat
He wore a flower in his lapel and a tall top hat
He is debonair and handsome too, she bragged
Her compliments for Allie never lagged
this could not be Alice’s white rabbit surely
He was decorated from long ears to hoppity knee
wearing a brocade vest and a fancy waistcoat too
He is perfect, said my cousin, a child named Sue
This rabbit had a little night bell he held in his paw
He had a magic scroll, and an ink pen to draw
His pocket watch was ornate, his hearts were grand.
It was as if he had come out of a magical land.
Clutching a sapling
no port in the storm
Torn from its moorings
No hope to keep warm
A waif of a girl
wrapped in shawl and waistcoat
She’d not survive long
her voice stuck in her throat…
When the blizzard abated
she was found frozen stiff
buried alive ‘neath a snowmound
Mother Nature not a finger did lift
knowing who wore warm
kilts where
was why knots were
wound wardrobes
knitted warmest when waistcoat
kind was
woven wool keeping watchmen
warriors waiting
kindly while watching washroom
kings wither while wine
knocked wisdoms went waste
stan sand
Don Key the Donkey
Was a silly ass
He had big donkey ears
And wore an eyeglass
Looking very dapper
And extremely smart
It was his day off from pulling his cart
He liked going out
And enjoyed a laugh
As I mentioned earlier
He was daft
He dressed up
And looked like a Toff
He tried to look trendy
On his days off
Don wore a bow tie
Red with Yellow dots
He wore a patterned waistcoat
Of which he had a lot
He collected waistcoats
All in many hues
He had a penchant for clothes
Flash jackets shirts and shoes
To cap it all, a trilby
He tipped when ladies passed
Hoping she would have a chat
She walked very fast
Don was this donkey's Christian name
Key was the other
Not much thought went into that
He blamed that on his mother
Don sauntered down the Road
And Up and down the street
When out of nowhere
He spied a pretty mule
Her name was Muriel
They went to the same school
Muriel came over to talk
After they had a chat
They went for a walk
Before any elaborate construction
on this fit-for-a-princess-primrose-pink
trimmed treehouse occurred, an insurrection
of rooted pulp through soil submerged the link
between its waistcoat walnut foundation,
ubiquitous sleeves of deep burgundy
protruding delicate insulation,
and its genesis source of synergy -
no more than a stratified core, unhusked,
of nebulous fluff bemoaned by no queen.
But while No-Majesty is dustbin rushed
by virtues of none as well as feigned seen,
forever will be there for sprigs on the ground,
where all the love hidden from saplings abounds.
I remember nineteen ninety six
like it was yesterday - the penalty
the way that Gareth kicked the ball and missed
I bet he never thought that day that he
would ever be back in the game again
his name engraved in Lions' hearts, their
lips aflame with songs of praise, and men
in waistcoat shops, and women swooning where
he might have been. You've got to love a man
who wears his pride so modestly, who's cute
who wears a new suit stylishly, who can
(if dream we dare) bring home the Cup to boot
If on that fateful day he'd walked away
we wouldn't be here, would we. Let us play.
© Gail Foster 11th July 2018
Put on a fish glove then take it off and replace it with a gauntlet. Imperative and imperial. Such a ruler of lands. Wow. Integrity is not for a swan who falls from a skyscraper. It is found only in jewel incrusted swords ten or twenty feet under the soil. Bomb then. Supervision superficially spaced. And a bowl in pieces. An inked marble is preferable to a dotted patterned sheet of paper. For the sunlight strip entering that temple displays the knowledge on the walls. Fantastic news for a magician from a froggy eyed god. Spacial weaponry agenda is questionable. Fashion is neither a headdress nor a striped waistcoat. Sink not a performing atom. And rage not at buds. Now all rise. For the king has arrived. At last. He ate over fifty grapes in a whole second. Wow. Saviours sipping spitting stunning stations. And of course a very large plane laughing at the ground. Good. Pattern not a pin or a pinnacle. Xxxx ecliptic eccentric economic exploitation. Xxxxx no ha no z just justification
...inspired by 'The Outing' by Dylan Thomas
His waistcoat full to bursting
he harrumphed through the public house
like Hell itself was after him
and tripped, and missed his stool.
"Pull me a pint!" he cried,
"and never mind the bill, we'll settle up!"
A face pricked like a strawberry,
and just as red, spit spraying
as he bellowed he was jovial, inebriated,
in his cups before the opening bell
and known to one and all as Stumble.
The Snug was crammed, like-minded men
determined for a belly full.
At closing time they locked the doors
and started on the bottles.
They posted Ernie Jenkins as a
lookout for the constable,
lead tenor in the male voice choir.
Dispensing with his duties
he joined in with all the rest,
pickled voices still in tune,
until the pub was dry, the notes exhausted.
Stumble bade goodnight to all the rest
and staggered through the dim-lit streets,
his true and constant friend the flying moon.
...inspired by 'The Outing' by Dylan Thomas
His waistcoat full to bursting
he harrumphed through the public house
like Hell itself was after him
and tripped, and missed his stool.
"Pull me a pint!" he cried,
"and never mind the bill, we'll settle up!"
A face pricked like a strawberry,
and just as red, spit spraying
as he bellowed he was jovial, inebriated,
in his cups before the opening bell
and known to one and all as Stumble.
The Snug was crammed, like-minded men
determined for a belly full.
At closing time they locked the doors
and started on the bottles.
They posted Ernie Jenkins as a
lookout for the constable,
lead tenor in the male voice choir.
Dispensing with his duties
he joined in with all the rest,
pickled voices still in tune,
until the pub was dry, the notes exhausted.
Stumble bade goodnight to all the rest
and staggered through the dim-lit streets,
his true and constant friend the flying moon.
A Giant
There is an unknown legend that comes
from the great Black Forest
of a creature fearsome and oh, so glorious.
Though his brain be small
and barely larger than a walnut
his head and jaws are held in fear and awe.
Those huge brown eyes hold such a stare
and his teeth are sharp as nails
with claws long and pointed reaching everywhere.
The body black and boldly trimmed in brown
short haired waistcoat thick yet soft
rapped snuggly at his belly round.
The form is slim and trim, the torso long and lank
a streamlined tail waving in the sun
satisfied when its task is done.
There he is, can you see him frown
thrashing through the field
everybody running as he comes into town.
His sound is loud and deafening,
it roars like echoed thunder
as feet imprint the earth he plunders.
There he stands with renewed vigor and vim
challenging every eye on him.
What's that you say, you're unafraid,
He is but a tiny Dachshund?
Stand back my friends, you doubting disbelievers,
be fearful and leary, despite his size
he is a giant,
a Rottweiler in disguise.
Though we got the land on name of religion,
But we tend to be far more traditional,
As being a post-colonial, still baffled,
But now again my nation is girdled!
Every province have its language but,
Radically alike semantics in our spirit,
Some wear waistcoat or some jeans,
This polarization persists in our teens,
But to this point of disparity, still,
We all offer Him together and will!
A time comes in a year, twice
Where we gather with family and cheer,
A reason of celebration twice the year,
One for the fasting in holy month inhere,
While merry on the Latter is premier,
Subdued in the celebrations we’re
Thus so in satisfaction of love,
only of father and mother,
This is the life in my homeland lived,
Mundanely lived … ah seems outlived!
Not so many years ago
I revelled in rebellion,
Derided seniors
In sportsmobiles,
Comfortable bellies on
Wheels. Waistcoat
Fillers. Surreptitious
Pint spillers.
But now I sit and scoff
At youth and all its
Awkward agonising
Over lack of truth.
Merrily I mow the lawn
And curse because I
Can't get my wellies on.
And my wife orders me
To buy a larger pair.
And I cry 'No!' and
She groans and I ignore
Her as I turn the telly on
And I revel in my rebellion.
The maiden was carrying a basket
it was full of sweet flowers for market
once she got there she places a blanket
then lays the bunches around a casket
A toff came along and got one for Ascot
he doffed his hat showing a crew cut
the fabric of his trousers was tricot
made up fashionably in cross cut
He invites her to join him at Ascot
leading her down to a leafy short cut
intentions clear he opens his tricot
so she made good use of hidden off cut
Flees from situation most delicate
to get involved much too intricate
after all you must follow etiquette
to remain in the temple's syndicate
Collecting up her flowers and basket
she made her way home out of the market
she wrote never again in triplicate
as her cat came over to affricate
She sat down to a dinner of brisket
followed by a nice tasty biscuit
getting it down, she cleaned the musket
finishes day ironing her weskit
~~~~~~
affricate means to rub up against
Tricot is a fabric or material
weskit is a word for waistcoat usually very ornate
Don Johnson Yuan-orang
We was in Coles a shopping center,
The wild man from Borneo appeared,
He reared up an started spraying
Yuan Oranaga-Taunga was here
Followers in their blue-gum robes,
With bark a prickling round their ears,
With dollar coins attached to ear lobes,
Dodged and sidestepped as they savoured
Uric acid and sweet urea,
Holy-man was gesticulating,
Gonads flashing so sincere,
Red hairy waistcoat ever stating,
Yuan a Tanga was the seer,
Deported then he was so,
Dropped by parachute we hear,
Back to the wilds of Borneo,
Thought blinking Wombats bloody *****…
Don
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