"appends" poems
(By Sir William Topaz Crawford-McGonagall, Poet and Tragedian, Grand Knight of the Pink Garter)
'Twas a Monday morning, in late February
When the clouds were covering London, thick, dark and heavy
(A beautiful city, when the sun is shining,
But not if it rains when people are out dining)
And waking up in the morning and looking at the sky
I felt quite sad, and moved to sigh
Because not only was the weekend over
(Which, having to go to work, I easily did discover)
But alas! the darkness made to sink my mood
(And that was not very good
For being in a low mood takes away my joy
And makes me feel like a grumpy and unhappy boy)
An Lo! The forecast was for more to come
Until Saturday or Sunday, at least, no chance to see the sun
I tried to think of things to do
Which would, perhaps, make me feel a little less blue
Despairing of the weather, I set to work
(Because in order to earn money to pay the bills, one must not shirk)
And bent like a Trojan to my labours
Hoping that happiness would be repaid as a favour
And slowly - oh joy and great day! - my mood it turned
And the harder I worked, the brighter it burned
So now I do not worry about the weekend
Because after the week which it subsequently sends
Another weekend itself there appends
And it all seems to work out quite well in the end
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
If gloom descends; Capsicum appends:
Removing dooms in plumes of red lumens.
Biological conversion from stagnation to movement.
Shaman, brother, lover, friend.
Bold holistic resolute.
Unequivocally coalesced in this; a magnificent fruit.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 10:58 PM UTC
Autumn racing red and gold
behind half-open eyes of icy blue.
27th Fall. Step into cold
and race through
alleyways I've known.
A crunching stride, solitary breaths.
Staccato notes
banged out on sidewalks' grey scales...
...I'm every inch
of this softened ground,
these shoe treads, hieroglyphics...
...My town appends
its runic fate
onto
my story's granite page.
Crisping air, engulf my lungs.
Ensconce my face in drowsy weather.
Sleepy eyelids, sliding down
to Main & Dow Street. Watch me hover
along the margins.
These last 4 months of quiet aching
engraved in me come roaring out now.
Autumn streets stay silent.
And Kendrick Park
has whispered low
in bashful rustling;
I climb the boardwalk,
my thoughts are gilded,
responding slowly.
The breeze abates,
it's halfway warm.
Bellevue & Lewis
I am a statue;
smooth, cold marble,
still in November.
And, soon, the Summer comes with angry glares.
And, soon, this stony face will disappear.
These months will always linger in me.
Does my ghost haunt this place already?
I'll return here every Autumn when
October signs off on the Summer's death.
And I'll be tracing all your features with
forgotten footsteps' ancient hieroglyphs...
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC