Energizer Bunny
Unstoppable
Untoppable
Been watching this a while
Inevitable
Irrevocable
Panache and whimsied style
Insatiable
Inexhaustable
A curiousity of mine
The king o’ertaken
by the queen
In a not too distant time
Prolific
Terrific
A mad hare spilling ink
Loquacious
Bodacious
Inspiring, don’t you think?
And lest you scoff
Do try it
Just try and let your muse unwind
Try ten today
Again
Again
And you will find
Deaf, dumb, and blind
Your muse has flown
And naught but space
Remains within your mind
So kudos to our Caren
A bubbling font of glee
It will happen in a week or so
Just you wait and see
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Categories:
whimsied, appreciation, poetess,
Form: Free verse
Paisley Embroidered Slumber
She blithely dreams of flitting butterflies,
essence of lemon-drop poetry and
lighter-than-vapor argent cotton candy castles
upon empurpled cloud embellishes,
meanwhilst wistfully hot air balloons
designed of lilting paisley embroidery
inflated with the airy fragrance
of wildflowers' whimsied zestfulness
merrily drifts furthermost simultaneously
burbling curiouser moons & starry dusted
whirlwinds gaily prancing 'pon watercolor hues,
imagination's perceptibility musing
aloud mid sleepyhead synapses'
abstractly diffused spheres,
she softly ponders if this should
be Nirvana my only wish shall
evermore be to slumber endlessly
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Categories:
whimsied, allegory, butterfly, color, dance,
Form: Imagism
Refrain On the 6th
My dreams - they swirl in lucent strands,
in colors born of whimsied thoughts.
In wisps, an orange memory
wafts carelessly from childhood’s brume,
toward purple echoes plumed this day.
In lucent strands, a story weaves.
04 Jun 2016
Visual #1
THE BEST OF 6 - Poetry Contest
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Categories:
whimsied, dream,
Form: Free verse
The Ghost of Schrodinger's Cat
(If you can't make sense of this, Google
"Schrodinger's Cat." Then I think you will)
What is this thing that I may do,
that at this moment is no thing at all
...and cannot be until the it is done?
Thus having done, I must have nothing
for my rivalry with God.
This poor tormented cat
in every lifetime poured
but half a life and to this day
will play within a shroud, or worse
invisible. She skulks around
the bleak, convenient pretense
of a time that knows
not of mortality nor
falling of the hours.
Half a feline ghost, she mourns
the absence even of the now
and maddened both by science
and by time, entrapped
within her whimsied box,
in irony, may righteously lament
but we, the watchers,
still will never touch
her quantum-spiked magnificence.
~
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Categories:
whimsied, allegory, may,
Form: Free verse