O Melancholy, my home-alone friend,
with Indolence conspiring to mark time,
with best intentions, and thoughts unpenned,
and faded vision, as the perfect rhyme,
so almost, so not quite, so very close,
distracted by my wastrel amigos.
If I could somehow loosen ties that bind,
and hold me in such unrelenting thrall,
if I the secret antidote could find,
to let me hear again the muse’s call,
my mind, now free, a-roving, unconcealed,
my deepest unsung thoughts in verse revealed.
Unending sojourn, inspiration sought,
and sometimes unexpectedly upturned.
When with the souls of poets we have walked,
their intimations shared, insights discerned,
if we, as in a dream, a trance adopt,
we too may tread their lofty mountaintop.
Categories:
wastrel, inspiration, poems,
Form: Rhyme
Ode to Fanny
Her start in life was rather poor
with wastrel parents, ones to abhor
She avoided living in the gutter
Earning enough for her bread and butter
Her break in life came rather later
Before, bigamy and babies to underrate her
Her kids grew up in the care of another
She never took to being a mother
Her culinary skills proved rather good
She could write and critique on all kinds of food
Destined to star in sixties telly
She graced her shows in glitzy finery
Her zany persona was rather dippy
Her dress was ball gown and misplaced lippy
Shunning apron and hat that looked so drab
‘Cos cooking and baking should always look fab
The man she had met was rather fine
Ex army major, life was divine
They fronted shows as man and wife
Fanny and Johny, well matched and no strife
Her fame continued for rather a while
Overridden by others in different style
And gaffes too many, they booted her out
No telly shows, no gowns to flout
Her recipes of the past still rather great
She put pizza and prawn cocktail on our plate
She and Johny, always a couple
Poor but content to remain conjugal
Ooh rather!
Categories:
wastrel, tribute,
Form: Tail-rhyme
I made myself a wastrel
an orphan of my choice
And severed all my family ties
in search of my own voice
I left without once looking back
the present straight ahead
The past redundant, future flawed
to butter my own bread
The years have come with decades gone
old memories buried deep
Of times when I was young and hurt
to dream but not to sleep
New breezes blow, fair winds to call
the children come and go
As here I sit with no regrets
—my garden fully hoed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)
Categories:
wastrel, family, freedom, garden,
Form: Rhyme
The cloying sangria
of freesias
invades the screen.
Amber bees whine
in wastrel air
like breezeless fans.
My shirt
is porcelain skin.
I dangle one metronome leg
off the arm
of a wicker chair
on the porch
as icebox rivulets
trickle down my sides.
In a far corner
dead flowers
curl
in a glass vase.
Categories:
wastrel, life, summer,
Form: Imagism
a true legend with spoken words
the world’s oldest reigning monarch
rarely gives interviews
personal feelings not know
her beliefs fundamental importance
well known for her dry witticism
habits were parodied by media
know not to be a teetotaller
wants to see her kingdom live forever
hypocrisy lessened and faded
the future British world is hers
truth her glory, riches, and honours
reign acquired but never regretted
Categories:
wastrel, celebrity, character, culture, dedication,
Form: Narrative
O Melancholy, my home-alone friend,
With Indolence conspiring to mark time,
With best intentions, and thoughts unpenned,
And faded vision, as the perfect rhyme,
So almost, so not quite, so very close,
Distracted by my wastrel amigos.
If I could somehow loosen ties that bind,
And hold me in such unrelenting thrall,
If I the secret antidote could find,
To let me hear again the muse's call,
My mind now free, a-roving, unconcealed,
My deepest unsung thoughts in verse revealed.
Unending sojourn, inspiration sought,
And sometimes unexpectedly upturned,
When with the souls of poets we have walked,
Their intimations shared, insights discerned,
If we, as in a dream, a trance adopt,
We too may tread their lofty mountaintop.
Categories:
wastrel, inspiration, poets,
Form: Rhyme
When I write you a letter, you had better reply!
All the time it eats up isn't easy to come by.
Do you think that I've got nothing better to do
Than to squander myself on a wastrel like you?
Why can't you get off of your fat derriere?
My urgency here leaves me no time to spare.
Your many excuses and the way you delay
Just fill me with ennui and a ton of dismay.
Hey, how many more times must I grovel and beg
You to find a good sitter and then shake a leg?
Get yourself to the bank and secure a big loan
Then transmit it to me so my mistress won't moan.
She has much on her mind since I landed in jail,
And I gotta get back, so I need to post bail.
Then we'll flee to Havana on an overnight barge
And I'll write you again once we start livin' large.
Categories:
wastrel, abuse, best friend, betrayal,
Form: Quatrain
I’ve ever minded to live or to die,
Always striving life and eluding death;
There’s no end to live or be dead.
All it takes there’s to celebrate,
But my life is not a celebration;
There must be wastrel for a celebrity.
I note a void of failure and success,
Yet have failed attempting to succeed;
For in failure lies the aura of success.
I vie life with poverty and riches;
Whereof is contentment, be poor or rich?
But the depth of heart than be poor or rich.
I ‘void sadness and sought to be happy,
And sadly tire of the bid to live happily;
How sad is the path of happiness.
I ponder ‘times being baddy and goody
Struggling ‘tween badness and goodness;
But there must be bad for triumph of good
All my life I wait on seasons and times,
Plan and live as warrant the seasons and time;
As though there’s an end to seasons or time.
Categories:
wastrel, character, feelings, heart, introspection,
Form: Verse
Dad, You Suffered Me
You looked to the North
I stared to the West
My desire gone forth
I thus failed your test.
"My eyes are not blind,
"and ideas quite alright."
I turned from behind
led by leisure's light!!
*
Wastrel of fast renown
my purse grew so slim
A beggar had I grown
whose mirth turned dim.
Reason poured forth
homeward to then retire
When I looked North
I saw grey face of sire!
*
I shivered with regret
doubting Dad's welcome
Yet, the stage was set
to get me back home!
Royalty was in Town
as fanfare lit the day
While in rugs of a Clown
I toddled on the way!
*
Standing 'fore the table
Dad, all old and wan
To address the Rabble
lavished in dazzling fun:
One sheep in the cold
sin had tainted so black
Being alive in the fold
welcome my Son back!
*
Such is the Sinner Me
with a hard, rigid dome
Light shall I not see
flicker to go back Home;
Before my Dad's knee
to bow, to plead to say:
For long you suffer'd me
ne'er more shall I stray!
02nd Oct' 2013
Categories:
wastrel,
Form: Pastoral
Kabanga V Kabanga
"Turn over another cheek,
"whenever one's clapped."
"No. Sign of being weak
"maxim must be rapped!"
"Give Love to your neighbour
"as to Self you'd wish
"No. Silly and futile labour
"he'll repay with sour dish!"
*
Man's good time's lost
while Good an' Evil wrestle.
It's Us who pay the cost
to heed Miser or Wastrel.
Nay, listen to Conscience
to take the rightful route
If you heed the Omniscience
you'll reap His Love's Fruit!
15th Sept' 2013
Categories:
wastrel,
Form: Quatrain
There stood a witch stirring her cauldron, old and pocked, she was quite the gorgon;
And that malicious crone did her wicked work for the Devil:
Satan, that King of all vile sins, who smiles with his beastly grin.
In went bitter mugwart to kill the wastrel
In went her special ingredient, a pinch of fresh witch-hazel.
Then that witch cackled!
Ginger, Spider legs, Eye of Newt, Unicorn Blood, and Bat's Head Root.
A handfull of yarrow to make him tremble.
And finally three pickled slugs, to kill him via poisoned blood.
When she was done, he'd be nothing more than spectral,
And then she could finally win her battle!
And again she cackled!
As she gazed in her crystal ball, she saw the future that would befall.
How trilling was killing; the king dead in his castle.
The king who so wronged her! That crook! That pest! That rascal!
He would pay for breaking her heart, it was TRUE evil.
She cried not cackled.
This poem is based around the structure of Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven.
Categories:
wastrel, hate, lost love,
Form: I do not know?
I’ve been around this world awhile,
have had my ups and downs.
I think were I to tally them,
I’ve had more smiles than frowns.
I want to live each day as though
it is the very last,
for I have been improvident
and a wastrel in the past.
Time, greatest of commodities,
must be used or it's gone.
It cannot be stored nor hoarded.
It's worthless when its done.
I have reached an age that’s greater
than it has been before.
I’m ashamed to ask the good Lord
to give me one day more
Unless I grab it and hold it
and put it to good use.
I intend to meet my Maker
without a weak excuse.
This is the way that life feels when
you get to be my age,
that the story will be ending.
You hate to turn the page.
Categories:
wastrel, life, day,
Form: Ballad
alliterative blank verse
Wanting to show myself worthy -
work was not one of my weapons.
Weakly, I worded my secret --
“I wish of your wealth my fair share.”
Worried and warned by the world’s ways,
father willingly stood my weakness.
He watched steady by the window,
worn weary - waiting my sojourn.
Selfishly wayward and wicked,
soon I was spurned as a wastrel.
I woke from stubborn wantonness
wishing my stomach well-fed.
Wallowing from waste, I started
wobbling forthwith to my father;
sensing his wrath would be severe
wailing, “set me as your servant.”
Waving to me, shoulders stretched wide
weeping he walks t'wards me warmly.
Washing my wounds with his welcome -
my worth did not warrant his smiles.
Witnessing this scene from afar
but wretched and wrestling within,
my sibling wants whys and wherefores,
no wasting words on my welfare.
This story stops short suddenly -
no written word of a war waged -
no wailing, no whining, no woe.
Wonder well, for such is wisdom.
Categories:
wastrel, angst, devotion, family, father,
Form: Blank verse