The Mockery of Fairyland
In silence watching as fellow fallow fairies dance,
Sylphs float above while gnomes furrow,
Donating water brothers,
Undine,
Spiritual creatures, unseen,
Creation of nature from nature,
Mankind evading,
Fairies will still catch your eye,
In form of genus butterfly,
God forbid you meet them,
Stumble on their fairy rings,
Never tell a fairy your name,
For in fairyland you may remain,
For safety's sake,
While out walking in the woods,
Inside out must wear your shirt,
Wear a ring of of iron!
So you can breach the fairies curse
Seven year cycles,
Fairies must donate to hell,
A good soul,Tam Hin,
He tricked the fairy queen,
She had to set him free,
Ti's said,
As man folk mate,
Fairies do true procreate,
A way akin to ours!
Hybrid fairies once existed,
Melancholy souls,
Too sad to live in fairyland,
Too fairy like to live on earth!
Titania she sits waiting,
For her Oberon to arrive,
King and queen of fairyland, in literacy,
Supreme,
No Fallacy!
By ladylivvi1
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating information, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against.
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so abundantly prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the passage of a professional liar
to hear it sing is to hear it sting where the sun shines
how it's never so real till it bleeds
through the sundial
like a red fog under
adorable prisons.
it Is what It isn't... it has needs, you hear it wing through fallow stars on the edge
where there's never been Spring.
to hear it means
to be undone beside the tide pool... in the twinkling of two minds
how it's never so real till it dreams
mute and undefiled
like a red god under
house arrest for no reason.
it Is what It isn't... it must be lonely. you're very near it, and it's apples and sacrilege
where there's ever been Holy
such sins have beauty.
it must be lonely...
( my ) darling
and some thing after
[ It ]
surely
any action brings
intolerable dreams
inaction is not possible
decree of destitution
the image to impart to you
is a small framed window
single paine glass
old old glass
the kind that gave little more
than greasy distorted image
and the contained within is the fleeting distant
cries pleading and warning
calling for hope within a
decree of destitution
both a wretched creature malformed and ill
and man stout and fair within the same coffin of flesh
innocence vilified
as if they were mere
words these phrases i throw
down on the page with the haste of rage
as if mere words could blast and sunder stone
as these have the cold rock of my heart
as if mere words could rip screaming vengeance
from the blood faces of a battlefield
but that is the nature of warring desires
within the cage of one mans soul
no....these words i wrest from burning rage
are not passing fancy on some distant summers day
but the very fingers of murder clawing for
purchase on vile enemy's throat
the very sweat of the embittered battle between
sworn foe
but that is the nature of warring desires
within the cage of one mans soul
i cannot contain my fear
it run rampant in the fresh planted fields
of plans come to naught
my rancid terror dances and tramples
thru the ordered lines of what we have built
my horror
feeds loose and hungry
on the fallow crop
distorted and screaming obscenity's at your soft skin
the discharge of pointless angers
retort to my hope
i cannot remain seated here a moment longer
dedicated to silentwriter, a friendly voice in the darkness of my night
The fallow flags lull in a sway at half-staff,
flaccid reminders for those whom quickly forget,
limp in the wind as faint as that day
commemoration of anniversaries' memorization's
plaintive anguished lamentations jeering at
the stuffy affected and tired testimonies;
torpid, dense and listless as the President's third rehearsed
speech of the day.
The cause of ignition is inconsequential,
no trigger to let loose the hammer- Only,
I become a passenger, a damn cur.
Softly as a dancer, on swells of change,
undulating to the jangle and clink
of lives being unlaced,
splayed apart in bitter irony,
displaced into objectivity.
You take it personally,
as if, I am just a fallow piece of personality.
Dropped like salt in the Devils eye,
I'm just over shoulder- needing the fall
into comforting familiarity.
I'm unfeeling, mute and defensive-
peeling self back to where we merge.
At the base I know I am one
but cruelty makes our hands feel like four.
I am my own dark passenger depersonalized,
sloughed off in stress and
bound in unrecognizable life.
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.
Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.
Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.
Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.
Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.
Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.
Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur, inhabit and
Manifest
A garden,
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.
©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
I became a bug
The day I realized this my heart grew with sadness
Because if I was the bug…
Then you were the light I blindly fallow at night
That light that might even lead me to my death.
I became a bug
And you the dangerous shine
They tell us hundreds of "don't"s
But few "Do"s
They tell us all
They tell me
They tell you
"Do as I say, not as I do."
When it comes to their actions
That's where they fall short
They don't comply
So tell me
Why should I?
Don't smoke
Whether it be tobacco or herb
Do they fallow the siermen they preach?
No. That would simply be absurd
Don't drink alcohol
Steer clear of the booze
You will never gain a thing from drinking
you will only loose
Especially if you drink and drive
if you're lucky enough to survive
It is great advice
For if you drink and drive
You could end up paying the ultimate price
But who gets more DUIs?
Is it the "all knowing responble adults"?
who are "mature" enough to drink
Or is it us "reckless irresponsible teens"?
Take a guess. Which do you think?
"I'm the adult, I know what I'm doing."
Do they? Do they really?
Should there be this double standard?
If you ask me, that's a question with an answer worth pursuing.
