Ill-fated crowds neath unchained clouds: the Silent City braved
against a sudden flashing flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which stripped its stony structures, blown with neutron bursts that laved.

Its barren streets, although effete, resound of yesterday
with chit-chat words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.

Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes,
which limn its frail forgotten tales, in weird unworldly runes
with symbols strung like halos hung in lifeless, limp festoons.

Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.

Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, throughout the doomed domain
reflecting white, wee wisps of light in ebon beads of bane
which cast a crooked smile across a faceless windowpane.

Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
whelm ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, though no one’s left to fete.

Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep beyond the mushroom clouds.


No ghosts of ones with jagged tongues will sing a silent psalm
nor haunt pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.



The City’s blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues,
for churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise.

No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire
and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier -
abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir.

A church’s Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, all alone amongst the stones, a maiden’s blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow.

Stray footsteps swarm through church no more (apostates that profane)
though echoes in the nave still din and chalice cups retain
an altar wine that tastes of brine decaying in the rain.

Coiled candle sticks, with twisted wicks, no longer 'lume the cracks -
their dying flames revealed the shame, mid pendant pearls of wax,
when deference to innocence dissolved in molten tracks.

Six steeple towers, steel though now drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.

The chapel chimes? Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won’t writhe to ring the carillon, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.


No saints will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
nor bless pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, nor beg lethean balm.


Beyond the suburbs, farmers’ fields (where donkeys often brayed)
inhale gray gusts of barren dust where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a *****.

Green trees gone dark in palace parks (where kids once paused to play),
watch lifeless things on phantom swings (like statues made of clay)
guard marbled tombs in graveyards groomed for grievers bent to pray.

And castle clocks, unwound, defrock with speechless spinning spokes,
unfurling blight of reigning Night by sweeping off her cloaks,
and flaunting dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.

The sun-bleached bones of those who'd flown lie scattered down the lanes
while other souls who’d hid in holes left bones with yellow stains
of plaintive tears (shed insincere, for no one felt the pains).

The wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams have ceased to terrify
though terrors wrought by conscience fraught now stalk and lurk nearby
within the shrouds of curtained clouds, frail fabrics on the sky.

And fog no longer seeps beyond the edge of doom’s café,
for when she trails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow smears of misty tears in sheets of shallow gray.

The City’s still, like hollowed quill with ravished feathered vane,
baptized in floods of spattered blood, once flowing through a vein.
The fruits of life, destroyed in strife... ’twas truly all in vain.


No umbras hum with jagged tongues nor sing a silent psalm
nor lade pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, beneath a neutron bomb.


EPILOGUE

Beyond the Silent City’s walls, the victors laugh and play
while celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil’s sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.

Verily the exordium told anent a beauty engirdled in her fedora
soliciting those whoever descried her into her mere servile admirer
eight trenchant tinctures upon her body invigorate like a cadenza
I dare not to contradict the verity that I am beguiled afore her

whilst the snain distilled faintly enwreathed her in unctuous silk
concordantly she devote herself earnestly to the impeccable rain
that emanate her fragile poetry with prestidigitation in a whisk
forsooth she is but the vernacular sobriquet to the soul of the rain

recall me otherwhile during the rainstorm champagne did coerce
and the sunset's glass of wine exude her ingratiating persona
like a myriad of aphrodisiac summarized in a single verse
when harmony and lyrics danced in the crepuscular crescendo

all of that needed to be enunciated is it is you
do not harshly let me be thy unrequited dilettante

'What they don’t know, of course,
is that you don’t **** with the Hammer.
The Hammer smiles, you smile, you wave the truck
ahead. It’s pretty simple,
for poetry does not make assertions;
philosophy does. When the Hammer speaks,
he speaks of something wild.  You stop your world,
the phony one, the constructed one. It stops
and stops and stops—'

I force open the lock, let in the sun.
The Hammer and I confront synaptic death
each day we live. What’s left is fire now.
‘Welcome to the Republic of the Sane.’
I smile and let the fresh air fill
the cabin, fill their lungs. The Seine is just
a river in France, right? I smile and say,
‘The hard part is over.’—though we all know
it isn’t. I tell them, ‘Wallace Stevens
once lived in this house’—though he didn’t.
Let be be finale of seem, I quote. I speak
with care. This is the current reply: The only
Emperor is the Emperor of ice cream.
We hold our arms heaven-ward, like
we are angels in heaven. Since it’s winter
I have a fire burning in the fireplace.
The kids can have a bedroom to themselves,
upstairs. There is hot water, take a bath…

‘In transit to the blank planet,’ I say.
‘That’s your answer: where we are, a point,
circumference points, vectors maybe,
an asymptotic self-description,
that’s the best answer to your question.’
We sit next to the fire
and listen to music. Tonight it’s Schubert,
Winterreise. I read a little from
The Hour of the Star. We talk about Adorno,
Emil Cioran, Gaston Bachelard, Chaucer.
We talk about poetic thinking. Is
the goal to have
an ultimate clarity or is
the poet’s mind composed of play
and speculation? I prevaricate,
I lie, deceive, evade. We open up
a decent bottle of port. The Hammer
has prepared calamari in a butter sauce.
There’s fresh pasta, fresh bread.
‘My friends, a toast,’ I say. They have to know.
‘Today’s word is vector, a vector like
ticks are for Lyme disease, mosquitoes for
malaria.’ The transmission of disease,
is that what humanity is? ‘Human
intelligence,’ I say, ‘may be the result
of a virus. It would explain a lot.’

Among the things we console ourselves with
I will put other people at the top.
I know, my dear, you tremble at the word
thing. ‘Think to say I and Thou’, you would say
were you here, were you still with me.
That people partake of Being as objects
is only part of the story. Well, perhaps, I err…
perhaps I do. One of the things I read
to the people who come across the line
is this from Clarice Lispector:
'It must be said the girl is not conscious
of my presence. Were it otherwise she would
have someone to pray for and that would mean
salvation. But I am fully conscious
of her presence: through her I utter my cry
of horror to existence. To this
existence I love so dearly.'
It is very beautiful, is it not?

I have this sobriquet,
some say,
of being a naughty poet.
But why should what’s there, underneath us,
be figuratively beneath us, and shouldn’t it
more frequently come between us?

That’s my ethos
about the penoth
and the clitoroth
and the propagation of the spethoth.

My ***** Lover

Irrationality always wins
Chicago is aspirated beast
Braggart forced laugh
I had a vision but I have no vision
Dreamed I was making out with a woman

Who had long stretchy pink octopus tentacles
Sedulously legato ephemera
Growing from external rim of ******
Sobriquet inimical desiccation
One tentacle wrapped around and tickled

Diurnal nugatory verisimilitude
While other squeezed testicles
What was I talking about, oh yes
Everything got out of hand
Expect unthinkable gusting winds

To huff puff blow house down
Filthy rotten scoundrel but
Started out so sweet
Inchoate caliphate apocryphal
Wish I had her gift

Hello again my cute little coy butterfly net
I know that with time you may fray and fret
Though I wonder at which it is you wake to yearn
To be re-woven by one's intricate concern
Or the display of versatile reverberant things?
I recall your temporary retention of those beautiful wings
Your cornice of vivid vitality forever vicarious
Are you- the gentle jailer, nervous ******, or simply fastidious?
Those lives that you catch into your fluttering heart,
I suppose they may change you when pinned and ripped apart
Whether that be or they are released to fly free
In what you have yet to see spins your sense of serenity
So forget them, when you remember your demure nature
For history is just a child caught in sincere nomenclature.




Shakespeare's Sonnet #9

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it.
   No love toward others in that ***** sits
   That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.

These thoughts and feelings
flowing through me
affecting
every aspect of my being.
My brain  
receives and processes
the information
and then
reacts

No thought is needed

A highly functional automated algorithm
abiding by the learned lessons of interaction
and conditioning burnt into the once easily malleable
network of neurons that defines my personality

The heavy mask of logic and pride
so tightly wrapped
over the fabric of my true being
keeping me in this game

Yet

I chose to play
To identify
with this silly and burdensome sobriquet
To one day break free from the automated voice-mail
that responds apathetically to the glorified
archetypes, thought-forms, information
that originates from
God
creator of
signal and receiver
thought and mind
emotion and body

Once the original signal is found
a needle in a haystack
the mystery is opened
the opening of a book yet written

A beginning to all beginnings
An ending to all endings

this is you, here, now.

LIVE.  BE.

You've got the biggest smile on your face but no light in your eyes.
Your ******* are over-exposed, and you're slightly less than flesh but much more than bone.
Nobody remembers you now except in black and white,
In headlines and articles; your existence summed up in a single sobriquet.
You're the Mona Lisa of tragedy, a painting created with camera flashes,
And your nakedness is clothed in speculation and mystery.
The scandal of an era; defamation and declarations of promiscuity,
Ripping away your personality, tearing off your integrity.
Left even less than the mess your artist carved you into
After the insatiable appetites of the vultures picked your image dry.
A mere carcass where once there was a body of hopes and dreams,
Posed to perfection; you're the model everyone imagines you to be.
Beauty personified, everyone is an admirer,
Everyone wants to take credit for creating a masterpiece,
Yet there is only one person that can take credit.
Only one person responsible for transforming you
From the ordinary beauty to the extraordinary artwork.
You were transcended into eternity.
Only your artist and his methods remain secret;
A sculptor, a painter with an eye for an eye-catcher.
You're the flower that was destined for fame,
Even if your petals had to be cut up first.

There is country that is far away
In time and space no more than shadow play;
A land designed to elevate the soul
More lofty than a soaring oriole.

A place that helps to make my spirit sigh
And soar as light as any dragonfly,
Respecting each the rights of every other
Where every man to me is my blood brother.

I lived there in miasma quite opaque
Within a dream I dreamt while still awake.
A land that’s still as far away in heart
As this which very soon I must depart

Although they seem so very far away
Neighbours are a cynic’s sobriquet
For people who are simply non-aligned
With nothing but contempt for all mankind.

Within the real world all is selfish interest
But not so far away in truth this is the best.
True patriots there are who here assemble
Be warned you tyrants that you stand and tremble.

I. the breathing of human nature

her poetry weaves a chimera
through ontario maples,
ghostlike songs intoned in late november breath:
*i don't really want to be a pretty girl... *

whispers of woodsmoke fall from sky
(sky, pink as cochineal, pink as avarice
sky, blue as bruises, as jazz, as tropical waters)
she steps from the fog and ash into the beckoning trees,
seduced by leaves,
an autumn saturnalia of honey, flame, amber,
nectar, pistil, anther.

she is cupola and chalice,
budding fuchsia and iron cherry--
but she writes and breathes
as if something more than a woman
who knows all the names for the ocean
stirs and struts inside her.

II. the statue and sobriquet

piano wires melt into statues,
heat steals rusty bottle caps
and bends them eerily into muses.
butterflies perch astutely on their shoulders,
violet, violent, a mosaic of shredded lilies and shellac,
paris in flames, flowering tea-houses,
the mariana trench, a thicket of morning glory.

nature sculpted this metaphysical tribute to her
for all that she has done, for all that her bent fingernails
and snow-covered lips have given
to inspire solstice and equinox--

in the night-songs of the crickets,
crystal bells and rustic chirps,
she was lauded.


III. declaration

she feels the songs in her eyelashes
and writes of wine and palest bone,
fragments of bashful moon,

roots her fingernails into the tarnished canadian willows
and finds her way through magnolia clouds and sea-spray sky;
after all, she can soar.

My wits toggled from this injured and betrayed woman to the Infidels
The pagan **** on the left flank of the one on the woman advanced
It ended quickly as I brandished my long sword and decapitated him
The man on the right had enough time to grip the hilt of his yataghan
I eviscerated his gut with my short rapier as he looked in astonishment
The man in the core remained; had his way for the last time on earth

The worst of the three had occasion to make ready with his scimitar
This soldier froze at the sight of my face and looked in fear, “Al Thom”
A sobriquet by the Saracens is legend and foe Sir Thomas de Charney
His fear turned to anger as he knew deaths door was at his very feet
Coming at me in rage I brachiated my legs at his shins and felled him
Laid on sward, unable to riposte, confidence winnowed, he still lived

Pulling him up on his ****, I forced his eyes to the girl [nun] a last time
Then I whispered to him in Arabic “Remember her face forever in Hell”
I put the man out of his misery with blade through his throat, ‘farewell’
As I stood up I ordered my sergeant to inquiry on the others and report
My mind was spinning as I turned to her; I advanced with foreboding
Protected all my life, women are what Father told me were so beautiful

Trembling and barely covered I took my surcoat and covered her body
Her head was down but I saw multiple bruises; she had been ravaged
She lifted her face; I froze, but in a muddle was able to ask her name
Looking through me with piercing blue eyes.... “my name is Dagung”
Though sternly contused, her skin looked pale and as soft as pure satin
Her lips were full, beyond nocturnal dreams my ***** became ruttish

Stunned and bemused I recovered, no glozing; could hardly breathe
With thanks my sergeant appeared, gave report; Ludd was now secure
I ordered 30 knights to stay on until the morrow with standard orders
Assistants and physicians remained to afford the townsfolk provisions
One physician tended to Dagung as the hovel’s fire was being damped
The remaining knights were to return to Gaza with me immediately

Haste we must to assemble additional assaults as our enemy has noted
Approaching my horse I heard a high pitched voice of a young lass
I turned, already clothed in a ragamuffin type frock was Dagung:

Dagung:    Please my lord, may I come with you?
Sir Thomas:    Ba-ba-uh, My Lady, I can’t

She was clearly an English girl, could not been more than 15 years old
“I’m sorry my lady” as I mounted my horse, I watched her walk back
Cued, “Men, let’s move it”, with alacrity we made way back to Gaza
About 10 minutes later I heard sounds of hoofs rushing close behind us
It was Dagung on horse catching up to make way with me back to Gaza
My thoughts were- my life was about to change;   I then broke a smile
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~
To be continued
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A rattlesnake is a gentleman ,
unlike a politician who's ill intent-
is never announced in advance of-
his wrongdoing ...

There is a country that is far away
In time and space no more than shadow play;
A land designed to elevate the soul
More lofty than a soaring oriole.

A place that helps to make my spirit sigh
And soar as light as any dragonfly,
Respecting each the rights of every other
Where every man to me is my blood brother.

I lived there in miasma quite opaque
Within a dream I dreamt while still awake.
A land that’s still as far away in heart
As this which very soon I must depart

Although they seem so very far away
Neighbours are a cynic’s sobriquet
For people who are simply non-aligned
With nothing but contempt for all mankind.

Within the real world all is selfish interest
But not so far away in truth this is the best.
True patriots there are who here assemble
Be warned you tyrants that you stand and tremble.

Your face is oblique
But it's quite unique
Don't mind the critique.

Apply a pound of cosmetics
Transform your looks of a derelict
Into an Anna Kendrick.

Here, take this bouquet
Use a striking sobriquet
And own the soiree.

Sting like a bee
With your Master's degree
In bottomless energy.

Crack jokes like a nut
Leave them hanging like, "What?"
Blend your humor and your guts.

End the night like milk
Drag your dress of fake silk
Call a taxi driver of your ilk.

Head home like a killer
Laugh proud at the mirror
Because tonight, you're the winner.

The seesawing sun of solipsy,
A satrapy of soliloquy,
Sol was once but now is she,
Sailed off into a darkened sea,
Sith some solitary soiree,
Goodbye my Sirius from Wi!

Oh solely solar solemn stigmata!
Sun’s sobriquet solitaire staccato!
And sonorous salute sonata!
Sing past swaddling clouds of terracotta!
A crucifying crescendo armada!
And endless stars in space of Satá!

Insatiable story of a Son’s redemption,
Who stole away the sins of man’s convention,
A cross and form at right ascension!
The astronomy and mythology of the aforementioned,
Whom but was pierced for our transgression,
The tale that lead to man’s discretion.

a couple of words to convey ta
scurvy dictators
being, with their regimes, dirt on the face of
civilization; lyrics that may be referred to as hate speech
sorry, sans names since
you, hinderlings, tend to get sore 'kin/sim. to nates
of someone earned a good lacing (butthurt)
fO̲r misbehaving (just like y'all)
hopefully, y'all will end up burning in flames of
eternal damnation
for every singular person paraded
civilly through streets in support of good changes
and been delivered brute force in repayment
prisoners tortured, false statements
a sort of a lake of
disinformation, wars, liquidations
of those subverting a heinous
course undertaken
of course, fabrications
fO̲r legal cases (and elections, of course)
and nowadays, you've got Y̲O̲U̲r pesky agents
working on breaking
the web like Bourne which is Jason (Webb, David)
here come my warm salutations
to that stupid web regulator
that serves the dang Craymlin (got it?)
like your walking 𝓉ℴ𝒶𝓁ℯ𝓉ℯ brush, take a
[another sobriquet fitting the rhyme scheme: "toilet predator"]
hike; Y̲O̲U̲r limitations
hitting media being insubmissive ta
the sick regime which ya
sustain by dint of digital
censorship, to individuals
with views being similar
to mine, are like pork to unwave[–]ring
[the word's supposed to be read/pronounced as "unweyvring"]
Muslims; in other words, we evade 'em
(what are you gonna do about it?)
(back to dictators)
you're, like a vessel transporting blood, vain &
like someone implementing a mercy ask, craven
[vein; craving]
you're worthless like an ****** absorbed medication
to you procured a gunshot gorge perforation
as you may've gathered, as if you were **** plantation
employees, you, opportunists, sure irritate me
minus tooled up guys in uniforms & you're Swayze
some of those going politicians or power-wielders
are already bY̲ then vile people?
[Biden]
not the type to think so
that's humankind's horrible nature
highly evolved, still beasts, though
so Earth's, in a way, a
huge lair; got a shade sidetracked
like a train, my bad
I'ma explain, like that
Malaysian Boeing Ukraine skies'd had (ex-plane)
[had had]
before it got razed 'kin/sim.
[raised]
to folks storming a place which
a c#cks#cking usurper is based in
the earlier stated
"BIFOED"; once you are no more animated
like a cartoon paused, the verdict is plain 'kin/sim.
to a suit that is mourning-related
a torrid vacation, metaphorically saying
yet no point in packing Y̲O̲U̲r freaking raiment
since Y̲O̲U̲r destination's
[sins]
nothing short of pure Hades (if there is)
though (unlike some of you) I'm irreligious, but
it doesn't mean I'm cold to medieval stuff
like a hedonistic brush
with a chick replete with lust
in this realm, there can be a really hot
time for you; akin to witches stuck
to those stakes, you can wi[ɪ]nd up lit as f#ck
like a cig. with **** you are
in the garden of the post-en–
–lightenment time going
[thyme]
which, in fact, is the reason the
Earth territory's in need of getting rid of ya

Who can stop this thing called love?
When she's stuck firmly in the grip of winter's icy finger tips.
The seasons changing are not noticed.
The sky is nearly always black.
The sun shied away always.
Hiding behind the clouds.
The pearly droplets of perspiration are merely the tears of the insincere.
Wiped away on a handkerchief with a name embroidered on it.
***** old cotton rag.
Boiled in the laundry.
The stitching all became undone.
His sobriquet was love itself.
She's over him.
Heigh- ** she won.
(c) Livvi MMXV

Dearest creature in creation
Studying English pronunciation,
   I will teach you in my verse
   Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy;
   Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;
   Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet,
Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!
   Just compare heart, hear and heard,
   Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain
(Mind the latter how it's written).
   Made has not the sound of bade,
   Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as vague and ague,
   But be careful how you speak,
   Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via
Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;
   Woven, oven, how and low,
   Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery:
Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,
   Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,
   Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing,
Same, examining, but mining,
   Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
   Solar, mica, war and far.

From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire",
Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,
   Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,
   Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.
   Gertrude, German, wind and wind,
   Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,
Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.
   This phonetic labyrinth
   Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured
To pronounce revered and severed,
   Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,
   Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet;
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
   Blood and flood are not like food,
   Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet,
Which exactly rhymes with khaki.
   Discount, viscount, load and broad,
   Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet?
Right! Your pronunciation's OK.
   Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
   Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your r correct in higher?
Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.
   Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,
   Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision,
Now: position and transition;
   Would it tally with my rhyme
   If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy,
But cease, crease, grease and greasy?
   Cornice, nice, valise, revise,
   Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous,
Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,
   You'll envelop lists, I hope,
   In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You'll have it!
Affidavit, David, davit.
   To abjure, to perjure. Sheik
   Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.
   We say hallowed, but allowed,
   People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover,
Between mover, plover, Dover.
   Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
   Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
   Petal, penal, and canal,
   Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit
Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",
   But it is not hard to tell
   Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,
Timber, climber, bullion, lion,
   Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
   Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
Has the a of drachm and hammer.
   *****, ***** and possess,
   Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants
Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.
   Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,
   Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker",
Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",
   Making, it is sad but true,
   In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
   Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,
   Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, specific, scenic,
Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.
   Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,
   Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle,
Make the latter rhyme with eagle.
   Mind! Meandering but mean,
   Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny,
You say mani-(fold) like many,
   Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,
   Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring
Rhyme with herring or with stirring?
   Prison, bison, treasure trove,
   Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald
Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.
   Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,
   Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don't be down, my own, but rough it,
And distinguish buffet, buffet;
   Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,
   Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling
Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.
   Evil, devil, mezzotint,
   Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention
To such sounds as I don't mention,
   Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,
   Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included,
Though I often heard, as you did,
   Funny rhymes to unicorn,
   Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely,
I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.
   No. Yet Froude compared with proud
   Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial,
Tripod, menial, denial,
   Troll and trolley, realm and ream,
   Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely
May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,
   But you're not supposed to say
   Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid
Worthless documents? How pallid,
   How uncouth he, couchant, looked,
   When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite,
Paramour, enamoured, flighty,
   Episodes, antipodes,
   Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don't monkey with the geyser,
Don't peel 'taters with my razor,
   Rather say in accents pure:
   Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly,
Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,
   Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,
   Wan, sedan and artisan.

The th will surely trouble you
More than r, ch or w.
   Say then these phonetic gems:
   Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham,
There are more but I forget 'em-
   Wait! I've got it: Anthony,
   Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit
Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;
   With and forthwith, one has voice,
   One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger;
Then say: singer, ginger, linger.
   Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,
   Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very,
Parry, tarry fury, bury,
   Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,
   Job, Job, blossom, *****, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners,
Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners
   Holm you know, but noes, canoes,
   Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little,
We say actual, but victual,
   Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,
   Put, nut, granite, and unite.

****** does not rhyme with deafer,
Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
   Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,
   Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific;
   Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,
   Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and *****,
Next omit, which differs from it
   Bona fide, alibi
   Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
   Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,
   Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion with battalion,
   Rally with ally; yea, ye,
   Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.
   Never guess-it is not safe,
   We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary,
Crevice, but device, and eyrie,
   Face, but preface, then grimace,
   Phlegm, phlegmatic, ***, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;
   Ear, but earn; and ere and tear
   Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the o of off and often
Which may be pronounced as orphan,
   With the sound of saw and sauce;
   Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting?
Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.
   Respite, spite, consent, resent.
   Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,
   Monkey, donkey, clerk and ****,
   Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour,
S of news (compare newspaper),
   G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,
   I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers,
Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.
   Once, but *****, toll, doll, but roll,
   Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation-think of Psyche!-
Is a paling, stout and spiky.
   Won't it make you lose your wits
   Writing groats and saying "grits"?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel
Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,
   Islington, and Isle of Wight,
   Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don't you think so, reader, rather,
Saying lather, bather, father?
   Finally, which rhymes with enough,
   Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

Hiccough has the sound of sup...
My advice is: GIVE IT UP!

The self proclaimed writer

Jerking himself off to exhaustion daily

(Never touched, never connected)

To play roulette with his circadian rhythm

And turn an otherwise docile daytime delinquent

Into a nocturnal creature's fear

All to avoid the cliched train wreck of a family

The alcoholic mother

The never proud father

And the always beyond reach sister

Yes yes, feel the waking nightmare

This insomniac desperately craves sleep

As the titular picturesque life

sobriquet to family cat

Is slowly causing his dormant degeneracy

To blister and boil the brain

And he feels like he is losing his mind

In this otherwise ideal world

This grotesquely pictersque

Fevered upper class dream

Head notes

Of loam fringed apple trees,
of near-but- nether fuchsia roots
A timeless travel of ridge top tiles.
Steepled spins of weathervanes,
A sobriquet of pre- dawn rainfall.

Heart notes

Of hornbeam,
of coriander deer path.
Memories of bonfire- hope
in ragwort sprays of yearning.
A hint of feelings half remembered.
Of longbows hewn from churchyard yews.
Of rope swings and of scaffold

Base notes

Of river mist.
Poseidon wreaths of furnace ash,
allied to a merlot tint of afterglow release.
Endings are, valerian,
patchouli heads of linen musk.
A lasting peace of closing lawns
that wait approaching snow.

His sobriquet was lost as documents detailed his official names,
With relatives and friends no longer parting lips to give breath to his letters.
Shy away from his life--
His pain was adopted by them--
Never again see the man with his soul intact.
Bones fractured with a
Crack
As his body, weighed down with burdens,
Collided with concrete, created a pile on the street.
The screams of on-lookers fell on dead ears,
Since his spirit was already soaring high.
Higher than the drugs ever took him, and his skin lay there,
Left behind in a mound of worthlessness.
The pathetic loner of a man, weak,
Swiss cheese arms from syringes, decaying in a mirror.
Life was never going to be his saviour,
But society was always going to be his executioner
Unless the drugs got to him first with their axe.
Picking his brains only led to self-loathing and confusion,
And now they can't be picked up,
Only wiped away, washed...away.
Like the memory that he ever existed,
Because folks turned their back on him a long time ago,
When it first became clear
That he was a problem, and an oblivious one at that.
Now he's just a name, a record and a headstone,
Family never again speak his name.
Wonder if they even know he spilled his body onto the ground?
All in an attempt at saving his soul, putting right his past.
The man's self-crucifixion.

without words
and their wondrous servitude,
i would only be
and cease to become.

as in a forest,
i shall then continue to flower
in the sharpness of swan-song.
like a beast dazed
into nothing and its bafflements,
even the triviality of a lone stone
shall vagabond through me
in a thousand days that pull
downward, refusing to reveal themselves and their paradisiacal nuances. their etymologies
star their deaths to a languid crawl towards an empty page.

all words trapped, slurring
in the radiant void, unbecoming of themselves and who i am.
if i am to be without poetry,
my then epiphanies would be scaled down to an epitaph's weight and its proper terrors;
   to think that i cannot write anymore, weave anymore these words,
    reeks of deathlessness, and i,
  communing through the myriad dailiness of things shall exist only to be,
   and not become  ( as a single star is meaningless in the coruscation of the multitude - a constellation without moniker,
  a god rid of sobriquet,
as a carpenter without tools,
   orr an army without arsenals)
i am things vaguely not.

god forbid, if i am to be
  without poetry,
what will i become, unknowing of
its grave rescue? these marvels
shoot off in the temporal flight
   of this splendid fate, and if without words, then this shall only be, still afloat, a wild, directionless flight.

Silence fell, the waves broke through
A whisper on soft wind
I will find a center in you
Pressure pulse beating rhythm to night time dreaming
I am left with the sobriquet
Always leaving
We are heaving, pulling moves from all directions
A solid stunt with clouds for vision
Unknowing of our fated predilections
The desire for something different, sings wild
Curved and copulate along fine lines
Dreaming bright colors vivid like a child
Urging to pull closer and keep what is within reach
Having no more power over the hours
*Than those that the stars keep

You've taken my beau away
Without a thought and then
Do not care,
"It's not appropriate"
To give it back again

And you do not know,
Or perhaps you did,
Or do,
How much that sobriquet
Meant and means to me

Or how keen and deep the knife wound
Through my chest
And heart at losing it,
And feeling torn as you from
Me draw part

Til nothing left
No name of love or
Of affection remains,
Just some bloke you knew
Who's name was James

Two I apple they split not to sit ***-light lit
              Ms.Viviette by-set
              Her heart age-set
              A whole sip mug-wet

She is working on her salvation the whole-love
ready -set
The mission right body flow 2 beat-heat
the heart fit
Smiles a bit a mysterious ((AppleJack))
Wholeheartedly--------*
Comeback playing the Violin teacher's pet
The apple a day he was not amused
Didn't light my heart fuse

That weak heart 1/2 the right spot,
the heart love cure another shot
My whole life he deserted me red-tangy tea
That Madame Curie how she pleads
My heart stopped the Island he was falling
out of my coconut hands

How I smothered his love hands
On the Bali Hut, I felt smashed by his lips
of Applesauce scrumptious pork roast on
the internet hearts was the post
Hearts of the earthquake trembler

Biting the Apple
but what is____?
Inside the heart Sobriquet
The flower floret evergreen apple
Made her heart  selling her soul out
The intenseness of drinking
Cabernet Sauvignon In France
Mediterranian tropics
Louis Vuitton
Heart tripping sandals
In Italy, he read her heart waist handles
poem sonnet but his heart was
stronger and more of a fret

The heart of soul came with his challenge
The whole in his head like bullhorns
My hill-halfway their body
was torn my heart was spinning
my whole right side felt like a baby born
Nonstop crying she felt so high like a
banana split no timeshare
Not to share my heart
New York token of love fair

Not the whole heart of truth
Glory the half of the stick don't you
hate eating chocolate crunch muscles
Of the  barmen from  way out in Mars
All my heart stickers the best times
of my star was gone
Hearts Gym he wouldn't give one flicker
  The half timeout what a showdown
2- hearts almost shut down

Tasting his stick so woodsy
The trees were talking topsy-turvy
Please take some heart I'm curvier
My dreams have no demeanor
Putting 1/2 of an eyeliner I am not finished in
Angelic nymphs on my ceiling
   The bathroom hearts were dripping
My lips got separate like they
ran away walking I was curved
Last heart to play Atlantic City
We saw them again (Rodeway) fresh
**** wasn't so pretty the parade day
What an odd pair of card pitiful
Their bizarre smiles
21/2 heart shaped pills I'm home at last
My whole watermelon those black pits
she so lazy
always on her computer what a putz
He is the heartless man
of the felon, not the fancy hotel
of the Ritz Carlton
Having a girly blast

I phone lanes they won't last
Louis Lane Superhighway
Men met Evil Stan
The armory like the
American Band Stand
Singing hearts got a low hand
Burning fires surgery heart
The whole road hearts
were dripping coffee relapsing
But inseparable screws out,
Rocky road ice cream hugging
I see someone falling asleep
Hearts on the job line
You will get fired out ruled
There will be no time to be mine

Yummy body measurable
Love Doves*

Equally 2 planes,
meeting together
distance
Equal lush resistance
½ creature ******
Her better half is ****** pleasure
his be heart plate
Two loves hear pancakes syrup lightly
Seduced heart’s fit tightly
The other side needs, balance 2 guided

We're two loves, heart divided?
Gothic kiss darkens the doves
Two half’s of hearts, infinite flame
Red heart cheating, hot rod game
Uncertainty Guilty reassurance

Love handholds, heart allegiance

****** into a new role
With a brand new moniker.
Do you think that I may now be the Queen Mother,
The First Lady, The Duchess of Somewhere?
No, I am The Mother-in-Law
It is only a handle, a label
A sobriquet or alias
Cognomen
Appellation
My nom de plume
Henceforth I shall be Sandra Lee,
Aka Mother-in-Law
I shall identify as MIL.

stars, stars, stars;
the sobriquet is "heartache".

why give your energy to that,
you ask.
my dark day is a lonely
afternoon,
I'll be fine.
honestly.
I'm fine.

its all because being present
has always been
hard for me,
head in the clouds,
or searching for clouds,
or...

We can’t pretend we’re something we’re not
You can’t give somethin you ain’t got
You can try, you can lie, you can cry, you can  die
But in end you’re  just pretend and I,  
I’m a fool, a naive fool.

You came to me just the same way you went
With a wink and a sobriquet
Like the breeze you would tease till fell to my knees
But surprise, surprise, in your eyes I,
I was a fool, a charming fool.

On midnights drenched with gin and sin
We became more than we ought to have been
A fantasy, dangerously we dreamed within dreams
a carousel of caprice and whim
a pretense that soon grew thin
Cause,

We can’t pretend we’re something we’re not
You can’t give somethin you ain’t got
You can try, you can lie, you can cry, you can  die
But in end you’re  just pretend and I,  
I’m a fool, a lonely fool.

I got the sobriquet
"Poet of the fall"
after my poems
fell to the ground
without life in them.