Blown along this windward stretch
Dressy shadowy
As light of step, skied a-twirl
Savour each birch-girl.
Swept, enriched, up in whose fame
Dazzles ghostily
Now to whose art converted
Pavlova's; well-bred.
Riddle, read vermillion red.
Underworld, thy bed.
Yellow pages cracked, ash, dead.
Blue ribbon well bred.
Coffin, hold all creation.
Core collision, cold.
Setting in the sea, O sun?
Green forest, thy gold.
Cockatrice, turn all to stone!
Heart of mine, feel not!
Hope of mankind, fate has blown!
Death, a thought? Robot:
Androids are like wrappers.
They're used, and then they're gone.
Turtle, carapace? Snappers!
Vampire, dawn? Move on.
Yes, sir, but tomorrow. Cope?
Best pull not that rope!
O drug addict, bought: thy dope.
Still got money? Nope!
Stifled, O young children?
You bet, sir, and the cause?
Rooster, peace accords thy hen?
Oh, without a pause.
Tympani, crash. Fife, trill loud.
Geo-glyph, proud? Bowed?
Burial, succor is shroud?
Voice, above the crowd?
Hectare, hector, hierarchy.
Hegemon, thy fee.
Hone thy skill, O saint holy?
Faith will do for me...
he had to have routines
I saw no value in that
He brought over his car
I danced on the hood, thought I was all that.
We had different ideas
He felt people were a challenge of course.
I was friends with the entire town,
knew the names of their dogs, rabbits and horse.
we were ill-suited everyone said.
Opposites, but neither of us especially well-bred.
That was fifty-eight years ago and we are still together.
Neurodivergence has worked for us in all kinds of weather.
As every cassock is enough to tell
You are a minister
Either a chorister or a pastor
To grace well and impel
Is seeing you become only God's toastmaker
Every sunset gives us one day less to live
Count your seeds of the spirit
Spread through undaunted love
And not the course of service's bigot
But testimonies of brethren who enjoy your patency
But every sunrise give us one day more to hope
Most time making all observations dumbstruck
Replying each and every with a thunderstruck
It is no near to count a botch
If its effects work like a troche
Hope for the best for we are all human
Flaws are inevitable but can be abandon
No one has ever achieve chancery with God
That has ever live on earth a slipshod being
But clinching His dictates can make you ratherish well-bred
Good Luck
Get strong
Beefing do suck
Flee off wrong
It gets growth abating
Be the David's type Shepherd
Familiar with the said story
Not needed to be re-established
Failure needs no sorry
Be up and doing...
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: 12-07-2025
Contest: Drop The Cliche
Cliche Chosen: "Diamond In The Rough"
The lady of the house well-bred
There was her family's wealth
She couldn't tame her country man
Even though she tried with stealth
Her actions made you quiet, shy
But I saw buried gold
You were a natural great pearl
New treasure to behold
Last Friday’s date with Miss Information
Turned out to be wonderful,
She was not what I expected.
Her name is Sophie
And she’s never been woke
Somehow making it all the way through school
Without contracting the post-modernist contagion.
Bright, beautiful, well bred and read
She goes by Ms. not Miss
And if dreams come true
One day will be my Mrs.
(9/24/25)
A cascade, shimmering, of rivulets that undulate,
Metaphor thalassic, richly blending at the pate.
Each silhouette of vitality, speaking with gentle weight,
On shoulders resting, an adornment, delicate.
Where inky depths meet sun-kissed golden thread,
Fair skin and russet lips, a harmony well-bred.
On sloping lids, where emerald hues are spread,
Completing thus, a visage subtly, richly said.
Every filament, a void of deepest night,
Pupils widen, mirroring its stark, endless plight.
Heartstrings tugged by fur of shadowed fall,
Where a blue throb pulses, binding all.
"A horse is poetry in motion."
Quote - Unknown
My horse must think me very odd,
for he turns to me with a nod;
as flakes fall silent on his mane,
I love him standing there so proud.
We stroll a white frozen terrain,
falling snow making branches strain;
my hair black as black my lips red,
my horse prances down the lane.
Sleek soft grey, alert and well-bred,
he follows with his mane outspread;
a snort, a neigh, soft eyes of gold,
sparkling snow falling as we tread.
The winter woods silent and cold,
with scenes exquisite to unfold;
serene the delicate snowflakes,
as wind whispers of things untold.
I sit beside myself and think,
And try to evaluate my life;
Yes, my life that is blotted with ink
My life of which evaluation would cause strife.
A strife between the living and the dead,
Between our world and theirs too;
Between the ignoramus and the intellectually well-bred.
A conflict none can describe as new!
I sin and sin again and then realize;
And beyond any doubt, more than twice repent,
Only to go back and iterate the vice,
And thus to my record add a fresh dent.
Lord, I have but a very curious mind,
Some would refer to me as a wandering soul
In the land of wisdom, knowledge and the kind,
But their mysteries and their sins, I am attracted to them all!
Now spare any mercy that you might find
And forgive the sins of my kindly person,
I have not committed the ones that cross the line;
A few lies here and there, but not the dreaded arson.
Now, I sit beside myself and think
And ponder over a future without blemish;
A time when no deed will morally stink,
Where all transgressions will have vanished.
Make my day! Clint McRoostwood said.
His attitude was as staunch as his comb was red.
Many scooted away from him with dread.
His movie star status was totally well fed.
He pretended that he was superior, and well-bred.
Along a conduit we are led
Finer than a gossamer thread
Designated nodes meet and greet
Divine magnetism, so well-bred
Bliss mists fill us from head to feet
No wonder then, our heart’s upbeat
This benign burn transforms our soul
Manifest within as cool heat
Feeling complete, blissful and whole
Thoughts rest; we presuppose no goal
Our toroidal heart is aflame
We reclaim soul’s light, ego stole
Recognising life’s but a game
We disrobe without feeling shame
We see soul as ocean of light
Fulfilling then thus our life’s aim
03-June-2023
He fancies himself Mark Twain the chicken slayer said.
His hat is ridiculous, I would not wear it even if I was dead.
Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn? You mean asked a reader well bred.
Not sure said the chicken slayer, but look at that stupid hat on his head!
To chase away despair,
we love and we desire
for a joyous affair;
to love is being higher.
And lest our heart's well-fed,
it will take another:
a lover who's well-bred,
and not any other.
Love goes on forever;
it never ends or dies,
or ceases, if ever,
and bars its own demise.
So, if love's unending,
then our joy's transcending.
I live in a forest treehouse the tiny man said.
Speckled duck called him a liar, his face turned all red.
I think he is telling the truth said an eater of bread.
freshly baked dough coming out of his mouth was hot as lead.
I want to see your place yelled old Grandpa Fred.
I do too agreed his twin brother, old Ned.
Follow me down this hidden path the tiny man said.
Speckled duck rapidly apologized; his name is young Ted.
You have to think before you speak reminded his dad Ed.
the tiny man accepted duck’s apology; because he is well-bred.
We all complimented the tiny man on his pretty homestead.
Everyone agreed it was a glorious spot including Grandpa Fred.
Goddess Athena is the guardian of Athens, the soothsayer said.
She is high-born in mythology, and exceedingly well-bred.
She has been protecting the citizens in a variety of ways.
And will be forever, until the end of all of our days.
Athena heard the soothsayer and rewarded her with money.
She also sent her barley, gemstones, wheat, rice, and honey.
The soothsayer sang Athena’s praises for the rest of her life.
With Athena around, Athens did not undergo very much strife.
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