Having been lost in eyes not meant to be found
Bound tightly emotions not meant to surround
The margin that fractions insaneness and Love
That outlines and contours the one I speak of

That borders the patterns defining her face
That playfully teases a careful retrace
That courses her body through each of her curves
And serves now as comfort for unsettled nerves

For now feeling lingers eager to embrace
The space it was once deemed unfit to encase
Through chance and through cryptical forces above
Love's passion retaliates through Destiny's shove

And the push with its knowledge finds in second round
Only loosely leashed are emotions unbound
And with unfirm restraint, and her tentative sighs
Surprised both are we to be lost in our eyes

When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!

So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.

To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm?  Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.

My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!

So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?

Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.

Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.

Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!

If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.

Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!

So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!


Rhymer.  July 10th, 2018.

(Your turn Jim!)

as the **** of A.C./D.C. have degenerated eclectical currents ******
I stuff my both nostrils with onion skins to obliterate feeling sneezy
My bleeding heart has been knotted, contorted & tangled dead after
finding that Frederique van der Wal works as a bouncer called Fred
My old heart's been knotted, mangled & tangled dead after learning
that Frederique van der Wal knocks heads as a bouncer named Fred
I wanna be your lesbian play-thing in ways digestively pancreatical
until I am gynecologically unfit to be your **** purely diagnostical
as from within our vulvae sprout puffy cysts fleshed pseudocystical
that swing on the periphery of benignant wens gone neoplasmatical
in Chicago slaughter houses where each & every delicious pig *****
on old concrete floors that are made no less **** by porcine *******
that pop unpropped as popped polyp polypus polypusi possibly pop
in fashion with cryptical fashion that sits slower than soles at a stop

'Twas the night before the Big Bang, when all through the void
Some notions were stirring, towards Darwin and Freud
Superstitions rejected and hung out to rot
It’s shocking how quick we completely forgot
Where cryptical symbols were sacredly spoken
The stories upended and images broken
From out of such Chaos, a chariot of Truth
An empirical prancing of paws on the roof
Now, Newton! Now, Einstein! Now, Herr Oppenheimer!
Now listen! the odious tick of the timer
From the Apple of Knowledge forsaking the plums
For probable visions and practical sums
When wisdom, by Turing, is put to the test
Then where are those letters to Santa addressed?
If coal from the mischievous miscreant’s stocking
Keeps motors of industry ticking and tocking
Then icecaps will vanish from under the elves
And Bezos will eagerly fill up our shelves
So with glittering objects and shiny bright trophies
We bid you Good Luck with a train of emojis

I keep my neck below my head so that my head rests not dislocated
above Bruce Jenner's extreme estrogenetical ******* unabated
as the **** of A.C./D.C. have degenerated eclectical currents ******
I stuff my both nostrils with onion skins to obliterate feeling sneezy
My bleeding heart has been knotted, contorted & tangled dead after
finding that Frederique van der Wal works as a bouncer called Fred
My old heart's been knotted, mangled & tangled dead after learning
that Frederique van der Wal knocks heads as a bouncer named Fred
I wanna be your lesbian play-thing in ways digestively pancreatical
until I am gynecologically unfit to be your **** purely diagnostical
as from within our vulvae sprout puffy cysts fleshed pseudocystical
that swing on the periphery of benignant wens gone neoplasmatical
in Chicago slaughter houses where each & every delicious pig *****
on old concrete floors that are made no less **** by porcine *******
that pop unpropped as popped polyp polypus polypusi possibly pop
in fashion with cryptical fashion that sits slower than soles at a stop

But you only have 10 toes. Typical.

You're so beautiful with your extra toes. Mythical.

I'll come to you. Cryptical.

I keep my neck below my head so that my head rests not dislocated
above Bruce Jenner's extreme estrogenetical ******* unabated
as the **** of A.C./D.C. have degenerated eclectical currents ******
I stuff my both nostrils with onion skins to obliterate feeling sneezy
My bleeding heart has been knotted, contorted & tangled dead after
finding that Frederique van der Wal works as a bouncer called Fred
My old heart's been knotted, mangled & tangled dead after learning
that Frederique van der Wal knocks heads as a bouncer named Fred
I wanna be your lesbian play-thing in ways digestively pancreatical
until I am gynecologically unfit to be your **** purely diagnostical
as from within our vulvae sprout puffy cysts fleshed pseudocystical
that swing on the periphery of benignant wens gone neoplasmatical
in Chicago slaughter houses where each & every delicious pig *****
on old concrete floors that are made no less **** by porcine *******
that pop unpropped as popped polyp polypus polypusi possibly pop
in fashion with cryptical fashion that sits slower than soles at a stop