"convivial" poems
amidst Jeffersonian opulence
the Prez broke bread with his
GOP poker face friends
to solve government gridlock
and sequester predicament trends
citizens of the republic
hopeful for nonsense to cease
sat at the table asking
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Obama perused the wine list
boldly choosing a luscious Merlot
senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres
the guests were all aglow
numerous delectable dishes
were liberally splayed on the table
revelers sipped flowing vintages
wine a surefire icebreaker
sparkling crystal Lennox flutes
tinkled with convivial release
while America’s disenfranchised
voices ask
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
chutney meat, curried hens and
sweet walnut rainbow trout
the table a horn a plenty
the guests gorged on fine cuisine
a blessed nations bounty
the feast consumed
the Senators sated
said it was some
of the finest ever served
but the taxpayers only
got a peak of the banquet
a whiff of senators nerve
and asked
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
the dessert cart was rolled in
with custards, cakes, creme brulee
cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes
rounded out the wholesome feast
when the check was presented
for payment all guests headed
for the door with haste
they told the waiter the bill of fare
was covered
by the guy asking...
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Music Selection:
Andre Williams:
Pass The Biscuits Please
jbm
Oakland
3/7/13
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Two old Bachelors were living in one house;
One caught a Muffin, the other caught a Mouse.
Said he who caught the Muffin to him who caught the Mouse,--
'This happens just in time! For we've nothing in the house,
'Save a tiny slice of lemon nd a teaspoonful of honey,
'And what to do for dinner--since we haven't any money?
'And what can we expect if we haven't any dinner,
'But to loose our teeth and eyelashes and keep on growing thinner?'
Said he who caught the Mouse to him who caught the Muffin,--
'We might cook this little Mouse, if we had only some Stuffin'!
'If we had but Sage andOnion we could do extremely well,
'But how to get that Stuffin' it is difficult to tell'--
Those two old Bachelors ran quickly to the town
And asked for Sage and Onions as they wandered up and down;
They borrowed two large Onions, but no Sage was to be found
In the Shops, or in the Market, or in all the Gardens round.
But some one said,--'A hill there is, a little to the north,
'And to its purpledicular top a narrow way leads forth;--
'And there among the rugged rocks abides an ancient Sage,--
'An earnest Man, who reads all day a most perplexing page.
'Climb up, and seize him by the toes!--all studious as he sits,--
'And pull him down,--and chop him into endless little bits!
'Then mix him with your Onion, (cut up likewise into Scraps,)--
'When your Stuffin' will be ready--and very good: perhaps.'
Those two old Bachelors without loss of time
The nearly purpledicular crags at once began to climb;
And at the top, among the rocks, all seated in a nook,
They saw that Sage, a reading of a most enormous book.
'You earnest Sage!' aloud they cried, 'your book you've read enough in!--
'We wish to chop you into bits to mix you into Stuffin'!'--
But that old Sage looked calmly up, and with his awful book,
At those two Bachelors' bald heads a certain aim he took;--
and over crag and precipice they rolled promiscuous down,--
At once they rolled, and never stopped in lane or field or town,--
And when they reached their house, they found (besides their want of Stuffin',)
The Mouse had fled;--and, previously, had eaten up the Muffin.
They left their home in silence by the once convivial door.
And from that hour those Bachelors were never heard of more.
3k
Stepping into the pristine, gentle atmosphere; truth hanging from the intricate crystal chandelier full of endless glow and luster - mischievously placed structure conspicuously elevating wonder
Full of flashing, coruscating shimmer enthusiastically engaging the convivial space; evoking a spontaneous internal unfolding mirroring the perpetual suffering connected to the chosen impeding of spirit’s copious interweaving.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Monk tinks tonight
fine glasses clink
convivial banter
bubble pop blink
in breathing rooms
bit woofed and stirred
the smoke mint sound
we dare exhale
Monk swings about
a bell do ding
the huey blues
bird bops on wings
hips juicy moves
rubby mounds wet ****
slow drum rolls blow
dance steady bump
Monk rocks the house
the clock do tick
me feets be tappin
gonna busta trick
key ******* bounce
mouths all agape
we gettin down
like crazy apes
Monk’s muzik rides
a sonorous beam
levitatin hipsters
to places unseen
gosh groovy tunes
a **** good gig
we all stoked up
Monk we do dig
Monk played alright
some swingin tunes
Happy B Day Monk
you over the moon
Thelonious Monk
(October 10, 1917 - February 17, 1982)
Thelonious Monk
with John Coltrane
Trinkle ******
10/9/13
Suffern
jbm
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Over eight years a family friend,
his daily antics always on display,
morning and afternoon walks and talks,
his joyful baths in his small pond while
he playfully bobbed and dove beneath
the spray of my garden hose.
This was no human being,
a handsome Mallard Duck instead.
The self proclaimed King
of our barnyard clan,
always strolling and patrolling the
grounds, waiting for us, quacking
his greetings, excitingly flapping
his flightless wings at our approach.
His loneliness petticoat showing, he
followed everywhere, seemed to live
merely to be in our company, eat corn
from our hands, living precious minutes
of needed shared congeniality.
Two morning ago he was not there,
we searched and called his name
but he had completely disappeared.
A coyote perhaps, or bird of prey
our King taken and gone away.
Our lives are diminished by his loss,
Though only a bird, he was our
dear companion, a convivial friend.
I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Today I mourn his loss.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
Reading the other day,
an article about some,
Renowned fellow's notion,
On the study of "Human,
Productive Locomotion".
A reputed Authorty,
of "Time Management",
His main proclivity being,
The belief in his increasing,
Other peoples productivity.
Modulating their all too,
common Human tendency,
For naturally wasting time,
and non productive energy.
Him asserting himself to be,
a self styled know it all,
Bonafied Expert in Efficiency.
Now I can see,
How it might be,
That this type of study,
Offers some relevancy,
For the Barons of Industry,
What with them regulating,
The flow, While streamlining,
and furthering the advance,
of all things, relating to commerce.
A purely Scientific belief,
For the primary benefit,
Of the Time Clocks sake,
And all those Bosse's
Emotional financial betterment.
But what on earth,
did that have to do,
with an old retired,
fool like me?
What matter that,
I merely sit and think,
for hours at a time.
Read the paper,
or a book,
Computer chat,
or cook?
Putter in my garden,
Or gratefully just stare,
at big billowing clouds,
or rainbows in the air.
Or perhaps I choose,
to hug my wife,
Or chase my Grand
Kids up a tree,
Maybe grab a nap,
Or even take a ***
Pet my dog,
Or have a Beer.
Watch the Tube,
a little bit,
Or congregate to meditate,
with a convivial group of friends.
Maybe take a walk,
Down by the river.
Get out my old,
Bow and Quiver.
Wash my car,
Cut some grass,
Go to my writing class.
Slip on down,
to the " Red Dog Saloon"
Where I'll promenade,
A little Texas Two Step.
Come home in time,
To unwind and,
watch some David Letterman.
What's efficient,
and what is not?
Clearly, that interpretation,
Is completely up to me.
No Efficiency Expert needed.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
He touched our hands
But unconcernedly this famous man
And would not look us in the eye
For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection
And we could hardly blame him, for after all
He had each day been singled out for close inspection
By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity
Circled in the shade of his perfection
Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity
Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan
He wore blue jeans
And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof
Of his coolness and unconcern
While we his audience with concealed attention
Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously
Imitating in each phrase that low convention
Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties
And nodded several times in bright pretension
Made small amendments to our smiles and lies
Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine
He gave a speech
A flippant interview, this famous creature
A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche
Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial
Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs
A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual
Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone
At interlocutor women with the pens and pads
Delivered in a low and purring monotone
For all the world as lovers, each to each
He stretched a smile
A modulated shift of teeth and beard
"Genius? Not I" with deprecation
"My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral"
Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion
While we assumed an elegance, unintentional
A nonchalance that shields the wide charades
Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional
Genuflection to the the notion that pervades
Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.
He kissed their cheeks
And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence
But absently, as if he cared so little
In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir'
And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds
Creative and creator, irredeemably a star
With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring
At his retreating back in Stark excitement
In the middle of the circling and squaring, at
The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
*Below the emerald mountaintops,
Guardians of the ocean breeze,
One finds a valley of fair crops,
Delicate soil, & buzzing bees.
Convivial whips of sunlight
Stroke lavish groves of hardy trees.
On every branch, hidden from sight,
Fruit slumber underneath the leaves.
It is no wonder that Steinbeck
Cherished his California roots;
The land of viridescent trek,
Unyielding sunshine, & fresh fruits.
Here placid air unbinds the chains
Which hinder a poetic mind.
Away from life’s rigorous strains,
Deep thoughts are vividly defined.
In the midst of the Salinas Valley,
Ideas amass wings with which to soar...*
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
recently in a women's magazine
I read an article
about the Duchess of Cornwall
being most ungracious
toward Princess Mary of Denmark
*the Duchess can be a very catty *****
especially when Charles
is eyeing something of more appeal
but Camilla seems to have forgotten
her come hither days
when she was conducting
an affair with the Prince of Wales
under his wife's nose
the protocols in royal circles
have become less civil
and it is about time
she on her high horse
was more convivial
where the crown
and matters of state
are paramount
the Queen should avail
her son's missus
of a polite dismount
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
My heart - delicate,
and malleable
undulates
within two poles,
seamlessly juxtaposed -
beauty and affliction
capricious container-
truth and fiction;
the sheer surfeit
of choice
reverberates with
imperious diversion,
settled invitation-
loud and shiny things.
Hard to breathe,
I'm in exile
slave to my emotions,
obsequious and servile
barren, cold and mute
existence - the brute;
tilted reminiscence,
scars of loss
contrive frames
around moments -
footprints,
interminable -
being and time.
Infinite deity,
triune polyphony
artist of sublimity
smearing shades
of loneliness,
vestiges of faith,
to retrieve
hues of meaning;
oddly convivial
prophets
of reprieve.
Orpheus lost Eurydice
palpable discordancy
suffused in time
could not resolve
without verse
decidedly sonorous,
canvas showered pain,
splashed
Jackson Pollack stain
Love - onerous,
deep beneath
the veneer,
it's mercy severe.
Fiction from the first
Eden‘s fatal gift,
lucidity cursed
altered cosmos murmur,
parlance of
disordered elegance;
effusive language,
phrasing art nouveau
tacit script;
ensconced within
the fabric;
create a Thirst
torment - visceral
and immediate.
Ardor and innocence
once quenched,
render
pathos in proportion
to the pleasure,
conveyance of beatitude
The past absorbed
into the treasure,
Inscrutable Heart -
devotion and turpitude
desire, loathing and paucity
affinity in abundance,
fear and doubt
inhabit certitude.
©2009 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 11:19 AM UTC
Day 1: Blithe
(bl-I-the); happy or joyous
"I'm sorry but I'm rather blithe right now. It was nice to meet you."
Day 7: Convivial
(kon-viv-ve-ul); friendly, lively, or enjoyable
"The room spikes from dull to absolutely convivial just from your precence, darling."
Day 15: Pulchritudinous
(puhl-kri-tood-n-uhs); extreme physical beauty
"You look absolutely pulchritudinous tonight."
Day 16: Love
(luhv); an intense feeling of deep affection
"I love you."
Day 30: Veridical
(vuh-rid-i-kuhl); truthful; veracious
"This isn't how it used to be, if i'm being completely veridical"
Day 45: Simulacrum
(sim-yuh-ley-crum); a slight, unreal, or superficial likeness
"You were just a simulacrum for real love!"
Day 49: Lugubrious
(luh-goo-bre-us); full of sorrow or sadness
"Will the lugubrious feelings ever stop?"
Day 50: goodbye
(good-bi); used to express good wishes when parting
"Goodbye..."
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
the moon shines because it reflects the light from your eyes.
the leaves & the wind dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat.
the moon follows your thoughts, and shines brighter at your every attempt to understand the glowing trail of a thousand fireflies.
i sketch your movements from above a tree, and confess to heaven. i said, ‘Lord, thank you for taking your time’.
the flowers of the night delineate your captivating rhythm.
rain clouds gather. raindrops entwine your thighs, and oh my, what a deep waterfall. your soul convokes the sparrows of the deep, convivial spirit.
free spirit. not even the law of gravity can stand you, angel. even though your wings are invisible, i can imagine you fly.
heavens confession: they took the time to mold you. create you.
and you glimmer in a graceful grassland, and the roses listen attentively to your voice.
a voice made up of beautiful dreams & broken promises.
heavens advice: never leave your happiness to someone else. otherwise you’ll be left broken.
only time can explain your he(art).
a pen & a paper are not enough to describe you.
they ran away from your words, they couldn’t understand but i do.
and i will with every ounce of my being, try to decode you.
i’ll stay light on this one. angel, you’re beautiful. you’re real.
heavens advice: stay you. stay true. you’re beautiful.
these words were not adequate to describe you.
you made a pretty good first impression.
p.s – this was heavens confession.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Sitting on my porch,
A refreshing morning
Breeze gentling blowing,
Conveying aromatic scents
Of yard plants blooming,
The hum of fluttering Bee’s
Seeking Nectar among them.
The songs of early birds
punctuating all this convivial congeniality.
You can not purchase a ticket
to this particular show at any price.
Other than say,
An invitation to sit beside me.
Young dog at my feet,
Him with full tummy,
Basking in the sun.
I can almost see a smile on his face.
Already he knows how to live.
There is tranquility here,
In my yard,
Among these plants and trees,
This grass so green, still fresh
With drops of recent rain a dripping,
The ethereal scent,
Of now wet earth arising.
No real need to go a traveling,
Far or even near a field.
I have almost all I need and want,
Right here in my yard,
on this porch of mine.
There is one other strong sensation here,
It is my feelings of utter contentment.
The simple things are always the best.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Staring at the mirror,
not recognizing who i am
Exasperation in my blood
Indignation in my heart
Debriefing myself wouldnt work
Millions of disparate dots
Refuting everything i believed in
Reverencing my thoughts
Living in an inferno of darkness,
Searching for happiness
Trying to be convivial in,
The clutter of melancholy
Nix spirit,mettle,temperament
With fried skull,cold feet
Staring at the mirror,
not recognizing who i am.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
You came to me a morning star
You offered me infinity
I, bedazzled,
took your hand
We revolved around the sun
You ushered me to
an endless sea of possibilities
That was how you called it
That was how you used to tell me
You held me,
playing careful defense
A paladin
A sparrow to her nest
I, affected with great wonder
Mindlessly bathed the silken water
Drowned myself in the soft
bubbles of the crashing waves
Not bedeviled by troubles
nor disturbance, nor distress
You walked ahead of me
As if protecting me
from the swelling crests
or from the cold, or
from the salt that filled my chest
I, spellbind
influenced by your charms
and your incantations
Moved rakishly along
your convivial course
Unto your heavens
Unto your hell
Into your fire
Into your soul
that was what you said
That was how you used to tell me
I believed
I accepted in veracity
And I watched, a sentinel
As you moved in rhythmic steps
and playful gestures
Until I was confounded by
your intricate motion
I, caught in a whirling sensation
Imperiled by a tendency to fall
Was carried into your
nauseous complexity
I, paralyzed by my perplexity
You venerated me, you said
Or that was how you used to tell me
Yet, I was disconnected and
I, an amazed audience,
stood enthralled
Or was I merely standing in stunned silence?
Stupefied
Yet disconnected?
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
teal and golden rays
in your eyes
managed, clean-cut hair
presentable, charming
barely a stranger despite
short times together
your company is healing
you're a character, that's for sure
an impressionist, eccentric
convivial like myself
we stand outside and
happily inhale poison
pretending we're awkward
being awkward
good friends we
have become
in such a short time-span
mutual agreement to
enjoy who we are
together
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
At times I wish I was a
dolphin free swimming
and frolicking in the sea,
in the convivial company
of others just like me.
Free of debt or strife,
wars and the endless prattle
of human beings, who think
themselves so very supreme
over all other living things.
If only wishes could come true.
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
wom·an
/ˈwo͝omən/
1. a woman’s issues of god-tier poetry cannot be treated by carving her into more aesthetic form of stanza as defined by an unconscious poet, nor can she be bent into a more intellectually acceptable shape by those who claim to be the sole bearers of poetry.
(w) heartsick saints and sinners.
(o) a ballbuster and untarnished empress.
(m) black bouquets and red roses.
(a) bleeding screams and convivial memories.
(n) fixed and broken sanities.
2. angel's darling won't make a woman less than poetry, add and reduce nothing, hades will mixed heaven and hell for persephone and the latter will just smile while mixing your body and your coffin together.
3. warning!!!
"a woman is a dangerous poetry that can destroy your existence in any angle."
(w) 90 degrees to an inclined surface and that will make her ************ poison you.
(o) 160 degrees to a slope surface and that will make her use your genital ***** as her pen.
(m) **** a+b raised to the power of 2 when a woman is powerful than any numbers written in math textbooks.
(a) let's set aside fuckery and solve the mystery of how queen elizabeth built an empire without a king.
(m) ___________________(let's leave this blank, for a woman is a mysterious poetry.)
4. a woman is a poetry, add or reduce her stanzas and she will still remain as poetry.
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 8:06 PM UTC
Buoyant afterglow.
Earshot piano.
Empathetic sympathy.
Unseasoned hearth.
Bygone... Convivial.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
<>
(for patty m)
*"always love hearing from you,
it's like a kiss in the wind"*
we are intimate
though never ever close,
but faithful closer
familiar,
though our convivial roads
are uncrossed, except and accept
in the delicate pearl inlay
of our poesy path
our common way station,
where can we exchange private confidentialities
publicly, above and beyond,
the plain and ordinary everyday
intimacies
from the balcony of the sixteenth floor,
I can see the horizons holding
our shared land together.
the wind blows by,
from the Atlantic crossing,
continuing on its
westward ** way
wind comes inquiring as is its wont,
as a faithful and familiar evening-tide messenger,
desirous, needy for its wantings fufillment,
to be a deliverer of
deliverances and
all kind of tidings,
sent by the
in absentia
I post a poem
the letters scatter heavenward,
no worries,
the amorphous wind,
will Oz like
reassemble them
in holy order and
brush them
across your face,
tickle the lips and eyelashes,
still moist from
missing a man who was
intimate different,
in a lifetime way
and that kiss,
that postage paid,
the meager cost
the wind receives,
for a mission well accomplished,
is transferred to you and yours
to enable you to decode
this implausibly but-all-to
plausible,
devoted message
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
You are not visiting me
You are staring at murky terrain
Which underneath holds a hallow husk
Turn around in your five inch heels
Make your way back home
If you yearn for my presence
Look into the infinite whirlpool
Of indigos sapphires and celeste
Wave to a mass of white wisps
Remember that I’m always with you
I’m the squeak from your shoe on a rainy day
To instill everlasting confidence
I’m the splash from your cannonball in hot July
To inspire extraordinary inner youth
I’m the generous breeze that blows the same night
To remind you of compassion
I’m your one piece of hair that stays out of place
To show you that imperfection is angelic
I’m the excess of softness in your cotton jacket
To comfort you in dour times
Remember that I will always be your anchor
I will be the reason your Facebook goes blank
When there’s still schoolwork to be done
I will be the flat tire on your pink mini
During that dismal drunken night
I will be the espresso between
Those extensive college hours
I will be that dazzling glimmer
On the ring that he picks out
I will be the tear in your honey-cinnamon eyes
When you say your vows
I will be the one to whisper “grow”
In your unborn child’s ear
So don’t ever go back to that wretched place
You are not visiting me, you never will
From this moment, until
The end of your convivial journey,
I will be visiting you
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
The burning of eyes late in the afternoon.Longing for those convivial feelings,One knows exists in the distance of time.Friday is what all say the day is calledYet this feels untrue untill the day itself is near its end.A waste?The day waited on for so long.A silence comes across the room whenThis thought enthralls the mind.Such joy in the morning!Yet one feels nothing near thisUntil late late in the afternoon.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
At the genesis of eternity,
Immortal love was born
When Matahari and Bulan were born,
Matahari is blazing fire;
Bulan is black ice,
The four seasons began their cycle
According to the positions of Bulan and Matahari
The conception of Fire and Ice
Gave birth to time
Matahari was born inert and golden,
With a radiance which makes Bulan snow-white;
Bulan would have been but a bleak bloat
Of darkness without Matahari
DEAR Matahari, our love is an airborne wisp;
Swept and whirled by Nature,
It flies in the air like a flight feather,
With not a care
About where its bearer takes it;
Swaying in this, and that way
Coincidence being rare,
It is only at full moon,
When I can trip upon your beam
And gladly embrace the ‘Light of Honour’’
Oh, my dear Bulan;
Our destiny was predetermined before creation
Our love is not easy to nurture
You have been the centre of my orbit,
And I have orbited all my life,
I dance around you Matahari,
Oh how I would love to dance a tango with you!
I have made myself vulnerable,
And have laid myself bare before you.
What effort have you made to reach out for me my love?
I will not lament over the brevity of life,
We are the elements of time,
We are time itself my dear
Each step I take as I orbit
Gives birth to the second,
Minute,
Days,
Months;
And years
I know eclipse is not enough Bulan,
But in our helpless passion,
I have chosen to shield you from my vehement desire;
But have hurt you in trying to protect you.
In my inertness
I have chosen to give life, warmth and light.
To give life is to love,
But is to love to give?
Matahari,
It’s the pain of separation,
There is a chimera chasing me,
I wish it would catch up with me soon.
It is a dream of us spiralling
Into some convivial space of the universe,
Dancing a tango
It is a dream of you holding me close
Unceasingly whispering endearments,
And I, gasping, moaning; melting…
Should the dream ever materialize?
Can Fire ever dance with Ice?
I do not know.
Love is long-suffering,
*Love is patient and kind,
True love is immortal.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
a man of letters
who pens
upon
trivial matters in convivial inns
where his life is spent
almost invariably
in tatters ..
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC