Nightingale: "You can never laugh if you don't know how to smile. If you learned how to bow, everybody can be pleased without your wile."
African grey: "If I can whistle or sing, will I be heard and liked?"
Nightingale: "If you can dance even without singing, the World will dance with you too if the World can feel your stomp!"
Time was when apes stood up on twos,
Gained height to hail human-like hues.
Today, back to all four,
Backward to times of yore,
Calling it Quodrobics--
(Fancy calisthenics?),
Bored, man’s looking for an excuse--
Any a fancy trick
From blue to get a kick
To liven his dull life lived loose!
__________________________
Happenings |15.09.2025 | humour
Note: Quadrobics (calisthenics using all four limbs), a new-fangled revolution in fitness aiming to bring to fore the animal lying latent in human beings. A fresh new concept in exercise in which people copy animal like lifestyle-- walking, jumping on all the four limbs, even climbing trees bare-footed with no modern equipment. Wonder, what not a bored man would do to alleviate his tedium, monotony, and ennui of life!
If we'd lived in olden days
days of yore
the golden days
and I were a troubadour
I'd serenade you with my lute
unless I had a flute to toot
or go more than the extra mile
and sing a song to make you smile
not with the end of a lance
would I beg my lady's favour
but gallantly request a dance
mayhaps a carol we could savour
to fight and kill the dragon
and do it all with no fear
I'd pull Excalibur from the stone
for my dear Guinevere
Taking part in tomorrow
Over and again?
Asked of more for who?
To avoid where i don’t know
His time in a lights, blasts
My times haven’t run, home
Learning how i leave, beneath
Beneath my custom
Devoured in still shots
At becoming the he , she would expect of me, another shim
Today and them, never my ways
How i plan to let your rows of fatale petals
Chain me in you hearts
Running out of airs to whips
Ungrippable blasts from my days
Behind your perscriptions
ancient and near
.
she wuz thin
yet
thick she were
soft
though rough
she were the
short
yet
every inch
flaunted hern
tall
.
your
mine imagination
*for mine astute
fellowz .)
In days of yore
her husband snored
Her nightly grief
knew no relief
But then by chance
she learned to pole-dance
which promptly cleared his sinuses
~ Though that had its plusses and minuses
In days of yore a lady's heart was won
Through chivalry and deeds of derring-do.
If swain proved false, she'd bid the knave be gone,
Adjust her cap and look for someone new.
By age fifteen a maid was in her prime,
Her window for a spouse a narrow slit.
She could not pule and pine for love sublime,
And oft as not would take what she could get.
When knight set out to win his lady fair,
Through joust or other mortal combat act,
He knew that love for him she would forswear
Lest he prevailed with manly parts intact.
Today true love is not so much a chore,
And less dramatic than in days of yore.
Singing songs of days of yore
Sailors, rovers, boats and hills
Listen O moonish Le Mar
In the dusky eve in meadows
Bells of temps and beechen shadows
Singing songs of Days of yore
Life is final, death is final
God hath said to angel's panal
Listen O Moonish Le Mar
House on top of hill is vacant
Gazing at the world and waiting
Singing songs of days of yore
Petals withering, candles melting
Moths and men in love are dying
Listen O Moonish Le Mar
Riding by the woods on pacer
On Her Timbral Maiden Nature
Singing songs of Days of yore
Listen O Moonish Le Mar
I miss the sweet, long-ago simple days
most lives contented, not hungry for more
A path we walked with gentle, simple ways
It was the way of life in days of Yore.
No TV back then in small towns like ours
Instead, hours spent rapt by the radio
'The Shadow,” and 'Soaps' listening for hours
Jack Benny and Red we all grew to know.
But those days vanished, like an ocean breeze
Now we read our phones for all the canned news
Flip twenty channels to find one to please
Between then and now, the simple I'd choose
I dream of a house on a mountaintop
Growing my own veggies, and then sharing
Plenty of sunshine and rain for each crop
And neighbors all simply warm and caring.
April 9, 2023
for 'Simply Poetry 2' contest
by John Lawless
From days of yore, from ancient times long before,
were prophets, and bards and sages;
these men of lore, who wrote of fate and more,
were scribes of the scroll of ages.
Today we know, from what the documents show,
that these men were highly revered;
so long ago, these souls spoke of tomorrow;
and now they have all disappeared.
The bistred day has fallen still,
A darkened mead hangs overhead;
The hush within the evening chill
Chants now the yore is gone to bed.
A gently breeze steals from the west,
Cool along the shadowed lanes;
The sunburned broil, now at rest,
Its warmth has gone, though still remains.
The cool night air stands all alone
Anon the past is gone to sleep;
Daytime secrets tossed and blown,
The faithful night for ere to keep.
Secrets that the breeze fears speak,
Winnowing in the night-time swell;
Brushing eastward 'gainst your cheek...
The whispered wind mayn't kiss-n'-tell.
Evensong is served this eve
All around the moonlit shrine;
Absolution cedes when you believe,
The cool night air is sweet as wine.
Drink your fill in solemn thought,
Let your mind escape within;
Cleanse your conscience, ever fraught,
Save your soul! ~ confess your sin!
Here beneath a cloudless sky
You're not alone ~ you seldom are;
Within the dim nocturnals fly
As someone watches from afar.
So, meditate, your faith elate,
Ruminate, and yet beware;
Intoxicate your mindless state,
Drinking in the cool night air.
A bundle from the past -
the 1930’s and ‘40’s.
A wisp of his breath…I’m breathless.
Did he know his love story would last?
1941 envelope -
my fingers glide over the sleeve.
I tenderly take out the note,
the sweet poetry…telescope
peering into the days of yore.
Grandpa won his sweetheart with words:
“From a worthless bum,” a treasure,
Grandma and their progeny adore.
Love poems, other’s curious.
One bespeaks of “…is it murder
to help someone dying…in pain.
Contemplation or serious?
The carrier, my sister, brought
back from her travels photos, too.
…and I thought of my mother
her photo, now, an afterthought.
The sentiment held in my heart.
Illustrious words and still lifes
my mind ponders as I grow old.
‘Tis true, one day too, I’ll depart.
I’ll take my time reading the words -
I read some to my attentive spouse.
How lovely we shared that moment -
the nectar of two hummingbirds.
7/6/2022
Dark Days of Yore
Knew No day should be evil
Only people dwelling therein
In its steep lights are casting
Dark spell and curses upon it
The warlock is out loose in wild
Bringing back the dark old days
More than evil we've once known
Lurking in the faraway woods
Cursed land of the abhorred
Left to the mutant creatures
Known only to our doomed
And untamed Imaginations
The evil wizard has escaped
He broke the old tired chains
Heading into the cursed woods
To cast his carnage upon us
Nocturnal serpent is coming
Creeping up and slithering
Beware of its kiss of death
Sending you to great beyond
Conscript us back into the past
Calamity is turning back the clock
Like the world is aging in reverse
Malevolence of dark days of yore
Think back, way back
to days of yore
The simplest things today
were such demanding chores
Bake bread from scratch
Slaughter a chicken
Salt it and drain the blood
Fetch the well-water
Trudge through rain and mud
Sew and knit all your clothes
Cut the firewood and keep it lit
Wash and press laundry by hand
Eke out a living from stubborn land
We often say that life was less complex back then
~ Though we can't tell a chicken from a hen
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