how amazing that
nature's wallpaper sets
the tone of our lives
Awake me muse, for I need to commit,
To something, anything that will keep me fit
Before me sits, an unbuilt kit,
waiting for me to assemble it
With steady hands ready to work,
Unboxing, pulling out pieces,
for all they are worth
Parts and pieces dispersed here and there,
instructions interpreted as somewhat fair
Leave it to me, I’ll get it done,
better late than never, I told someone.
Time has come, to glue this to that,
prime, sand, then paint all that
To finish the task at one’s feet,
the process calls for it to repeat
Don’t call me a bad guy,
if I justify why you should electrify
You can paint or wallpaper any wall,
it doesn’t much matter to me at all
With all those lights still so dark,
plug in with “AC” to get a spark
Once we throw the thumb-wheel switch,
we behold all that glows,
hopefully, without a hitch.
I can proudly say to you this day,
this dolls house is ready and on its way
Ready for you to decorate
with folks gathering to participate
Thanking you in advance
for this build of mine
and approving of my timeline
At some point, you might say,
at his best, he was a gifted Miniaturist
Walking through the door of my childhood home
brought back tsunami of wisdom overture.
Tastes and colours in décor change with culture;
varied pallet of history in lands roam’.
My children had turned out to be a challenge
as they had early on displayed my talent
for examining and questioning latent
defects papered over; now seeking balance.
We’d a small, intimate wedding reception.
The wallpaper in the lounge is instantly
recognisable (like kin related distantly),
from the photos. No inkling of deception.
My parents had asked this sweet sixteen to voice
her preference for bedroom to replace staid
pattern reminiscent of a fabric plaid.
But they had vetoed black and white Op Art choice.
The celebrations of the many milestones,
spanning the blessed years of three generations
firmly recorded in the decorations;
layers of peeling wallpaper to bare bones.
I heard the wallpaper start peeling off the wall in the kitchen.
Garth my pet giraffe must be still be ferociously itch’n.
Penguin waddles up to give me his slanted report.
I ask about the chipmunks – Nancy, Herman and Mort.
They scurry up to show me the tattoos on their tails.
I say, “you can accompany me to dinner if all else fails.”
Not in that posh, stuck up fancy restaurant, Herman tells me.
I would rather be run over by a truck down by the sea.
Herman is pure drama, a stage actor in New York Training.
These pets are getting to be too much, I find them draining.
There is a sick llama who needs a home, Mort happily said.
I rolled my eyes, and laid back down, pretending to go to bed.
Pale and pasty, my face.
Disappearing into stripes - regaling no stance.
Gone - no trace.
Red hair…freckles.
Please, won’t someone ask me to dance?
…heckles.
Heart’s weak…
Is there no chance?!
Speak!
Pale and pasty, my face.
Please, won’t someone ask me to dance?
Speak!
4/9/2022
Let's Minichu on zero
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
A SUBLIMINAL ANNOYANCE
Over
the tannoy-
easy list'ning
relaxing the clasp on
our purse
I bluster
with what
I don't understand
and cover up
the cracks
with anger and pain.
It looked like a shark
Or a whale
In the waters so pure they floated
In a light so bright they greeted
The water was bubbling with the breaths
Of these
Again it may have been a whale or a shark
In the great artist's mind
Creatures so free
Only a mind could feel
The windows of tomorrow
Floated high
Again like the great beasts of the wide seas
Like the leaves of trees in their fresh
Full of green and other hues in their genes
Just waiting and waiting to inspire the hidden knack
Tonight I’m dressed up
in the finest wallpaper
As you waltz by
With your shiny
Trophy of the week
Oh, you should be
A fly on my Wall
I rolled up in the edges
Of the Seventh Day Herald
News of your Armageddon
In my hands
Splat!
Moon is shining,
window to the soul,
stare through
the paper doll,
wallpaper hearts
are raining
water rivulets,
leading lines.
Into the ocean,
dreams and wishes
washed up
the rocky shore,
starry expanse,
scars and clouds,
laughing scissors
cut into flesh.
Forget the heart
and hopes behind,
learn to forget,
remember that.
A piece of paper
on a wall
it is an exercise
not too small
They come in rolls
from many a shade
to suit all types
both public and trade
The lady likes a flower
on a nice pattern
a kid likes it bright
but others just like to discern
While some are costly
and some come cheap
it’s your own decision
as it’s yours to keep
Poetgord
Wallpaper Vapors?
I wanted to repaper my room
But mom and dad said it’s too soon
You just did it yesterday, you crazy kook
But THAT paper had kayaks and today I want nuns
My parents just looked at me, clearly stunned
Had I gone religious all of a sudden?
Ignoring them I tore down the paper with glee
It wasn’t level, anyone could see
And put up my nuns in revelry
But the nuns didn’t pop
So I decided to stop
And hang up my posters of musician Kidd Rock
But that looked too teenish to me
So I threw them away and grabbed a painting
Van Gogh’s “Starry night” looked like a dream
The perfect wall covering, at least while I sleep...
Palindromes used: repaper, mom, dad, kook, level
4/17/12
Black Eyed Susan
The others turn to wallpaper,
an amalgamation of colours,
reds run into blues run into greens.
A palate of insignificance
submerged behind our corneas,
may as well be grey.
Nascent in our welfare womb,
sharing oxygen: I breathe in, you breathe out.
The curves of your fingertips
tease my acrylic French tips.
Then I turn to wallpaper.
Plunge a clenched fist through my chest, and
pluck at the strings that engage in each glower.
Graffiti to the grave.
Your tongue-tied texts and
speechless songs
compile that composition.
Phone calls squeezed into
itchy interludes,
last drops of water from a sponge.
Ensnarement.
No release from our declining rapport,
evaporating as those drops from the sponge.
I feel wrung out and parched,
thirsty for what once
drowned me in delight
And now you turn to wallpaper, and I
make an ornament out of my
damaged goods.
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