Samael: "The orchard is open to omphaloses the stables are Sable's cheery O's and so cereal of woodwork, is fairy cereal so bold."
Uraeal: "I open the gates true north crashes down, the hell of highwater is where the shark surely drowned, but the westward gate is closed and so is the east and the south closes now, like heathery feasts.
The Pro: "Should be palaver again, the moon bright the brittle bread?"
Samara: "I bred in this fire, I tire of liars who are of the sort who won't kindle my fire."
Gladius: "The other festoon is under thine eyes, like he needn't cross-work on crosswords for prized possession, taken by the ghoul of Mary sent brethren."
Aurora: "If the course if taken by the northmost gate, let golden rakes fill the plates."
Helel: "Should we wait for the north gate to crumble, before he humbug the buggie and send swallows aflutter?"
(Anonymized character) "I created once before now I was become death, the pita bread moon like the harvest moon's friend."
---End of act V---
"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." ~ Shakespeare, from Hamlet
Demons and monsters, from woodwork, teeming -
tenacious beasts, attack with insistence.
In desperation, it's sadly seeming
they will forever plague my existence.
If I could find a safe sanctuary,
a place to unwind in comfort and peace,
I'd click heels for a godmother fairy,
that my suffering would finally cease.
Yet, perhaps, in a place within my head,
devils are created and amplified,
and the remedy that I need instead -
a new perspective that I've not yet tried.
My mind, no horror chamber and no hell
will be a haven and a home to dwell.
Xylography is the art of engraving on wood
Yes I love this skill wish that I could
Long ago we met such an artist at the beach
Onyx letters on carved wood car so unique
Gave him cash for the personalized gift
Really is the kind of art gives your heart a lift
A beautiful piece of woodwork now an heirloom
Placed it on countertop but it’s for son's room
He lets me keep it as he moves about in life
Yet I know one day he will come for it with wife
My husband and I love to visit
Old mansions once home to the rich.
It’s cool to see wealthy folks’ manors,
With which most people wish they could switch.
I admire the woodwork and paintings,
The furniture and the decor,
Though it’s often too showy and fancy,
Since ornate’s far from me at my core.
So I guess it won’t seem too surprising
That the rooms where at home I could feel
Are the quarters that house all the servants,
Which to me have the greatest appeal.
Women of a certain age
Remember, when in school,
Boys did woodwork, girls
Home economics, as a rule.
The boys made houses for the birds –
They sanded, sawed and nailed
While girls both cooked and sewed,
Which every housewife’s job entailed.
When reminiscing with some friends,
We all could recollect
We had to sew an A-line skirt
For teachers to inspect.
Each one of us had moms like mine,
Who, knowing how to sew,
Helped stitch the skirt on her machine,
So we’d be good to go.
The memory brought laughter
Of our common circumstance,
But I might’ve made a better birdhouse
If I’d had the chance.
The ship of dreams
Opulent surroundings
Fancy bed linens
Luxurious dinner plates and tablecloths
Gleaming virginal utensils
Dazzling crystal chandeliers
Polished walnut woodwork
Gold gilded fireplaces
Wardrobes ready for furs and dresses
An experienced captain
Eager staff
Bustling activity
Musicians, artists, businessmen aboard
High ranking officials, wealthy industrialists, celebrities
Cruising flawlessly in clear blue sea
A haven and heaven during the day
Easy sleeping and dreaming in the evening
J.P. Morgan was disappointed to have to cancel at the last minute
Four glorious days of sailing
Around Midnight April 15th, 1912 the Titanic struck an iceberg
The chunk of devilry slashed a three-hundred-foot gash in the hull
Haphazard evacuation ensued
First lifeboat could have held sixty-five people
It left with twenty-eight
The dream ship broke in half after filling halfway up with water
In two hours fifteen hundred people died
The majority of them froze to death in the North Atlantic
money-grubbing relatives
oozed out of the woodwork and the shadows of greed
when Josephine’s death was announced
distant cousins she had not seen for centuries
demanded to know if she had left them anything
their audacity was irritating to those close to her
who had been taking care of her for years before the end.
What do you write about? I am asked at least once a week
I try to give people tips, but I am not sure what they seek.
anecdotes are crawling out of my woodwork and my mind.
some of them are wild and funny, others dark and unkind
Nouns and vowels fly through the room and hit me in the head
Sometimes adjectives and adverbs shake me awake as I lie in bed.
So I give the best advice to everyone who asks me so.
Just write something fun and clever, about something you know.
Toss words down in a notebook and don’t try so very hard.
It is tremendously easy and fun being a witty young bard.
Or an old crone who likes to toss stories down on a page.
This is the most wizen advice you will get from this sage.
The people who write,
for no apparent reason,
thinking maybe
that they are just wasting their life
scribbling down what the world calls poetry
or some other dumb name.
The people who write stuff,
if asked why?
No doubt could not say for sure.
Those people
if they had to stop writing
for any reason at all,
would take up knitting,
or woodwork
and probably
would not be very good at it.
The day after Valentine's Day,
for most may be sublime,
as a day achieved a measure
of some success, while
others gave it no light of
day most likely from
lacking a partner and
therefore gave it the
right of way so as not to
upend somebody's
prospects.
They would make some
sort of remedy to either
fill the void, or most
respectfully, start out
afresh and find somebody
special that'll be the
impetus for next year's
scheduled soiree.
Yet there is that one
element that would
toss the monkeywrench
into the woodwork, one
that seldom heard in
open conversation,
and that would be,
infidelity.
So Valentine's Day,
seems also to be in
reserve for even
those who do not
deliver flowers
with the unsigned
card at the front
of the door.
The ultimate bug saver is my cousin Clementine.
She makes them into friends and helps them dine.
Termites have eaten the woodwork off all of her walls.
Crickets and roaches follow her to all of her malls.
She cannot step on one, she says it would make her ill.
They are all over her house, in her yard, up and down her hill.
Here is a cockroach, a water bug, and an army of ants.
Thank you very much she says, cramming them into her pants.
handsome like the Marlboro man
I stared at the old lady, thinking it was funny
then I met him, a handsome jackaroo
jillaroos would come out of the woodwork now
When often intestate a rich man dies,
From out of the woodwork suers materialize.
Long unheard from relations from far and near,
Each one crying and vying for a share,
As they petition the lawyer to find a solution
To an awful case of "heir pollution".
I like to wear Christmas sweaters in June
To show that it can be done
To see who will try and fix me or correct me
It brings the bosses out of the woodwork.
Also because I probably did not find them until this week
Nature's small insects cute and rude
Garden blooms gathering food
Butterflies' sweet nectar seeks,
Beneath sun's outstretched blond streaks
Where, yet a spider does hide
Silvery web shadows bide
Night is flashing lighting bugs
Tall grass leaves their heartfelt hugs
Dragonfly's wings weave and fades
Sunlight shining rainbow shades
Termites creeping in woodwork
Silent destroyers as they lurk
Beetle strength squirms in its murk
Fine powder they scratch and chirk
Cicadas incessant whining
Shedding its clear shell lining
Mosquito's blood hungry dining
Ill for which I've been pining
Cricket's chirp amid tall sheaves
Hidden inside curling leaves
A ladybug among a rose
Sweet aroma zephyr blows
Tiny creatures bombinate
Among flowers as they ate
1/18/2022
'Insects' Contest Info
Sponsor Angela Tune
All bugs are insects but, all insects are not bugs. True bugs belong to the order Hemiptera under the class Insecta. The main difference between bugs and insects is that bugs are the insects having proboscis, which can be used to suck food whereas insects have other mouthparts adapted for chewing or sponging.
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