"merriment" poems
Backdrop of hues from heaven's palette
Two silhouettes stood hand in hand
A pair so in love on their deserted islet
Only witnesses were the sky and the sand
Two silhouettes with roles of lovers
Frolicked forever in the setting, evening sun
Only they'd know what laid under covers
Secrets of pure passion in their blood did run
Their merriment presented bare in a playful dance
Two silhouettes engulfed in their own private universe
Kisses and embraces offered in a reciprocative trance
Dark lips matched the other's voiceless whispers
Two silhouettes then dissolved with the set of sun
Strained my eyes to unravel this sweet shadow clad mystery
Last few moments pierced through like a shot from a gun
Because I realised that one was you while the other wasn't...
me...
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
Can you feel it
Shh, allow the galaxy to pamper your body, blanket the essence of your mind, bit-by-bit
Travel on a higher awareness to understand the galaxy’s gentle gift
Close your eyes and allow your mind to softly drift
Soft Moonlight Dust
Illuminating the night skies, given warmth of its inner trust
Centered in the sky, a star abates for its enlighten ******
Kindred minds to enrapture, as souls physically adjust
So gentle, as a touch to the skin
An inner space to conquer, there an exploring craving begins
Awareness of self stirring into the constellation
Bodies attuned beyond the stretch of imagination
Savoring on the flavor of the alignment sweeten taste
Desires igniting an inferno, the heat of its flames refusing to wait
Overheated friction surrendering without debates
Runaway yearning weakening in the presence of fate
The ecstasy of the moonlight’s dust felt, abiding to the crack of dawn
Emotions of the elixir slowly withdrawn
A Cheshire moonrise
Always a sacred communion given in surprise
Masked feelings hidden behind the stars in our eyes
Sprinkles of pixie dust as the moon becomes full
Paired upon, as lace meets wool
Interwoven and tenderly spun on a galactic spool
Stars In Exile
Twinkling for eyes to glimpse beyond the earth’s smile
Canopus to Antares, oh how you make me shine
Closing my eyes, coveting your point as I’m making you mine
Settled and glittering as small diamonds binding in the sky
A wondrous elopement to experience in the blink of an eye
Soft whispers to the ones that shoot right before they fall
Such a beautiful and breathlessly cadence to wish under them all
The Gift Of The Sun’s Stroke
Umm, shooting stars kept me awoke
Relentless bodies bathing under the moon
Caresses, touches, entwined souls echoing the note of its weakening tunes
Sweeter and sweeter, deeper and deeper
Bodies fueled, hot as a heater, bodies climbing steeper and steeper
Heat consumes the interior of the temple
Sweat of life, as movements come together and then disassemble
Elated, sedated, dipping in a cool blue lagoon
Kisses under the sun on a beautiful afternoon
Temperatures rising not a moment too soon
June slamming into summer’s heat
A merriment of a sun stroke basking in the glorious feast
The galaxy and its spicy passion
A gift to the world to enjoy in any unbridled fashion
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
Sitting on a ****
Having a rest
Dreaming of wearing
A beautiful dress
Hair cascading
Red curly locks
Waste of time, who cares
There are no clocks
Awaiting a happening
With nothing in sight
Mischief merriment
Anything, even a fright
Breena, bored to death
'Tis true
Wanting only,
For something to do.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
What a historic day it is, that the birth of Motherland we celebrate,
She beautifies herself with Independence and prides in freedom;
Like a berry, Her seeds are nurtured and groomed to pomegranate,
Its the birthday of Nigeria, a tectonic day of liberation from Edom.
A day to celebrate Her sweet Autonomy and Ultimate Supremacy,
An October 1st that marks an Independent and historic liberation;
She prides herself in political Authority, Power and Predominancy,
Its the born day of Motherland, a day of a feast worthy celebration.
Let's all celebrate the birth of Nigeria, for Her age's a befitting feast,
We must unite together as One Nation built on our Elite's landmark;
This day calls for a jubilation to a lasting freedom and a vital feast,
Motherland glows with honour and pride, for her birth's a hallmark.
She fought like an Eagle with great might and valor, for the liberty
Of Her future generation, and Hero's blood a fountain of freedom,
Today we laud a Nigeria that birthed the Independence and stability
Of a Sovereign Nation, that feeds no more on the putrid of Edom.
Today marks the 56th born day of Nigeria, and still a Sovran Nation,
It calls for a celebration, a befitting feast and a historic merriment;
An October 1st that marks an Independent and historic liberation,
Its Nigeria's Independence, a day to celebrate a sweet merriment.
©Vabec.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
10.5k
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,
The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.
Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.
There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
One season ruined of your little store.
May will be fine next year as like as not:
But ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.
We for a certainty are not the first
Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled
Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed
Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.
It is in truth iniquity on high
To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,
And mar the merriment as you and I
Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave.
Iniquity it is; but pass the can.
My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore;
Our only portion is the estate of man:
We want the moon, but we shall get no more.
If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours
To-morrow it will hie on far behests;
The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours
Soon, and the soul will mourn in other *******
The troubles of our proud and angry dust
Are from eternity, and shall not fail.
Bear them we can, and if we can we must.
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
8.8k
Blades of grass shivered
As the fingers of the wind strum
A hum ever soft and hauntingly serene
Sweetest song my heart reluctantly would welcome
I stare into the minuscule expanse of land
The horizon does not exist far here...
But still my eyes would stretch
To see the obscured very clear
All alone save for the company of a lone tree
And the jovial chirps of annoying birds
On this island with very little space
Trying to find comfort in ill-arranged words
My eyes do see but my heart remains obstinate
Beauty of the universe would always invite
I could just jump and join in its merriment
But... I am just a tethered kite
I'd want to rise to the highest skies
To be one with the nature's song, composed and tuned
Alas bound to a string, I can only go so far
I am my own island,
helpless and marooned...
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
If I were ever to chance upon, a real life Genie
and being ever so kind, he granted me wishes freely
I wouldn't waste any time, and ask him quite loudly
'Give me a Flying Carpet, and make the sky cloudy!'
Astride my bed with wings, I would swiftly reach the sky
and dive through the clouds like through butter a hot knife
feeling the wind in my hair, laughing with unbridled glee
as a soaring eagle feels in the air, light, and free
Next I'd become a Lion, to roar and roam the jungles deep
Growling and tearing into poachers, and savoring the meat
I would rule all the mighty creatures, as their rightful king
and all the forest's denizens would my praises sing
Soon after I would ask for a ship, and a crew of souls brave
I would visit all lands afar, upon my Master of waves
without a single glance behind and not a spot of bother
I would see and feel and taste all the world has to offer
From above I'd go beneath, diving as a blue whale
The murky depths of the oceans whistling past my tail
All the wondrous sea dwellers, and all the buried wonders
would become a part of my enchanting under sea tale
Last of all I'd ask the genie, to build with his hand
a nation built for all the poor orphans of every land
where they eat and drink and make much merriment
and also study, play, and sleep with gladness in them
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
My brother, you quietly succumbed to death.
Why do you defeat yourself I implore?
For cruel injustice had done by poor health
To rob of good of life you may explore.
Despite our vigil you went just the same.
In times of great wonders still suffered,
With scientific breakthroughs, and what a shame.
What possible way death can be differed?
Sleep in peace in tranquility brother;
Oh, leave this world to us, to concern, to think.
Some lives toiled for many, some no other,
Some only lives on merriment and drink.
Here laid he in soil of red burial earth,
And free of cares and rest for all it's worth.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Every year to me, now and then
Families and hollies filled with merriment
Only steps away of the outside snow
Sprawling emotions underneath the mistletoe
Glisten, the pavement covered in hue
Journey of a thousand crystals falling anew
The icicle dew at the gutter lines in row
Constellation tales upon the sky-light glow
Enchant pines adored by ornaments
Treasured memories flew like a firmament
Wreaths to every door, signs of triumph & joy
Bringing glad tidings from God's little boy
Trains in and out of the winter-night
Gifts and glory offered with endless blithe
Hymns from a choir trailing every post
Greetings to an old friend even to the unknown
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
Lone walker,
In the midst of the crowd his heart was always alone.
Sank into the belly of tribulations,
Unlike the missionary journey of Jonah he was vomited into
more woes.
Like how a beautiful mountain in a wilderness thirst for tourist
So his heart was hungry for love.
If loneliness is synonymous to poverty then he deserved this cross.
Lone walker,
He lonely walked on thorns, struggled with everything, sweated blood.
He lived a life of trapped miners in a cave miles below fresh air.
Lone walker,
Rain of respite barely shower on his path.
Sun bit his skin, dews often united with his tears,
For there was no even a free den for him to rest his head.
His days were worse than the trials of Job,
For he had not even a wife to encourage him to curse God and give up the ghost.
Like an eaglet without a falcon, he was accustomed to crying for his dying talents that was hidden too deep for any scout to discover.
To him the world was empty and void of helpers
Until a moment came when he decided to abort his worries, fears and his ugly past.
In a flash he recalled the parable of the talents,
In a speed of lightning he stood and put his hidden gift into use.
I key my mind into the eyes of the reader of his biography,
As I stood in the midst of his children offspring in his burial ceremony fit for kings,
With the assurance that he is not walking alone to heaven or hell indeed
And surely his once lonely heart would be filled with merriment and peace.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
Atmosphere, the fish bowl, circling here
At most fear, someone watching, from near
by,
Atmosphere, is it failing bit by bit?
At most fear, aloneness, unable to admit,
they are?
A mouse dear, it was a mouse I fear
In this a house of cheer and merriment,
go back my friend, to your hole in the wall
it is a trap!
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
Dark chocolatey skin bears the flag of red
Coloured, a sin; these feelings are cultivated and bred
So they're brought to toil on white soil
Reminiscing the scent of their native land, the sweet patchouli oil.
As they trudge through barren land, lost hope and ****** soles mark their path
This coloured discrimination instigates fair feelings of wrath
A helplessly agitated mind and yet they stand still
With wistful eyes, devoid of their free will.
At night, they sing to themselves songs of a land far away
As they drift off to a restless sleep, dreaming of being back there someday
Scalding feelings of entitlement and vengeance have taken birth and clouded minds
Working on indigo and cotton fields, on merriment and mirth have been drawn white blinds.
No matter how clean the records, the message is loudly heard
"When looked upon as a blue jay, you can never be a mockingbird"
These words passed down through generations deny them their say
Day to night and night to day but time couldn't change the black man's dismay.
Wanted is colour in life but shunned is coloured life
This clash of colours holds no value, only adding on to people's strife
So while i stand here trying to fathom out the meaning of it all
I hope, someday, realisation will take down this coloured wall.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 2:31 AM UTC
by
rgpage.
..his feet implanted steadfast
in the pessimism of his soul.
his wandering is for naught
lest he fall short his final goal.
arms made once for reaching
hang lifeless at his side.
hands once firm and strong
now weak through injured pride.
eyes which scan horizons
for good which lay ahead.
now scan the barren waste of life
so fruitless and so dead.
a heart once big enough to house
the world so innocent from birth.
let not this heart partake in now
love's merriment and mirth.
his mind his final touch with life
the leader of his soul.
now weak or dead through inner strife
can't reach a single goal.
is there a God so cruel
to make this jest of life?
man is God's finest tool,
if this is so than why?
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
*Undulating meadows
Glimpse of the horizon
Blue and green is a contrast
Deepening colors
Sun kissed grasses
And dewdrops sparkling
Trees sway in merriment
Romancing the wind
Birds give a clarion call
Into the heart of nature
It’s a realization of different kind
Hope springs in heart
This wanderer is not lost*
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
However this Stag Tradition breathes thus far
Which works in all cases of Merriment
That Ring is no Joke; And Youth points a Star
To where your Heart will land in Sentiment
He only Encourages, Dreams and Promotes
As no Singer sang such Octave before
Mark him Stranger; Not a Contest he connotes
To challenge what had been Promised once more
Such tell, that Woolen Strings are Postulate,
A Theory already penned into Law
That Fixed Hearts are veined in Mutual Rebate
And Cupid signs both your names into Straw.
Go to Her. She has sung Poems better Written
This Bard resigns; Knowing he was Beaten.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
…These men are worth your tears:
You are not worth their merriment.
-Wilfred Owen, “Apologia Pro Poemate Meo”
When that loudmouth on the wireless machine
Alludes to Western Civilization
What does he mean? Paradise Lost? Probably not
Nor Saint Paul speaking on the Field of Mars
The Kalevala, Hagia Sophia
With its pendentives lifting up our prayers
Horatius fighting to defend his bridge
And Wilfred Owen dying bravely on his
Lord Tennyson and Idylls of the King
Chapultepec, Henry V, Becket
The paratroops at Arnhem, Saint Thomas More,
His King’s loyal servant, but God’s first
The Stray Dog poets of Saint Petersburg
The brave last stand of Roland at Roncesvalles
Lewis and Tolkien and glasses of beer
Montcalm and Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham
Hildegard von Bingen, Siegfried and the Rhine
Magna Carta, HMS Hood, the Thames
The Grove of Daphne, “The Old Rugged Cross”
Beatrix Potter and her little pet rabbit
El Cid, Anne Frank, John Keats, Saint Benedict
“I Have a Dream,” Dostoyevsky, and Greene
Viktor Frankl, Dag Hammarkskjold, and Proust
Good Chaucer’s naughty pilgrims telling tales
The Gettysburg Address, Willie and Joe
Stern Saint Augustine of North Africa
Wodehouse writing a jolly bit of fun
Saint Corbinian and Bavaria
The ancient glories of Byzantium
Pius XII contra the bombs and lies
The 602nd TD Battalion
Saint Joan, the Prado, and Robert Frost
And far, far more.
When that loudmouth on the wireless machine
Alludes to Western Civilization
What does he mean?
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Inside the Rainbow Forest
Where unicorns are born,
And fairy dust floats on the air
From sundown until dawn,
There dwells in royal splendour
Yet very rarely seen,
The king of all the pixies
With his pretty pixie queen.
His palace is a mushroom
As tall as any tree,
With bright red spots upon it
That will make you squeal with glee.
A winding golden staircase
Stretches to the very top,
In a mesmerizing spiral
That you think will never stop.
All those brave enough to climb it
Would soon chance upon a door,
With the most enormous knocker
That you really ever saw.
One hard tap summons the butler,
A polite and friendly gnome,
Serving tea and fondant fancies
That will make you feel at home.
Through a maze of vaulted chambers
Each more lavish than the last,
Passing walls lined with the portraits
Of kings from the distant past,
That dear gnome shall gently guide you,
With much merriment and song,
To the Great Hall of his master
Who resides there all day long.
From beneath a silver archway
Set with precious gems galore,
You will enter to the fanfare
Of ten trumpets, maybe more.
Dainty apple blossom petals
Shall be scattered at your feet,
As you bow your head in homage
To the king you are to meet.
With a heart bursting with wonder
You will hastily be brought,
To the throne of his most highness
Far across the royal court,
Threading through the marble towers
Of an ornate colonnade,
And a troupe of prancing dragons
With their riders on parade.
Seated high upon a pumpkin
In a matching orange gown,
Curly shoes of bright green velvet
And an elderflower crown,
The king shall bid you welcome
With a beaming toothy grin,
As he beckons to the minstrel
For the music to begin.
With his beard like cotton candy
Waving wildly in the air,
As he slides down to embrace you
From atop his lofty chair,
Both your arms shall link together
To the fiddler's merry tune,
Clicking heels and laughing loudly
As you skip around the room.
In the magic of the moment
You will give yourself to fun,
As the mischief making monarch
Tweaks your ears and cracks a pun,
All those cares your heart now carries
Shall dissolve and simply be
Lost in wondrous celebration
Of a pixie jamboree!
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Into the bubbling blue bath of my bliss
my body breaks free of all bounds;
enchanted melodies cavort across my tongue,
unchained continents of merriment.
Shooting stars; cool satisfaction coats me completely.
I have lost all curiosity for torture technique,
while this melody bounces across the cosmos.
My imperfect lovely: Perfectly fractured,
all my shattered pieces fit your holes,
and even now, I glue pieces of you into the slots they fit.
A singular petal glistening with dew,
Deep crimsom; long stemmed tulip.
Black eyes, its stamen. Shedded insight,
I lowered my body before you, as offering.
How will you devour this dream of desire?
It is a feast to be consumed, in small bites,
and copious servings of seconds.
Do not allow this flower to fade,
it may save you from yourself.
Blessings bestowed before bedtime
often fade away by dawn,
give thanks for the present,
draw strength from the past,
take heart, what is meant to be
will always last...
in the end.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
Tis I am just a man, a boy if thou want to sayest, a foolish lad; who hast hurt his blessing of a queen.
Tis I am just a man, a sinner, a prehistoric bringer; of sorrows
Where bird's dont sing.
O' wretched man I am; overlooking this perfect flower, she's arrayed as a petal neath the tropical hours.
O' im just the rain that brings the flood of many woes.
I wish, O' how I wish, I couldst pour all contentment and merriment into her lonesome soul.
Tis she's the rainbow, I the dusky storm. O' how her glow maketh mine day's liveable; O' how her voice is opulent galore.
If only she knew, she is mine better, mine best; mine breath of yellow dew.
Though I've not shown her the worth that she is; mine trials and tribulations hast become
mine abyss.
Though I shalt get through
This passage of gloom.
With God All is possible;
Even being set free from this tomb.
Tis I am just a man, a boy if thou want to sayest, a foolish lad.
Who if couldst wouldst start all afresh; re-giving mine love, and to get all mine best.
How a simpleton ive been;
To not seest heaven's eastern gem, glimmer her perfect wing's, for mine foolishness, these word's shalt I sing.
(Goes into song form, words "I love you jane, please forgive me" sung in spanish, greek, cebuano, tagalog/filipino).......
(Spanish)
Te amo jane,
por favor perdoname.
(Greek)
Se 'agapó Jane,
Se parakaló synchóresé me.
(Cebuano)
ako nahigugma kanimo Jane,
palihug pasayloa ako.
(Tagalog/filipino)
Mahal kita jane,
patawarin mo ako.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl Jane nagley dedication (agapi mou dedicated)
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
1128
These are the Nights that Beetles love—
From Eminence remote
Drives ponderous perpendicular
His figure intimate
The terror of the Children
The merriment of men
Depositing his Thunder
He hoists abroad again—
A Bomb upon the Ceiling
Is an improving thing—
It keeps the nerves progressive
Conjecture flourishing—
Too dear the Summer evening
Without discreet alarm—
Supplied by Entomology
With its remaining charm—
3.7k
WOMEN
I cast you out for pandering your ***
WOMEN
You are shameful
On you
I gift this hex:
*If you need to be the object of manly gratification
If you have no interest in the freedom or the liberation
Then your life will now be governed by the exploitation
A vessel pure and simple for man’s ***********
WOMEN
You are worthless
**** upon my shoe
Read between the lines my friend
Figure out the clue
For it is in here somewhere
Deep within this write
Nothing's ever as it seems
Nothing's black and white
WOMEN
Does a bloke walk round?
With his ***** hanging out?
Does he emphasize his testicles?
Does he bandy it about?
I think you know the answer
Just stop and use that brain
Then maybe in the future
Equality will rightly be reclaimed
But all the time you flaunt your ****
****** you ***** in their face
You, my friend
To the sisterhood
**Are a ******* skanky **** disgrace**
Wake up and smell the Costa
For conditioning is wrong
You need to understand
You cause The Cause to be prolonged
This is my stand
I hold my own
I’m never fazed
By stick nor stone
For I know deep within my heart
The value of my worth
I will never sell my principles
For merriment or mirth
**So … please …. just take a moment
To digest
The words within this write
Unharness faux benevolent blinkers
Because this is our absolute pre-emptive right**
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 4:31 AM UTC
The dead-bolts on the interior doors
Against the nephews most securely locked
(One is destructive; the other explores)
Ignored by their mother (usually crocked)
The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels
And surgeries over the festive spread
Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls
Detailing each grim therapy and med
The puppies are safely penned inside
Because of an incident with a crowbar
And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried -
He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car
His mother comforted him in his tears
And glowered at me for telling him no
And comforted herself with a few more beers
Her special child is sensitive, you know
The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy
With lurid adjectives of graphic doom
Comes with the pie and more iced tea
His miseries circulate around the room
Then from the living room an expensive crash
“Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries
An old family vase – it’s now just trash
“You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs
The brother-in-law offers to show his scars
He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move
We other men escape outside for cigars
Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove
One nephew leaps upon a garden seat
And jumps and yells until it falls apart
Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet
“Are you all right, my dear little heart?”
The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans
And tells us all about his flatulence
And just which foods lead to what moans
(Perhaps he should practice some abstinence)
The women come outside to cough and choke
With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers
About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke
The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers
The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink
It’s about his digestion (be surprised)
And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think
And we (got a match?) are properly chastised
Then at the end of this mandatory day
Of mandatory Hallmark merriment
All of them finally go the (space) away
And how did the mailbox get broken and bent?
But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate
“Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?”
And so dear solitude again must wait
While darkness slowly falls upon the hills
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
In order to be glee
One's mind should be free
Free of burdens and exhaustion
Only such life is a satisfaction
This world is a dungeon for us
That is why we have created so much fuss
Just like birds trapped in a cage
Waiting for the door to open, they gaze.
So let them overburden you with their expectations
And don't say a word about it in hesitation
Just do what they say
As long as you stay
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
I saw a sight of simple beauty, on a night when I was moody,
Sitting there with a hint of what I’ll see.
When I saw something shining, in the sky like a silver lining,
The clouds opened up like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Little by little the soft white crystals covered the ground like debris,
Fluffs of cotton, pure and not yet rotten floating down towards me.
Staring up at the sky with a twinkle in my eye
I thought of the magic that was being set free.
I felt like my soul was lacking until I heard the cracking
Of my own face, smiling with glee.
I saw one small angel land on my knee
Then it melted into the rest of me.
I got up and lurched, from where I was perched
And went strolling along the new found sea.
Finding no fault in the world that was lost
I enjoyed the scene with revelry.
I started to skip with merriment and glee
Thinking about the wonders that were waiting for me.
My bones feeling chilled, and my heart fully filled
I floated to my door, watching the dancing trees
Swaying to the sayings
That were being whispered by the spirits of the bees.
Silently I turned and mouthed the words to the breeze
Stay no longer and leave from me.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC