sigh* a day later, when Saturday's mad pile of work was a memory, it literally tasted like water.  Now, how did that happen?  



(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIV)


Mists waft with curious fragrance' odd detail
Upon the creamy surface of those scents'
Brown claim of coffee in my mug, to fence
Thin hope with old chagrin as morning's pale
Light watches from its cloudy vantage' scale
Of truth, where ghostly layers shift oer pretense
And grey asks white to call it blue from thence,
My breakfast:  ***** dishes 'hind th'exhale.
It's nat'nal cereal day, so in a poor
Excuse I added Malt-O-Meal to do
The favours with our wonted pancakes, fer
A whopping stack of edibles.  Yes, two
Eggs, bacon, and a touch of fruit.  If you're
Still hungry, there's no coffee.  I love you.

07Mar15a

What was that about ironic?


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLII)


They swore I should be published when my frail
Attempts proved that my alphabet was thence
Down pat, a couple verbs and nouns from whence
I made a twisted bit of nonsense, pale
And certain notes that I owned more than bail
For their now wasted cries of sheer pretense,
Nor would they quiet down 'til their defense
Was trounced when I could speak and **** the tale.
Yes.  Now that I trip off much less obscure
Lines, even sentences which march straight to
The point, I've lost my following as twere.
Come, did they like the early babble?  Few
Can make it past the toddling stage, whence fer
The grand achievement, I'm alone.  Boohoo.


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIII)


Please don't say either that I was from hence
Givn this quite fair, though transient gift's detail
To hone its more exquisite sense in pale
Excuse for being alone, nor that twas thence
Deemed fit cuz twould be yet destroyed (whose sense
Of worth was fragile in sheer truth's betrayl),
But grant me something more, as if for bail,
And say that love will pay for my intents.
Walk through the library amassed as twere;
Yea, listen as my spirit filters through
The tapestry of lines, until in poor
Reply its voice half alters subtly too.
Did I leave innocence behind?  Twas your
Fault who taught me what life is:  loving you.

06Mar15e,f

You annoy me very little and I hardly think it’s fair
To place a box of scorpions beneath your favourite chair
I so enjoy your snoring and your dodgy thyroid gland
I don’t stand at your bedside with a pillow in my hand
Your laughter doesn’t make me twitch or sound like mating seals
So I won’t be crushing any glass to sprinkle on your meals
Adorable, your litany of whys and wheres and ifs
I’ll not be booking holidays near isolated cliffs
I love your lack of empathy and sullen, lifeless eyes
No need for poison pancakes or exploding custard pies
If ever you should doubt, my love, the way I feel for you
Recall this host of nasty things I’ve managed not to do
Thus far…

A chap from the Isle of Wight
Took pleasure in creatures of flight
With bread on his hooks
He went fishing for ducks
Because chickens aren't nearly as tight

Theresa May look ghastly
And she might give you a scare
Theresa May have racist views
And someone else’s hair

She May not like the common folk
Theresa May have rabies
And who can say, Theresa May
Eat other people’s babies

Theresa May tell porkies
May keep her cash abroad
Theresa and her colleagues
May be put away for fraud

Theresa May look lonely
Like she May run out of friends
And soon she might be signing on
For June is where May ends

**

When the funding is cut
So the hospitals shut
That’s a Tory
When the poverty bites
And you lose human rights
That’s a Tory
Such excess
Better reassess
Better repossess
Better get yourself private healthcare
Overtaxed if you work
Unemployed? Then you're scrounging on welfare

When there’s bigoted views
Blatant lies on the news
That’s a Tory
When the biggest and best
Are too rich to arrest
That’s a Tory
But they’re lax
Covering the cracks
Never paying tax
Claiming everything on expenses
They can steal with a smile
While they peddle their flimsy defences

When they're guilty of fraud
And they're banking abroad
That's a Tory
If they're selling your school
When 'austere' means 'cruel'
That's a Tory
Too much spin
Slogan and a grin
Wearing pretty thin
Bussing people in to applaud them
Any law can be bought
If you're well off enough to afford them

That's all folks and remember, you can't spell Theresa May without heresy

**

A caution to gardeners, be on your guard
There's a felon at work that'll lurk in your yard
He'll feast on your giblets and guzzle the juice
The serial cannibal: Robert the Spruce

He'll slyly survey his oblivious prey
Until one sorry night, as your drifting away
There's a bang and a rustle, you bustle outside
A hushed expectation inhibits your stride

Alarm bells are ringing, just seconds too late
As you stop and examine your tiny estate
Could that rustle have really been leaves on the breeze?
And since when did my garden have so many tr....

If humankind was just one man
His house would be the world
He'd live on only takeaways
The curtains never furled
His clothing would be shabby
Just a mess of cloth and strings
But on his little finger
Are a dozen diamond rings
The body might be starving
But the pinky hoards its gold
The hunger could be ended
With a single diamond sold
The kitchen could be mended
The gloom made slightly brighter
That's not the pinky's problem
So it holds on even tighter
It hires the other fingers
And one adjacent thumb
To stab the legs repeatedly
And beat the kidneys numb
The body starts to waste away
And much to its surprise
Along with every other thing
The little finger dies

An errant knight
In days of old
With hazel eyes
And skin of gold
Did venture forth
To seek his fate
To rob, despoil
And desecrate

Through dusky wood
And sodden glade
His course was true
He never strayed
An ebon steed
It bore his weight
Advancing at
A steady gait

So when upon
The second morn
Astride the very
Cusp of dawn
A winding tower
Came to view
And from the window
Right on cue

A cry for help
And then redress
As from a damsel
In distress
A call to save
A maiden fair
With rosy lips
And saffron hair

To bear her forth
And find the witch
Who'd locked her up
That warty *****
To **** her minions
Stone her crows
Thwart her wiles
Then break her nose

Our noble knight
Did pause for thought
For many witches
He had fought
If you've seen one
You've seen them all
With matted hair
And tatty shawl

He took a view
That fair was fair
He'd only take
His rightful share
He left that maiden
To her plight
To save her for
Another knight