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  Jul 2021 David R
Frances E McClelland
Slowly the wheel turns 'round and 'round,
defying every superstitious claim;
That only fear surely lies ahead,
as wicked sorcerers have proclaimed.

In a conspiracy of reckless gallantry,
the people appearing restless and tired;
Like the embers flying through the sky,
from a raging, roaring and ceaseless fire.

The clock tells time but no one cares,
to know if the hour has finally come;
When spirits' light or devil's darkness,
will erase the quandaries within their homes.

They sob and pray till their voices falter,
with hopelessness from the perilous days;
Until an angel appears singing out with love,
and a promise their souls will soon be saved.

Feeling worthy now--their emotions quite shaken,
from discovering faith within the realm;
For only charity's gifts can conquer hate,
and horrors dissolve through peace and calm.
David R Jul 2021
soft upon the earth i crept
and listened with my ear
when all a sudden before me leapt
a man as musketeer

he was not more than a foot
in height from toe to head
and roundabout his body put
a gown of lily-red

the musket was, i do believe,
from grass or stick or ****,
and on his head was placed a leaf
that looked like Harris Tweed

he bade me listen well to him
for words of true import
he looked right earnest, chin so grim,
that i did myself comport

and when i heard of the plight
the things that he foresaw
i do confess of the fright
the horror and the awe

that gripped me as in a vice
made me cold as a cadaver
until he offered some advice
as he ended his palaver

he said we always have a choice
wherever we may be
and we can always use our voice
to change humanity

those words he whispered like the wind
as he told of things to be
and afterwards he bowed and grinned
and vanished as banshee.
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#palaver
David R Jul 2021
'Daddy', he asked, 'is it true?'
'did people really **** each other?
underneath this sky so blue,
could one raise hand against his brother?'

'Daddy', he said, 'is that right,
did people not know black from white?
'neath this dome of light so bright,
did people turn the day to night?'

'no, my dear child, of course not,
wherever have you such ideas begot?
this world has always been a spot
of untold peace, G-d's sweet lot'.

'but Daddy', he persisted, 'I read it was true,
did men keep animals locked in a zoo?
just so that others may look 'n view
a lion or tiger or kangaroo?'

'Daddy', he cried, 'it can't be true!
could people really have been so cruel
to use all scientific breakthrough
of G-d's world as killing tool?'

'child', I answered, 'as your father,
let's have no more of this palaver,
one thing, my son, you can be sure,
this world has never been at war.'
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#palaver
David R Jul 2021
life awoken
from rotten grain
to flourish as new paragon

world broken
can grow again
only when once truly gone

what was spoken
once thought insane
becomes world's new dawn

sun a token
of golden chain
a link to world bygone.'

world once askew
aligns anew
humanity as one
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#askew
David R Jul 2021
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate,
I've information rhythmical, poetical and lexical,
I know the poets of our land and quote their plays historical,
From Macbeth to Much Ado, in order categorical;

I'm very well acquainted, too, with rhythm hendecasyllable,
I understand assonance and refrain octosyllable,
About pentameter theory I'm teeming with a lot o' news,
With many cheerful facts about the style of poet Edward Hughes.

I'm very good at couplets and at blank verse very fabulous;
I know the seventy-one plays ascribed to Aeschylus:
In short, in matters rhymical, poetical, and lexical,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

I know our poem-history, Caedmon's Hymn to Chaucer's works;
I can cite bards' acrostics with volatility in my vocal box,
I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of Heliogabalus,
In dialect ionic I can cite Semonides of Amorgos;

I can tell undoubted Aratus from Aristeus and Sophocles,
I know the croaking chorus from The Frogs of Aristophanes!
Then I can hum a fugue of which I've heard the music's din afore,
And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense Pinafore.

Then I can write a decasyllable as a dactyl or tetrameter,
And tell you ev'ry detail of soliloquies in Shakespeare:
In short, in matters rhythmical, poetical, to elloquate,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

In fact, when I know what is meant by a "septet" and a "sestet",
When I can tell at sight a literary from a prose effect,
When such affairs as odic and idyllic I'm more wary at,
And when I know precisely 'to be or not to be' by Danish "Hamlet".

When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern rhymery,
When I know more iambic than a novice in a nunnery
In short, when I'm audacious, vexatious and dilatory
You'll say a poet laureate has ne'er been so conciliatory.

For my alliteration knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century;
But still, in matters rhythmical, poetical and etiquette,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#conciliatory, lexixal
[To the tune of 'I am the very model of a modern major general', H.M.S. PINAFORE (W. S. GILBERT) ]
(This was posted a few months ago. Reposted for BLT  Word of The Day Challenge: #lexical.)
David R Jul 2021
there were maggots in the wood
that swarmed and crawled as maggots should
bark beetle and grey wood-louse
that'd made in beam their home and house

around that wood so rotten fair
was gilt and gold of glint and glare
that onlooker could only stare
and to his friends so declare:

'beauteous is yonder beam
of gold and auburn sunshine gleam'

for little did he know or dream
of rottenness that vermin teem'd

but hidden 'hind that wood o' canker
was wood so solid as steel of anchor
it had but no coat veneer
looked quite drab and dry and drear

no paint nor precious metal
did hide its strong 'n sturdy fettle
its pure wooden essence
provided its inner luminescence

so when next you spy the gentle bow,
the urbane polish and sweet 'hello',
don't be fooled to say 'wow',
not all is good that bears a glow.

manners maketh not a man,
though they may add to pleasantness,
inside can lie a trashing-can
though outside all is eloquence

it's the acts 'n speech 'n honesty
that make a true man's worth,
they give the soul its modesty,
the true gold on this earth.
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge:
#urbane
David R Jul 2021
i tell a tale of misery
a tale that must be told
a part of human history
of men whose hearts were cold

they dressed in human clothing
that hid inhuman loathing
urbane and winsome smile
that veiled poisoned bile

one day the sun forgot to rise
as thousand men and women
the young, the old, the daft, the wise
were led on evil mission

made to march on gravestone
away from home and house
this people, flesh and bone
victim of cruelest chouse

no doubt there were the children
who knew not where they go
knew not how much a villain
upon this earth could grow

and pushed and shoved upon the ground
the matriarch of year threescore
who every day would knead and pound
the bread for all the poor

towards the forest's warning frame
these starving hordes were forced
as mounted beasts grinned at their game
with gunshot force endorsed

betwixt the dumbest trees
who held their heads aloof
in winter's freezing breeze
as hungry dogs cried woof

three ditches long and wide
were hacked out in the frost
and 'fore the thousands died
into thence were tossed

no doubt they'd left their clothing
in a pile so neat
as bodies decomposing
as souls their Maker meet

the shots rang out in cold air
spelt death and dark despair
as skittles to abyss
as spirit to God's kiss

the crying groans were heard long after
as night threw on its gown
like bodies swinging from the rafter
like ghosts around the town

the devil's fiendish laughter
sought this world to drown
in this and in hereafter
he'd knocked off G-dly crown
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge:
#urbane
True story of my father's home-town [Glogow, Poland]. Thousands massacred in Glogow Forest, including the matriarch in the story, my great grandmother.
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