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)

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!

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!

Tungsten

A candle wax is lyrical,

But a lightbulb blubs more eloquent,

For, flickering not, fixed spherical,

It speaks in tongues-ten virulent!

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!