Mayer and Wright are such *****
I’d like to impale them on sticks
Of commitments they remind
Like a kick in the behind,
And they stick to one’s *** like ticks
Mayer and Wright are such weasels
Perchance they’ll be run over by diesels
They whine and cajole
Like a second *******
I hope they come down with the measles.
O words of advice they’ll be hurling
And many are tinged with Sterling
They may chant the code
Eye of newt leg of toad
That’s when my head will start swirling.
They both try to help I must say
But their limits do get in the way
Wright thinks he’s quite bright
Mayer thinks he’s quite right
O what an insufferable buffet.
I humor them in their quest
To do for me what is best
They’re kind and determined
There are worse kinds of vermin
On which a man like me might be pressed.
Let me tell you of Mayer
Seer and soothsayer
A man born out of his time.
A dreamer a mystic
and oft solipsistic
No one better to join in your climb
To crest the peak of oneself
I’d choose no one else
Than this compassionate incarnate priest.
So gentle and kind
when reading my mind
and tempering my raging beast.
A strange combination
Of logic and sensation
Has born this rare jewel of a man.
Whose artistic soul
is never quite whole
Lest he caring for all those he can.
His primary vanity
Is his love of humanity
Expressed in a singular life.
He’s plotted his course
With little remorse
Always seeing more joy than of strife.
A man among men
There be far less than ten
That I can trust with my heart.
A teacher and friend
Who’ll be there in the end
And together the tempest we’ll thwart.
I simply forgot, what a silly old clot,
It was here and then gone in a ****!
I can’t keep them in, midst the silencing din.
Up they go through the hole in my roof.
A gentle reminder, would seem so much kinder
But alas I forget that part too.
I call myself dumb and beat like a drum
The poor soul of me and of you.
Ideas, memories, like wind through the trees
Drift away on a whimpering sigh.
Though I try and I pray, each night and each day.
To recall those forgotten goodbyes.
Like life they’re soon gone, but one must carry on,
For what else is one to do?
But to temper our distemper, and try to remember
The how, what, where, when and who.
Stand still the way deer do
when danger is near.
Maybe it won’t notice you.
Stand still the way children do
when something is wrong.
Perhaps nothing bad will happen.
It will pass.
The darkness that abraids the skin.
Hold your breath.
Pray It won’t see you
as it draws ever near.
Stop your heart!
Smell its fetid breath.
This too shall pass.
© 2018 Robert C. Leung
On a soggy day reading soggy poets
searching for something to say.
They moan of rain, drone about blackberries,
wail about trees and the meaning of mud.
What’s to be found there?
Even footprints are lost.
Gray matter marinated in meter and rhyme
wordy intoxicants abound till nothing matters
My dog bathed and brushed
fluffy as a puppy.
The other snoring lightly into a comforter.
Haikus cradle the ferry road.
The sonnet sea wombs our island dear.
And I fan a spark so hard in the dark.
But alas there’ll be no flame tonight.
© 2018 Robert C. Leung
miartus - Latin
to be amazed/surprised/bewildered (at)
to look in wonder/awe/admiration at
I thought I had something to say
Profound and rich with worth
It might go down in history
It might just move the earth.
I thought it must be marvelous
as I am wont to do
It swelled my heart and then my head
what else I leave to you.
It must be quite a thing indeed
being of my own creation
For genius is the natural end
of my imagination.
At least it will be noteworthy?
But alas t’was but a dream.
The cawing of a silly crow
lost in corn flakes and cream.
I thought it must be timely.
Should’ve thought before I spoke.
Now standing here with crimson face
It all seems quite baroque.
Please accept my sincere apology
Think of me as the dearly departed
Go on about your lovely day
And pretend I never started.
© Copyright 2017 Robert C. Leung
Why not be silly?
Nothing makes sense anyway?
Up is down and down is up
until you’re down and out
of the loop.
You’ve missed the scoop!
The one with extra sprinkles.
So now you stoop
to pick up the ****
cause your the group
that’s in the soup.
For pity sake let them eat cake
or ****, cause this is all fake
news is blues and while we snooze
cheers turn to boos
and so we lose the thread
to the ties that bind us
In a bind that says
we’re bound for glory.
And though that story is somewhat hoary
It’s not the allegory we were looking for
Mr. Goodbar can attest to that.
Nobody owns life
but anyone who can pick up a frying pan
© 2018 Robert C. Leung