but blogging bards must needs revert to type
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Afjordable Charity
(A sequel to 'Vikarious' and its prayerful repercussions: The dull drums of conscience in a marauding Viking's heart, through parody of Psalm 23)
On board is my ship-hoard;
I shall knots want.
Sea breaks me to lie down
(gangrene postures),
Thence sea speeds me,
Besides doldrum's
(ba-dum-ch)
Still waters.
Sea restores my hull.
Sea reads me in the laughs of tight-pursedness
For wreck would see same stake.
Decay, though thou stalk through the galley as the shadow of death,
I will fear no weevil:
For shark are with me…
My rod catches stuff that comes for me.
Line ensnared, cable draws me into the presence of anemones
Who appoint my head as a spoil!
Mike up! funs over…
Surely woodenness immersed in sea
Shall hollow me all the days of my strife,
Or I shall dwell in your house without board but your treasure!
(P.S. Alms: Plenty Free)
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Eyjafjallajökull: The Icelandic Volcano
Why slander Icelander: a-shaken bystander,
Choked with gilt-edges of cloud that demand a
Piqued summit to open for airing in public
Such issues, infernal, as ‘earth-flings’ to snub -lick
Their sky- sticks a tongue of such slathering pitch
As out-tarmacs runways: a bitumen bitch?
It’s plain; down to earth; yes, as plane as can be
Grounded by reason of geography:
Holidays, that were cut back by shortage of cash,
Overseas, are extended, by surfeits of ash…
But chambers of commerce, magma-ominous yet,
Could tan us more golden than crust’s last sunset!
So don’t vent your anger at Reykjavík’s nation
If you think they’ve blasted well wrecked your vacation.
Those red in the face at their earning’s loss
Ought be glad Earth’s core’s not scorch-spat urn's gloss!
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
Aphorism (A Fire Is Home)
Home is where the hearth is:
For all the memorable embers
That glow amidst the fire's hiss
As sojourn-singed dissemblers
Of bygone bliss in walled abyss,
The flame only remembers
To flicker free from ashiness
And warm the homily's members!
For all the memorable embers
That glow amidst the fire's hiss
As sojourn-singed dissemblers
Of bygone bliss in walled abyss,
The flame only remembers
To flicker free from ashiness
And warm the homily's members!
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Tungsten
A candle wax is lyrical,
But a lightbulb blubs more eloquent,
For, flickering not, fixed spherical,
It speaks in tongues-ten virulent!
But a lightbulb blubs more eloquent,
For, flickering not, fixed spherical,
It speaks in tongues-ten virulent!
Sunday, 22 January 2012
Humid Ditty
Mid-hue the humid weather leaks
From dust-clouds muddied as earth's cheeks
That blushed to see scant sky's rude streaks
Yet now turn green: heaped with storm’s piques!
To parch meant not the ray that speaks
More mellow to a brook that creaks
With timber’s limber rooted beaks:
That gorge a hum with what wet wreaks!
From dust-clouds muddied as earth's cheeks
That blushed to see scant sky's rude streaks
Yet now turn green: heaped with storm’s piques!
To parch meant not the ray that speaks
More mellow to a brook that creaks
With timber’s limber rooted beaks:
That gorge a hum with what wet wreaks!
Thursday, 19 January 2012
The Dashing Haberdasher Unrequited
Every bonnet has a 'b' within it;
With ribbons bound there's swarms of b's without.
If a honey combs her hair the limit
Is reached when she breaks out in hives to shout!
The neck, to her, is something to be wringed,
Like nectar wrung from unsuspecting blooms;
Less furry fury took to flight and winged
With buzzwords barked like supersonic booms!
Alas! a lass with bee in her bonnet,
By hap in flap with what's before her eyes,
Finds paper not averse but what's on it:
What sonnet could be easier to despise?
What's done is done, but, stung, she still would sting,
And cut to ribbons more than this offering!
With ribbons bound there's swarms of b's without.
If a honey combs her hair the limit
Is reached when she breaks out in hives to shout!
The neck, to her, is something to be wringed,
Like nectar wrung from unsuspecting blooms;
Less furry fury took to flight and winged
With buzzwords barked like supersonic booms!
Alas! a lass with bee in her bonnet,
By hap in flap with what's before her eyes,
Finds paper not averse but what's on it:
What sonnet could be easier to despise?
What's done is done, but, stung, she still would sting,
And cut to ribbons more than this offering!
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
Drift Would
My love burns bright with fervency
Though we be far apart:
I look towards a distant sea,
The shore known to my heart.
My love is as the frothing waves
That lap the windswept dunes:
The tide stood still in such enclaves
Though pulled by many moons.
Uncovered here, by surging seas, are many fossil forms;
Embedded in Time's slowly sifting sands:
All memories, stark as the savage storms
That rage against far and distant lands.
Beneath the surface, where my passion roars with unrelenting might;
Here, where the choral sways majestically, in restful rhythmic rapture,
There lies the pearl of Romance, in the clam of Circumstance shut tight.
I dive these murky depths, that i might perceive the slightest slit or aperture,
That, wrenching forth this wretched clam, I might then be once more
Walking with you by my side, upon your native shore!
Though we be far apart:
I look towards a distant sea,
The shore known to my heart.
My love is as the frothing waves
That lap the windswept dunes:
The tide stood still in such enclaves
Though pulled by many moons.
Uncovered here, by surging seas, are many fossil forms;
Embedded in Time's slowly sifting sands:
All memories, stark as the savage storms
That rage against far and distant lands.
Beneath the surface, where my passion roars with unrelenting might;
Here, where the choral sways majestically, in restful rhythmic rapture,
There lies the pearl of Romance, in the clam of Circumstance shut tight.
I dive these murky depths, that i might perceive the slightest slit or aperture,
That, wrenching forth this wretched clam, I might then be once more
Walking with you by my side, upon your native shore!
Monday, 16 January 2012
The Astronomers Pupil
The white, of eye, looked roundly blank but for,
Opaquely piqued, the stare of small black pupil.
Perplexed, through spec’s perspex, he checks for flaw
In universe inversed to his fine scruple…
“‘Cos mos’ of us, we take what’s seen for granted;
As us, in blinkered fashion, do stars claim
Locked eyes for fools in plots where they are planted,
Like limpets, in vast seas, clung to rocked brain?”
“Uncanny grasped, the star’s tin-cling does foil me!
So rapt I‘m lad, afresh I’d see the skies.”
“In many gasps, I clam up, for words fail the
Occasion of sight muscling for my eyes.”
Now struck, the black-eyed sky white pupil teaches…
So lunar-sea gifts shift in grain of beaches!
Opaquely piqued, the stare of small black pupil.
Perplexed, through spec’s perspex, he checks for flaw
In universe inversed to his fine scruple…
“‘Cos mos’ of us, we take what’s seen for granted;
As us, in blinkered fashion, do stars claim
Locked eyes for fools in plots where they are planted,
Like limpets, in vast seas, clung to rocked brain?”
“Uncanny grasped, the star’s tin-cling does foil me!
So rapt I‘m lad, afresh I’d see the skies.”
“In many gasps, I clam up, for words fail the
Occasion of sight muscling for my eyes.”
Now struck, the black-eyed sky white pupil teaches…
So lunar-sea gifts shift in grain of beaches!
Sunday, 15 January 2012
You Gander
Amusingly, far-flung Uganda
Lends explorer less true candour.
For instance, Nile’s sauce, as Jinja,
Could beguile waters oranger
Than Saharan sands that blow
T’wards its silted Delta’s flow.
Yet, though it seeks to seep to Med-all,
May my mischief now back-pedal!
Lends explorer less true candour.
For instance, Nile’s sauce, as Jinja,
Could beguile waters oranger
Than Saharan sands that blow
T’wards its silted Delta’s flow.
Yet, though it seeks to seep to Med-all,
May my mischief now back-pedal!
Saturday, 14 January 2012
A Vehicle For Change
My transport's seen transition!
I had a little Polo.
It was in mint condition
Until I drove it, solo,
Into a lake so murky
Perks like a sunroof failed me
Unless I felt more perky
And saw the hole availed the
Ability to save my life...
Like a life ring flung through strife!
To rid all of the riddle,
My car was never riddled,
But, one hole in the middle,
(Just like sweet ring) death diddled!
The road might have been Wrigley;
Blacked bends dark, as After Eight;
But nervousness was giggly
When I saw I'd cheated fate.
A nervous Tic Tac' fast had changed,
But tactics surfaced less deranged!
The road, like mire, was Murray;
Winds swept wood: a Tre' bor' down.
Through icy hills I hurry;
Skidding streets from town to town.
Then a Glacier Foxes me...
Slipped through ice, cold drink I sip;
But the car that boxes me
Shan't be coffin in murk's grip.
Immersed,aid-is not quick to rise;
So I've no bends, but Benz to prize!
I had a little Polo.
It was in mint condition
Until I drove it, solo,
Into a lake so murky
Perks like a sunroof failed me
Unless I felt more perky
And saw the hole availed the
Ability to save my life...
Like a life ring flung through strife!
To rid all of the riddle,
My car was never riddled,
But, one hole in the middle,
(Just like sweet ring) death diddled!
The road might have been Wrigley;
Blacked bends dark, as After Eight;
But nervousness was giggly
When I saw I'd cheated fate.
A nervous Tic Tac' fast had changed,
But tactics surfaced less deranged!
The road, like mire, was Murray;
Winds swept wood: a Tre' bor' down.
Through icy hills I hurry;
Skidding streets from town to town.
Then a Glacier Foxes me...
Slipped through ice, cold drink I sip;
But the car that boxes me
Shan't be coffin in murk's grip.
Immersed,aid-is not quick to rise;
So I've no bends, but Benz to prize!
Friday, 13 January 2012
Ballad of the Buxted Doe
Talk about die-versification, this eulogy is for a buck's dead doe that leapt in front of a friend's car in Buxted, around the rural Wealden District of Sussex.
Over Wealden, wheeled ‘un, wieldin’ will… den-i-grates the deer!
Does a doz'n dozy winds-a-lane, mass-o'-car not fear?
Eeked, the shrieking brakes break idyll’s tran(scribed)quilized veneer…
Tweaked, do-eyes of Nature on us-turn with sad-eerie leer!
O the hart, it bleeds, fawn-o hindsight’s funny thing to sneer:
Antler’n’tooth bone-idle set ’gainst lantern’t’hoot near!
Road-ear’s-laid upon the ground, whack’s death-’n’they’ll no longer hear…
Overtures of cheery hedgerow song, drowned by tyre's sharp veer!
Ever whelming will men well-meant well… many doleful tear…
Doe-fall, tragic morn for stag, staggered, as the traffic drear!
Even-song of Rutter caribou-who lament for peer…
Endears dear’s end ’ere to any ear as would high-art cheer:
Rests the buck’s dead doe in fallowed ground, ploughed but for said-ear!
Over Wealden, wheeled ‘un, wieldin’ will… den-i-grates the deer!
Does a doz'n dozy winds-a-lane, mass-o'-car not fear?
Eeked, the shrieking brakes break idyll’s tran(scribed)quilized veneer…
Tweaked, do-eyes of Nature on us-turn with sad-eerie leer!
O the hart, it bleeds, fawn-o hindsight’s funny thing to sneer:
Antler’n’tooth bone-idle set ’gainst lantern’t’hoot near!
Road-ear’s-laid upon the ground, whack’s death-’n’they’ll no longer hear…
Overtures of cheery hedgerow song, drowned by tyre's sharp veer!
Ever whelming will men well-meant well… many doleful tear…
Doe-fall, tragic morn for stag, staggered, as the traffic drear!
Even-song of Rutter caribou-who lament for peer…
Endears dear’s end ’ere to any ear as would high-art cheer:
Rests the buck’s dead doe in fallowed ground, ploughed but for said-ear!
Thursday, 12 January 2012
Cause For A Llama?
It’s not quite as scatology
(I’ve not got it off pat),
But uncowed eschatology
Is less deterred for that.
So let’s unpack a verse
On another ruminant,
Though Alpaca be averse
To see such doom in cant.
If you peruse
What is Peru’s
(Four horsemen of Alpaca lips),
Death’s kiss you’ll ‘scape
If on you drape
God’s full Llama (quip equips).
If such all seem levity ‘cos
It’s heresy I recent wrote,
Look at Scripture’s Leviticus…
Jews ‘scaped as much with just a goat!
(I’ve not got it off pat),
But uncowed eschatology
Is less deterred for that.
So let’s unpack a verse
On another ruminant,
Though Alpaca be averse
To see such doom in cant.
If you peruse
What is Peru’s
(Four horsemen of Alpaca lips),
Death’s kiss you’ll ‘scape
If on you drape
God’s full Llama (quip equips).
If such all seem levity ‘cos
It’s heresy I recent wrote,
Look at Scripture’s Leviticus…
Jews ‘scaped as much with just a goat!
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
Howled Le Fart
(Mediaeval mutterings misconstrued between Britons besieged and bellicose Burgundians, fearing a French foray)
"We're held at fort! So spare a thought, to let us from the siege?"
"I think we have toilet you go! You're held at fault my liege!"
"Don't be obscene! we've all latrine, with affluence awash...
No influence of effluence will ever this siege quash!"
"With hurled effort we’ve held our fort: the foe left off deterred…
So, hold that thought this paper’s wrought: unleash what is le turd!”
“With aching sides, we’ve dire rear, made worse by this affront…
And undeterred besiegers wade, bogged down not at current!”
“It seems at sauce they hold their course in panning for your gold…
It’s been afloat you’ve gorged your throat to hide groats massed untolled!
"You think this rout’s for unpaid routes? travelling’s end, travails?
It’s not our fault! It’s all your fault, for telling, what entails!”
“Shan’t be your fort for too long now, though neither is it ours…
But, let off farce; politely ask: through imp-asse we’d haul powers!”
“To collar-a true ally now… we’re dying to see you!
And all your airs and graces, friends, we’d never now pooh-pooh!”…
Indeed, the titled turbulence rough-haughty thousands slew!
"We're held at fort! So spare a thought, to let us from the siege?"
"I think we have toilet you go! You're held at fault my liege!"
"Don't be obscene! we've all latrine, with affluence awash...
No influence of effluence will ever this siege quash!"
"With hurled effort we’ve held our fort: the foe left off deterred…
So, hold that thought this paper’s wrought: unleash what is le turd!”
“With aching sides, we’ve dire rear, made worse by this affront…
And undeterred besiegers wade, bogged down not at current!”
“It seems at sauce they hold their course in panning for your gold…
It’s been afloat you’ve gorged your throat to hide groats massed untolled!
"You think this rout’s for unpaid routes? travelling’s end, travails?
It’s not our fault! It’s all your fault, for telling, what entails!”
“Shan’t be your fort for too long now, though neither is it ours…
But, let off farce; politely ask: through imp-asse we’d haul powers!”
“To collar-a true ally now… we’re dying to see you!
And all your airs and graces, friends, we’d never now pooh-pooh!”…
Indeed, the titled turbulence rough-haughty thousands slew!
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
Z z zebra
It's a brand new day he wakes;
It's a brackish tear he weeps:
Narcolepsy often makes
For the awkwardest of sleeps!
Herd was heard across the plains,
But they're nowhere to be seen:
Kicked up dust only in-grains
Rage that friends could be so mean!
Like his coat (and in the mane),
Light would often turn to dark,
Every time his bumbling brain
Made his stubborn bottom park!
Sat sedate and sedentary,
Suns and moons would pass as one:
There's no room for pedantry
When dull ignorance has won!
Such zebr-ailment needs wise help,
So some friends leave sticky trails:
It's a Braille meant for the whelp,
Sleepwalking, to catch their tails.
Sometimes he would twig the track,
But most times he ended stumped.
When Acacia trees he'd thwack,
Such occasions left him slumped!
Never mind the term 'spaghetti'...
Lots of creatures passed around.
Junctions here were 'Serengeti':
Many-specied footprints found!
Zebra crossings aren't so easy
When all night the traffick's thick.
As through jam he tried to squeeze he
Tired and threw up arms quite sick!
But this dawn's orb-leaping did goad
Confidence to scan shone light.
Stock-checked, orig-inal barcode
Comes to rest, so scansion might!
It's a brackish tear he weeps:
Narcolepsy often makes
For the awkwardest of sleeps!
Herd was heard across the plains,
But they're nowhere to be seen:
Kicked up dust only in-grains
Rage that friends could be so mean!
Like his coat (and in the mane),
Light would often turn to dark,
Every time his bumbling brain
Made his stubborn bottom park!
Sat sedate and sedentary,
Suns and moons would pass as one:
There's no room for pedantry
When dull ignorance has won!
Such zebr-ailment needs wise help,
So some friends leave sticky trails:
It's a Braille meant for the whelp,
Sleepwalking, to catch their tails.
Sometimes he would twig the track,
But most times he ended stumped.
When Acacia trees he'd thwack,
Such occasions left him slumped!
Never mind the term 'spaghetti'...
Lots of creatures passed around.
Junctions here were 'Serengeti':
Many-specied footprints found!
Zebra crossings aren't so easy
When all night the traffick's thick.
As through jam he tried to squeeze he
Tired and threw up arms quite sick!
But this dawn's orb-leaping did goad
Confidence to scan shone light.
Stock-checked, orig-inal barcode
Comes to rest, so scansion might!
Monday, 9 January 2012
Cloth-eared
A howling... in the wind... of a husky
Voiced explorer, sent shivers down the spine
Of the dogged storm’s backlash, as, whole sky,
Inkling, struck, with “a-roar-air’s” sigh-lent whine,
Dye-fuse, that would eek out passions, to be
Felt, tipped ’pon anchored clouds, crestfallen, when
Encroached by twilight that twinkles less, de-
Liberate, chained in pitch, but lit by flares en-
Trenched in sky’s tinted tides “bore-realistic“:
Very simile-chewed as his teeth gnashed,
Over-hued, by sanguine streams, more mystic
In his mind’s eye’s woollen canvas, as flashed,
Congealed in crimson bloody-mindedness:
Ensconced in light, snow’s swept o’er mind’s deadness!
Voiced explorer, sent shivers down the spine
Of the dogged storm’s backlash, as, whole sky,
Inkling, struck, with “a-roar-air’s” sigh-lent whine,
Dye-fuse, that would eek out passions, to be
Felt, tipped ’pon anchored clouds, crestfallen, when
Encroached by twilight that twinkles less, de-
Liberate, chained in pitch, but lit by flares en-
Trenched in sky’s tinted tides “bore-realistic“:
Very simile-chewed as his teeth gnashed,
Over-hued, by sanguine streams, more mystic
In his mind’s eye’s woollen canvas, as flashed,
Congealed in crimson bloody-mindedness:
Ensconced in light, snow’s swept o’er mind’s deadness!
Sunday, 8 January 2012
As Scribbling Quills, This Quibbling Kills The Bard Who’s Blotted Out
“When I, metaphysical poet, wee thought,
All occasion of ignorance left me distraught…
So it was, as I lay, in a buttercupped meadow,
Where I’d herd; the moos ringing like bells in my head, O,
And written, off pat, what had passed from the creature,
As by me it sat, but to go… from my reach, ere
I knew what’s afoot, I was struck by the hoof
Of a fellow, who ploughed through my whim-sea, uncouth!
Move as I might, I was mooved to dismay,
As the brute did disturb me from rest in this way:”
“Hell, O! how are you?”
“I’d be damned if I knew
Such infernal affairs,
Though my eyes leap at you
With ‘ires sulphur-spat glares!”
“If my tidings do bore:
Rivers reversed from shore-
Footed flow, then I’d know
How you'd harbour spite so?”
“If you, sea, to yourself;
I’d have none of your wealth
As is wreck of my deck:
Murking moos. What the heck?”
“Ah! you speak of the muse?
How our accents confuse!
Never mind; that behind,
Talk no more of this kind.”
“Dear! Deer! That be hind?
They’re cows, man! Be not blind!
Now I see how you me
Hit upon clumsily!”
“The udder whey round
‘Curd to me when I found
That you milk the jog-hurt
Of my foot with gob’s blurt!”
“Why, you bleat like a sheep
That I’d count on for sleep,
Aback cuss with sweat’s bead
Shall I thrust till you’ve fleed!”
“O! I’d see aftermath
Of your calculate wrath!
Though you beefily scoff,
I’d devour stroganoff!”
“Well, I’d eat you alive!
Can a ballsy one thrive?
Though you duck and you jive,
At this fork I’ve a knife!”
“O! Cut lairy chat!
In your face I’ve now spat!
Will you give tit for tat,
Or stay write in that pat?”
“Well, I think the man you’re
Would do well on the skewer
Of my sword or in sewer
That’s inked from pen less pure!”
“O! A blot on your name!
My sword’s tongue shall yours tame,
Till it’s left flapping lame:
Mettle gone; taken game!”
“So, at length we did clash
With the blade that does flash
Sharper far than the trash
That our speech could out thrash…
And my limb that was brash
Took the most biting bash
As my jaw dropped to crash
Like the machines that cash
Coined word’s noteworthy stash,
Spoken often too rash…
Biting tongue, I did gnash
As my lip’s pursed silk sash
Ribbon-red stained the tash
Of hurled hairy fate’s smash...
Pride’s prophet he’d slash
To a pulp: thick, shunned, mash;
Till I, eye-sore, did splash
With each beat of the lash…
O! it cut deep -the gash-
That, once dashing, I dash
To outrun such harsh hash,
Like the flame’s scorch-spat ash,
Cold, despatched, with panache,
To roam earth, from dust’s cache! …
Death's kiss, sealed with pash,
Like corked wave of Grenache,
Left my lips numb of rhyme...
Conscious last line won't waash!
When I met a physical poet, we fought:
All occasion of ignorance left me distraught...
So it was, as I lay, in a field of blood, dead;
My curdled rage come to -and gone from- a head;
Pride’s sanguine stream sown to the dust as lost thread:
For jaundiced views, buttercups, spread their blush, red!”
All occasion of ignorance left me distraught…
So it was, as I lay, in a buttercupped meadow,
Where I’d herd; the moos ringing like bells in my head, O,
And written, off pat, what had passed from the creature,
As by me it sat, but to go… from my reach, ere
I knew what’s afoot, I was struck by the hoof
Of a fellow, who ploughed through my whim-sea, uncouth!
Move as I might, I was mooved to dismay,
As the brute did disturb me from rest in this way:”
“Hell, O! how are you?”
“I’d be damned if I knew
Such infernal affairs,
Though my eyes leap at you
With ‘ires sulphur-spat glares!”
“If my tidings do bore:
Rivers reversed from shore-
Footed flow, then I’d know
How you'd harbour spite so?”
“If you, sea, to yourself;
I’d have none of your wealth
As is wreck of my deck:
Murking moos. What the heck?”
“Ah! you speak of the muse?
How our accents confuse!
Never mind; that behind,
Talk no more of this kind.”
“Dear! Deer! That be hind?
They’re cows, man! Be not blind!
Now I see how you me
Hit upon clumsily!”
“The udder whey round
‘Curd to me when I found
That you milk the jog-hurt
Of my foot with gob’s blurt!”
“Why, you bleat like a sheep
That I’d count on for sleep,
Aback cuss with sweat’s bead
Shall I thrust till you’ve fleed!”
“O! I’d see aftermath
Of your calculate wrath!
Though you beefily scoff,
I’d devour stroganoff!”
“Well, I’d eat you alive!
Can a ballsy one thrive?
Though you duck and you jive,
At this fork I’ve a knife!”
“O! Cut lairy chat!
In your face I’ve now spat!
Will you give tit for tat,
Or stay write in that pat?”
“Well, I think the man you’re
Would do well on the skewer
Of my sword or in sewer
That’s inked from pen less pure!”
“O! A blot on your name!
My sword’s tongue shall yours tame,
Till it’s left flapping lame:
Mettle gone; taken game!”
“So, at length we did clash
With the blade that does flash
Sharper far than the trash
That our speech could out thrash…
And my limb that was brash
Took the most biting bash
As my jaw dropped to crash
Like the machines that cash
Coined word’s noteworthy stash,
Spoken often too rash…
Biting tongue, I did gnash
As my lip’s pursed silk sash
Ribbon-red stained the tash
Of hurled hairy fate’s smash...
Pride’s prophet he’d slash
To a pulp: thick, shunned, mash;
Till I, eye-sore, did splash
With each beat of the lash…
O! it cut deep -the gash-
That, once dashing, I dash
To outrun such harsh hash,
Like the flame’s scorch-spat ash,
Cold, despatched, with panache,
To roam earth, from dust’s cache! …
Death's kiss, sealed with pash,
Like corked wave of Grenache,
Left my lips numb of rhyme...
Conscious last line won't waash!
When I met a physical poet, we fought:
All occasion of ignorance left me distraught...
So it was, as I lay, in a field of blood, dead;
My curdled rage come to -and gone from- a head;
Pride’s sanguine stream sown to the dust as lost thread:
For jaundiced views, buttercups, spread their blush, red!”
Saturday, 7 January 2012
Pitching Battle
Composers less composed in days of yore
Rivals staved off with minim... um... effort:
All quilling with plumed instruments of war,
Spilt blotted notes, not blood; orchestra fought.
Shrill Haydn's trump's concerted blast could kill;
Crotchety, Pachelbel his cannons primed;
And yet, battle could not commence until
Clash of such disparate sounds more soundly rhymed.
On strictest grounds, a battle must be pitched:
Pitch too intense, camps peg it or keep tent;
Howled war-cries bellowed below hearing, ditched,
Op's ordered orchestrations still prevent.
Now pitch-black, knight's have steeled themselves all day...
Yikes! sky's snapped tuning forks conduct clapped fray!
Rivals staved off with minim... um... effort:
All quilling with plumed instruments of war,
Spilt blotted notes, not blood; orchestra fought.
Shrill Haydn's trump's concerted blast could kill;
Crotchety, Pachelbel his cannons primed;
And yet, battle could not commence until
Clash of such disparate sounds more soundly rhymed.
On strictest grounds, a battle must be pitched:
Pitch too intense, camps peg it or keep tent;
Howled war-cries bellowed below hearing, ditched,
Op's ordered orchestrations still prevent.
Now pitch-black, knight's have steeled themselves all day...
Yikes! sky's snapped tuning forks conduct clapped fray!
Friday, 6 January 2012
The Page That Turned Tale And Ran
A wandering warrior runs to fight:
Seal rite of passage through his might.
A wondering worrier shuns the fright:
He'll write a passage to excite.
Which shall be immortalised...
Ditch, or etch, where more tale lies?
A mortal lies with such great ease:
Brave, ditched in death; knave, pitched to please!
Seal rite of passage through his might.
A wondering worrier shuns the fright:
He'll write a passage to excite.
Which shall be immortalised...
Ditch, or etch, where more tale lies?
A mortal lies with such great ease:
Brave, ditched in death; knave, pitched to please!
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Dainty Inferno
In fern no fire through frosted forest fans;
Still, orb-flung beams blaze through broke bracken shards.
Inked rays blank blanket raze: resurgent tans
Colour tint-tattooed ground as trooping guards.
Yet marshalled, here's a hue without a cry,
Causing no timbers tinderlike to crack
Or crash, as fire-forged glimmers sharply fly,
Pounding hurled hew and cry of lumberjack.
Sound sleeping, silver birches bunkered down,
Entrenched in Summer's soot-besotted bark,
Do pine for lichen's Spring-cling of a gown,
Exposed since leaf-flames singed or sang the lark.
Although snow's shroud seems redolent of death,
Die-cast, Sun's fern is redder-lent its breath!
Still, orb-flung beams blaze through broke bracken shards.
Inked rays blank blanket raze: resurgent tans
Colour tint-tattooed ground as trooping guards.
Yet marshalled, here's a hue without a cry,
Causing no timbers tinderlike to crack
Or crash, as fire-forged glimmers sharply fly,
Pounding hurled hew and cry of lumberjack.
Sound sleeping, silver birches bunkered down,
Entrenched in Summer's soot-besotted bark,
Do pine for lichen's Spring-cling of a gown,
Exposed since leaf-flames singed or sang the lark.
Although snow's shroud seems redolent of death,
Die-cast, Sun's fern is redder-lent its breath!
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Blooming Rain
Trudge through dripping drudgery?
Or dodge, to skip a grudge very
Small and shallow -puddlesome-
For pools of hallowed buds, handsome-
Lea lining all buttercupped;
Spread once vale has waters supped...
Drink; down drip's dregs, and dance till sapped:
Re-jig feet; lightening; fun dare clapped!
Or dodge, to skip a grudge very
Small and shallow -puddlesome-
For pools of hallowed buds, handsome-
Lea lining all buttercupped;
Spread once vale has waters supped...
Drink; down drip's dregs, and dance till sapped:
Re-jig feet; lightening; fun dare clapped!
Open Season
When tear Winter winds,
Lips are blasted numb.
Whisp’ring comes with Spring:
Airs, graced, thaw the tongue.
Some are set on Summer:
Heated their exchange!
Ought umbrage to Autumn bridge
Find mouth of Winter strange?
Lips are blasted numb.
Whisp’ring comes with Spring:
Airs, graced, thaw the tongue.
Some are set on Summer:
Heated their exchange!
Ought umbrage to Autumn bridge
Find mouth of Winter strange?
Monday, 2 January 2012
A Year of Months Yearning for Meths
"Jan, you're a thirsty upstart, but
If a brewery be near I'd
March
A prolific distance, and
Maybe over that
Dune we'd
Duly find company more
August where
Sipped amber they
Concoct over
Enough embers to
Dissemble a warmth more welcome than any old bar'en parched land!
The year of months wasn't going to be meth-related, but any other allusion to February not involving breweries deserted me!
If a brewery be near I'd
March
A prolific distance, and
Maybe over that
Dune we'd
Duly find company more
August where
Sipped amber they
Concoct over
Enough embers to
Dissemble a warmth more welcome than any old bar'en parched land!
The year of months wasn't going to be meth-related, but any other allusion to February not involving breweries deserted me!
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