How shocked was I when my mistress, Filthy Fiona,
Told me one summer's day she had one up the spout;
After all, the silly ***** was on the pill (and in any case
Half the time my seed had gone up the lesser used route).
But, accidents will happen when you least expect them:
Maybe her recent attack of diarrheoa had upset the apple cart.
O, how relieved was I when she told me she had booked herself in
To the Marylebone Abortion Clinic for a good old pump-out session;
And, even better (much better), I wasn't expected to foot the bill
As her private health insurance would cover it nicely,
Thank you very much indeed, God bless you, my darlin';
The excessive premiums were clearly a fine investment.

Like the gent I am, I offered to drive her there in my pink Porsche 911,
But she insisted I need only pick her up after the remedial session
As she had made other travel arrangements to get there; and
One cannot argue with a dame under such trying circumstances.
How I would have relished the amusement of those who saw the ****
Arrive in one bloke's car, deposited caringly with a consoling hug,
And collected by a different chappie, with a kiss on her plump cheek.
But, after all, 'twas only fair I found out later (with a gay grin)
When she told me she really had no idea who the father was
Although her two selected chauffeurs were the best two bets.
How I laud the foresight of the percipient abortion law reformers:
Our sad world has more than enough unwanted ******* as it is.

From the dawn of time,
To the break of day,
Beings which live,
progress day by day.

Be they small,
or be they tall,
all humans are characterized,
By the way they fall.

The steeper the *****, the bigger the fall,
yet that elusive goal, becomes better for all.

Some fall fast, while others stand tall,
Some stand with others when they know they'll fall.

Filled with ambition, or the need to survive,
All strive their best, regardless of the grind.

Lofty goals abound, reasonable ones flourish.
The ones who chase after them,
like moths going to perish.

Seeking simple paths, some never fall,
yet the joy that they feel, is not something for all.
Living life with regrets, with things left undone,
they abandon their beliefs for that which has none.

Others aim high, reaching for the sky,
Even without ability, they believe themselves to fly.
Not percipient of danger, nor grounded by truth,
Even if they succeed, it is entirely a fluke.
In time they fall, as things cease to be,
thus dwelling on the pain and anguish of this,
They ultimately perish, emptiness within thee.

Yet others remain reasonable, firm and strong,
Striving for goals, ideals yet in reach.
With a plan of action, they move step by step,
Falling continuously, yet continuing without rest.

These men of knowledge, wisdom and strength,
know what is of value, goals and when.
They do what is needed, no more no less,
Understanding their limits, they progress where they can.
Picking the time, date and place,
They progress ceaselessly at their own pace.
Walking a path, no other dare face.
Eventually they succeed, doing what no other has done in their place.

Fulfilling their wishes, these three types of men,
lay down paths which all can comprehend.
The path well travelled, is one documented,
yet it remains one, for those simply content.
Their paths are normal, insignificant to most,
yet within contains tranquility beyond those foremost.
For what is deep is simple, what is profound, penetrating.
Those which are simple, may have seen all paths converging.
Seeing the truth lying within one single space,
he walks the shortest path, where the truth stays in place.

The path next travelled, is one filled with fools,
those with ambition, and the guts to pursue.
Lessons abounding, it is a path less travelled.
For the bravery you need, cannot be unravelled.
A path with a victory nowhere in sight,
one can only hope what he does is right.
Yet at the end of the day, be it success or may-day,
There will be those happy in this day.
This self-made goal, with no end in sight,
That is what makes these people fight.

The final path, is the path of the sage.
Penetrating the light, they are endowed with what’s wise.
Without an end in sight,
Nor a beginning to be seen,
They enlist the help of others, to make what should have been.
Combining the efforts, of all those who are wise.
They lead everyone, to the very next sunrise.
Paving a path, slowly but surely,
All hardly fall, yet are brought with surety,
A final destination that everyone seeks,
Creating a future that none will call bleak.

What is left behind, are many paths men will find,
Stories and legends, tales of success.
Goaded by what they are driven in life,
All will ultimately choose, what legacy they leave behind.

Love is a realm is of experience that must not be repressed
By the dictums and strictures of Reason
On Love's planes the luscious light of passion manifests
The flower of mutual care in perennial season
O'er the planes on cantering hoove
Go the loyalists of Heart
By emotion stirred and feelings moved
Perceiving compassion's exquisite art
Towards setting Suns they rove and rage
A torrent of torrid blisses
Love knows what is best, she is sage
Her percipient insight never misses
     On what distant shores or sands
     Does Love work magic of her hands

My vision has been administered life-saving medicine
It's received the healing balm of soul's knowledge and truth
My sullied spirit doth regret and repine
For being shown round souls shire's on a bad man's hoof
The sacredness of the feminine divine
Has been hurt by the attrition of malevolent schemes
That suffocate soul's fire
And dampen it's purest dreams
A brilliant stroke of insight
Came to me in ebb and flow
Of an epiphany, through percipient perception
It, shouting at me, gorgeous, goes
    O tonic, an experience you get once in an age
    Thank you for showing me what is sage

Poems are like puzzles:
A painstakingly placed picture,
Plucked from the peripheries,
Of percipient perspective.

Penetrating the personal,
The pen puts pain to pass,
Pouring perceptions in to paper,
In the process perfecting the practice.

Some poems pray for peace,
Some paint a piece of people's lives,
Photographically rendering the ineffable,
Imparting philosophies.

The poet is a piper piping pleasantries;
Poems pretty as phosphorous,
In a pyrotechnic parade,
Putting fire in our pupils.

Perhaps the "P" is hard to parse,
And I perceive this problem.
Perhaps my pursuit of the perfect poem,
Must not be prolonged or proceed.

But I'm a phonetic philanderer,
Pushing on like a prodigious pioneer,
Playing for pleasure with puns,
Posing metaphors, putting words in place,
Searching for planetary purpose,
Peering past the past and present,
In to possibilities of peace and plenitude.

But perhaps now the peak has passed and
The pliant "P" is pushed to its limits,
The words are all plucked, parched
And the poem is plenary.

In the fullness of time the Truth runs clear
To those who yield to its ebb and flow
The riddle is resolved and the answer appears
Through percipient perception it goes
Beneath distraction and illusion
Lies the fearsome, awesome Reality
Through which the Truth's effusion
Goes with conviviality
We live to strive to know it's flame
For it casts light on our Heart's path
Disabuses the ruse and game
And heals in its aftermath
     O Truth, you showed me in bad health
     And brought back to life my truest self

One morn a muse meandered in to mind
Carolling soft in sacred tongue
The spirited song of kindred hearts
Clan to which my own belongs
She stroked my mind with fearsome flame
When all the world had dropped dead
Stoking bright and cosmic spark
At the center of my head
The ebb and flow of epiphanies
Through percipient perception course
Strange, explosive truths yielded
From deep, divinest source
    Her mind is wider than the skies
    Which ring with her luscious lullabies

A Book is seldom wasted
Upon an open mind
One perspective percipient
By wisest words refined
Each chapter swallows up the world
Each word is like a thread
You are more attuned to the world at large
For all that you have read

I'll give you hell for thinking
You'd make an example out of me
I guess you thought my brain was nought
And I'd be baffled in mystery
I guess you were never counting
On my percipient perception
I rely on intuition
To guide me in Truth's direction
The cosmic joke is that you think
All of us but you are bad
When it's you who dwells in the bars of the mind
That are vain, pathetic, sad
I threw my heart at you in joy
You threw it away in disgust
Of the nature of your esteem for me
I generally got the ******
It's sad to know, as I go
That this was a mirage
Back I go, to and fro
Around the spirit's cage
It doesn't pay me well to dwell
But I'll probably rue
The loss of the illusion
That our kinship was pure and true

take my breath, longing that i disappear
visions of fluorescence fly like birds from a tree
no matter how percipient, i still wake up from reveries–
and find that some chrysalises are blown away by rivers of the breeze
numbers tick, the tidy sum is a wall ever incomplete,
before choosing to become, a wave pierces its abode
jericho rocks, from a crack into rubble, the wind establishes its throne
and the man in metamorphosis, his wings shrivel around the bone
nature wraps its arms around the sorrowful–
his killer contrives burial–
the earth holds his lifeless soul–
made glorious
to put a smile on the face of the deploring–
but you’d never know

unseen, all there is to be seen
swallowed whole by rivers of the breeze
butterfly, take my breath

Walked under her roof many a times
And stopped at the same spot every time,
Maybe for a second or an hour
But stopped, I have
Pulled by its shapes and colors.
The triangles with skewed angles;
The square that was but for the incline;
The Pentagon with a corner amidst its edge
But mistake it not for a hexagon.
It was all in the spot.
The black and the white
The light and its lack
Or was it the other way?
They bend and curve
And twist and slide
An intricate game they play
You'll be privy if lucky.
It was all in the spot.
Here's a secret,
No spilling it.
Look past the dazing whites
And listen with ears up.
You can hear the muffled howls
Or the percipient giggles,
See the contorted faces
Or the grins short of grimaces.
As the keen pairs of eyes from all the years
Stare deep into you, do not flee.
For it is all in the spot,
The spots on the roof
The spot on the floor.

My epiphany hit today,
As I contemplated on every word you said that day.
The words you whispered into my ear are still tattooed in my heart.
You pulled me out when I was about to throw myself in a quicksand
"Aha" said i when I remembered how percipient you were when I poured myself out.
Thank you

I was on my way to you to say 'thanks"
But you left before I could reach you.
Fare thee well good servant
As you wear your crown of good deeds,rest of us are thankful of your services.
Fare thee well