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With Muse filled;
Semenal words are
on the parchment spilled.
Two strange hearts falling in one love--
Deep bowl of broth--is a mystery.
Baking eyes tossing off a fancy loaf
Ere the mouth that desires fare velvety.

Once the tommy the spot hits, culinary
Delights--instead of repeating upon
The tongue--become unsavory.
Hand, picking at the spread of affection.
Dying moments by shutter
Memories in living pictures
isn't only in the number
of likes and reads and
comments obtained,
but also in it own self.
Many things in life are relative and opinions are quite subjective; so what counts for "a great write" seldom comes to a cud de sac view, as with the path taken by philosophy of beauty, goodness and love.
Will an eligible bloke happier be if he
Marries a ranking *ele like Miss Universe
With all her glory and graces, and 'cause
Of marriage mirth? Will a sheila pretty
An unbroken regalement have for a dream
Prince Charming--the fairy man of her whim?

Will the soul be jolly for the sophomore
More than for the frosh rapture of success
Had in the Ivy League of cosmic business,
When the heart cut a caper and an encore
Of hilarity requests of narrowed life--
To have constant binge in lieu of strive?

What man is wholly from trouble free, whose
Being be to sadness inured? Within, the
Spokes do sometimes snap at the rotary
Wheels of serenity, and chaos is let loose.
What thus can stay the pillars of pleasure in
A plagued world is above this little noggin.
*ele, in my native language Yoruba--which is spoken in the western part of Nigeria, Benin Republic and some other parts of West Africa and reaching to the Caribbean countries-- means a lovely girl.

Except if the meaning and translation had been lost in transist in other places but surely not in western Nigeria.
The fall of any man is
in forbidden things.
He that will the world
should first himself recast.
Love has killed
which should have made
Words set to music
give the body tonic--
poetic melody:

rhymes, rhythms, caesuras,
meters, beats, stanzas
and envoys
in use.

Making millions of dollars
off an album,
pop stars:

hounded by paparazzi,
landed in a Jaccuzi;
deified are poets--

pursued by Muse's mustang
midst the prairies
of inspiration

Poetry draws no pretty penny,
prizes like the Nobel

Mummy poetry is exhaling
in the lyrical pantheon
of music.
******* at tickling the ivories,
at inducing the jet buttons
to chortle, say, in a concerto ;
but I do strum and flirt
with those amazing royal,
88 unrepentant loyal
keys for Jupiter and Saturn,
for Mars and Neptune,
making a blank bland tune
for extraterrestrial beings for fun.

On the cosmic moors
the moon's whirling feet
cease for my discordance.
What a slurred entrance
by F in D major!

Only a novice--an amateur.
I'm no magnificent pianist,
O majestic Mercury.

Summon the stars the search
to lead for a supreme virtuoso,
one of  no incongruent ingenuity
like this dilettante--a pseudo
music polymath, counsels Thebe.

A Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach?

Any of the greats scored above, as well
as geniuses like David and Handel.

Impressario fly! Flee thou away
and go get a classic maven.
Otherwise sleep there forever at Erebus,
never dream of waking up in Eden.

Circuitous world stops: strings break off
at the Earth's axis--
the Sun's panels pause

and darkness' movement begins
its own obscure notes to improvise:

apace demented melody
is released,-- bathos of symphony:
tinny wine of concord
settles on the lees of discord.

Asteroids hooting some ***** calls
when into the grand chrysolite chamber--
in her tailor-made blistering gown--
strolls in the coruscating Venus
in the sturdy arm of jaundiced Uranus,
garbed in his glistening stomacher.

Like a ball, all eyes are bouncing
hither and thither, up and down,

googling and ogling,
once more at them leering,

gaping at the irreplaceable paintings of
da Vinci, Picasso, and Van Gogh
cavorting  upon the weightless walls

to the romantic performance of Strauss
in the palace orchestral of Bacchus.
Frailties overlooked--
**** is fragrance, snoring a nocturne
with affection.
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