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JoJo Nguyen Jan 2013
Walking down the streets of Rome,
I saw a curious sight.
There, sitting at an expensive
street side cafe was a gentleman
distinguished in age,
surrounded by beautiful women,
but seated next to a tiny,
30 centimeter tall ******,
who was obviously crazy,
or as you might say in Italian,
a pazzo.

My fascination overcame shyness,
and I approached the man
to introduce myself.
To my surprise, he invited me to sit,
and enjoy coffee with him.

He already knew my coy curiosity,
and when latte arrived
he began to tell me
his strange tale of wandering
on the sands of Arabia.

On a starry, Gethsemanean night,
after supper with friends,
he wandered into the acrid sands
and stumbled upon an ancient
lamp.

He picked it up beneath the moonlight sky,
and in a jestful mood rubbed it
hoping to find a miracle to ease
his troubles.

To his surprise, a green-hue jinn,
sprang forth from the ancient
lips of a forgotten lamp,
to grant him three wishes.

Gathering wit, and wonder
he pondered good fortunate
short and long, before asking
his wishes:

"Please, mighty jinn with the light
green hair, grant me
fortune, so I may live the rest of my life
in comfort."
In a swirl of misty memories
he was transported to ancient Rome
and watched as random events
were tilted in his favor until
he sat at this cafe a powerful and rich man.

Pleased with himself,
he stared into twinkling jade eyes,
and said:
"I lounge in carefree wealth, but
I cannot not buy true Beauty. Please, powerful jinn,
let beautiful women surround me and tend to my needs."
Once again, back to Christmas past
he watched all the beautiful women
of his desire being collected,
and bound to one single ring
of power, to serve, obey, and
grant all his carnal desires.

I envied him there sitting in
Armani suit, with twelve pairs of sensuous
legs longingly waiting upon his
every wish.

My fantasy of an exchanged life
ended quickly with cold champagne.
That crazy, diminutive pazzo,
had in lunacy decided to wet everyone's dreams
with real spurts of fizzy Prosecco.

I turned to my host to beg
a question, but he had the answer
already. In tired voice, he responded,
"you wonder why I keep a 30 centimeter Pazzo
with me at all times?"
"That was a misunderstanding he said,
but you can only wish upon a jinn once."
"Che cazzo!"
Ian G Kennedy Mar 2018
Ian Kennedy and Pavle Pavlović

As Sol the Rouge begins to rise,
it warms Eve’s heart, but Downs her eyes.
A dusty halo round the flame
will touch the dunes and dawn proclaim,
as distant dusty storms reflect
on Eve’s dry eye and her deject.
To get up now it is her task –
No more in Sol-light can she bask.

You must recall: it was Eve’s Gran
who went to Mars to start a clan.
From little pool Eve chose her Buzz
and paired with him, who was her cuzz.
Through porthole now Eve sees no wood,
nor earthy ground for motherhood.
With hasty zeal space courier flies;
A sandy landing ’fore her eyes.

So, as the dawn of morn is broke,
our Eve then hops, with grace unspoke,
goes out of base to Lander Stop
to fetch the parcel she does hop.
Her ‘FedEx’ was by Earth prepaid,
and on this day had come her AID,  
by careful voyage, with prosp’rous end,
the ***** arrived that Earth did send!

Low-G and man-made air do need
the seed to make a better breed.
Incestuously is not a scheme:
a gene pool needs a brand new stream.
We want no feeble Mars-strain seed,
So A.I.Dee is for the deed.
From Earth doth come the flow of genes
as bottled stuff – you know the means!

To make the Martians extra strong
The Earth Decreed all inbreeds wrong:
All ***** from Earth-bound men must come.
Through outer space it must have swum!
In DNA do secrets lie,
tho’ some do think that fated sky
will give them scope to freely screen
the final flux of wanted gene.

“I’m not at ease, but lurk and look –
  I peer at pack from Earthly nook.
  Where linger ye, my family lift
  to proffer me some needed gift
  of fruit or nuts and comfort care?
  The time is right to use what’s there?
  No creature comfort do I need.
  My friends, I’m ready for some seed!”

“My boy must have my Buzz’s face,
  and then our girl should have his grace.
  A pigeon pair with rusty hair,
  and maybe also one as spare.
  We want his freckles on each cheek,
  that all who pass-by touch and tweak.
  Buzz wants them looking just like he
  yet also really be like me!”
                                                        
The­ season’s winds bring rain and freeze
and stirs up dust with just a breeze.
And when Sol’s power does make it soar,
the wind behind rolls more before.
If’s no heat from sunless sky,
with daylight gone, the storm does die.
Unlike her feelings which grow strong,
uprooting thoughts of what is wrong.

The storm now sounds like raging ire,
and echoes of her inner fire.
As sand blocks Sol for just a while,
it’s just so long that she’s fertile.
With redhead Buzz she wants to splurge.
To break Decree she now has urge.
“I need a gravid tum, now mine’s too thin!
  A child by him: I need to sin?”

To lock herself to Earthly Kit
and shrug off worry just a bit?
But she recalls her lover’s eyes
as endless hormones swell and rise.
“Here is The Kit for you to use”.
“I do detest! I do refuse!
Then fast it dawned on me.” – she smiled –
“I’ll flip the way to have my child.”

“ So at a juncture here I stand,
  with earthy Kit in my right hand.
  Now let me throw it out as trash,
  and see Kit burn to light gray ash!
  For we are first to break Decree.
  Oh gosh, it’s us! My god, it’s me!
  On Mars it is a primal crime!
  ’Hind bars might we be held to time?”

Unlike the Martian pioneer race,
they can no longer pick their place.
Air in the base is made for breath,
for outer air is instant death.
So Eve and Buzz are in the can.
And who’s to blame? It was their gran!
The Space Base is completely jail!
(Nor could they ever raise some bail.)

As red sky flares in real turn
then Earth’s old rules do curl and burn.
While sky does grow in ****** glow
Her love for Buzz will drive the flow.
“’Tis I, the bandit, burned The Kit,
with Buzz my man! To Earth: ‘Go flit!’
Like clarion storm I’ll shout, Rejoice!
and fiercely punch the air with voice.”

“This is the daybreak of my life!
  Tonight I really will be wife.
  I know this is my true found right –
  No more for me, moist tears at night.
  Instead, I spread some happy joy
  towards my big and beaming ‘boy’.
  O, Oh! how happy we are free,
  just jestful, zestful, Buzz and me!"

Next E-mail from the Earth appears,
and has our happy pair roll tears.
“A flaw was found in chromosome  
On all accounts must ***** succumb”!
“My heart confirms that right’s my choice:
  oh, come with me, let us rejoice!
  Today Mars broke the Earth’s Decree
  Last night we loved in our low-G!”

Next Sol does rise – Eve’s hopes do too,
as thoughts begin for Martian coup.
“Can women have new Martian Law
  to stop the rules that have a flaw?”  
“The Laws of Eve on Mars now reign
  and Earth does not its Laws ordain.
  From Earth it is today we deign
  that laws of Earth and Mars are twain.”

-----------------
Legal opinion: Eve's love-making was incestuous in two ways as it 1) involved having excessive intimacy in one third gravity 2) was with Buzz, her third generation cousin, which was against the reigning Earth Rule. (She escaped sanctions by going on to found the Martian Unilateral Declaration of Independence!)
This is unique co-poetry was written with Pavle Pavlović.
Poetic T Jan 2016
Cheerful glee at what was persuaded with marshmallow
Eyes plucked upon a branch and then roasted with what
Could be seen, as shock set in shaking like a piñata

Hot sauce marinated and then these emerald whites toasted
Just right, Chewing on the gate way to their inner self. I always
Found them chewy like calamari, I wonder if they see it all.

Taking fingers on their throat, I check for a pulse, then I jump
A mile in another's shoes as there hand clenching on mine.

"Help me,
                 "Please,
                             "I heard them leave?

Cheerful thoughts persist on a serrated edge, like a donkey
Chasing a stringed carrot I heed their words,

"Who did this to you,
                                       "Are they still near,
                                                         ­                "I'll get help wait here,

Running in to the woods circling around I skip In jestful glee,
I  walk back and scream in terrified murmurs.
"No please I wont tell I promis......,

Screams echo like rainbows through the trees, but no one
Will hear them, no *** of gold at the end of this echo, maybe
Pie, this work is hungry. Cherrie I eat as I watch them squirm.

I see the milk of life ebbing out of them feeding the earth like
Crimson cornflower it coagulates. I have a primordial urge
To taste upon the hunt, I have tasted before, succulent like chicken.

But I look around such beauty chestnut trees remind me of youth
So much has changed but stayed the same. I look at what is passed
And like the past all things end, whispering in ears hushed thoughts.

"Nothing personal its just that time of the month,
"I need to do this I don't know you, but I needed your eyes,
"You see i don't, but with each one i consume i see a little more,
"You will not gaze again but i will thanks to the feed,

I hate seeing this part as i lift a branch and close
The other gate way, not much force is needed just
A sturdy branch.

They gyrate for a moment then silence and I see my misgivings
But they gave me their gift now i see and next time I will use
A little less hot sauce as my sight burns a little to much.

Well see you all again and thankyou for looking through
My eyes did you like what you saw what was seen.
Yenson Jul 2019
If the mill laborers know what I know
about celestial being as known in jestful pun
these clowns of the roving feral s casting lore of dubious yarns
thinking imbecility resides in all as they resides in it
the assumptions of wishful vacuous to fester mind
if the opaque laborers know what I know
their aims redundant as always eggs would wear faces
and pointless endeavors will carry owned banners
the over thirty years jokers still blinded to the reverse
Hail the laborers at the mill, hail the jokers with witless tastes
they sabotaged lifts and all walked but nothing was gained
they huffed and puffed and blew themselves to absurdity
they planned and plotted only to see boredom engulfed the crowd
theirs is to do the foot-slog, ours is to laugh at the Wigan pier
what is idle rest, I laid my hay long ago and made my peace
If the mill laborers know what I know
they will see wasters working hard to make more waste
for theirs is to work and fret, fret and work
from birth till death to ghosts already pale from .....

— The End —