"sightings" poems - Hello Poetry

"sightings" poems

Breaking News A Robinson’s affair It has been called party goers in beware The Pelican Club know fore shoot outs There are also fights to talk about The Chef’s have been making guest sick The Pelican Club is not a good pick The ratings of the club had been very low Business is certainly somewhat slow As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go” The Flamingo Club is the place to be When you walk inside this is what you will see Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance All kinds of drinks for you to sup However don’t forget to leave a tip The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know It goes too show Take in the Flamingo Club and just let senses go.

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Apr 19, 2015

Apr 19, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC

preservationman

FLAMINGO’S SIGHTINGS

Breaking News A Robinson’s affair It has been called party goers in beware The Pelican Club know fore shoot outs There are also fights to talk about The Chef’s have been making guest sick The Pelican Club is not a good pick The ratings of the club had been very low Business is certainly somewhat slow As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go” The Flamingo Club is the place to be When you walk inside this is what you will see Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance All kinds of drinks for you to sup However don’t forget to leave a tip The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know It goes too show Take in the Flamingo Club and just let senses go.

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i used to check my windows each night for UFOs, convinced that aliens were going to take me away. i rejoiced for rainy nights, because i knew that i would be safe. in the summer i longed for the winter months ahead, knowing snow would keep them away. would lie there sweating, in the hot, humid night air, my window locked tightly to keep out the cool, refreshing air- and the monsters i knew were coming to get me. i heard my mother's voice below me, and cautiously crept down the staircase, peeked out silently, wanting to make sure it was really her, there, not an alien luring me to the pits of an Unidentified Flying Object with her voice. didn't go outside alone, wouldn't step away from the safety of my home, all because of a 'UFO sightings' book i read, (a witness to the things that fear does to your head).

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May 1, 2013

May 1, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC

i used to check my windows each night for UFOs, convinced that aliens were going to take me away. i rejoiced for rainy nights, because i knew that i would be safe. in the summer i longed for the winter months ahead, knowing snow would keep them away. would lie there sweating, in the hot, humid night air, my window locked tightly to keep out the cool, refreshing air- and the monsters i knew were coming to get me. i heard my mother's voice below me, and cautiously crept down the staircase, peeked out silently, wanting to make sure it was really her, there, not an alien luring me to the pits of an Unidentified Flying Object with her voice. didn't go outside alone, wouldn't step away from the safety of my home, all because of a 'UFO sightings' book i read, (a witness to the things that fear does to your head).

Continue reading...

Breaking News A Robinson’s affair It has been called party goers in beware The Pelican Club know about shoot outs There are also fights to talk about The Chef’s have been making guest sick The Pelican Club is not a good pick The ratings of the club had been very low Business is certainly somewhat slow As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go” The Flamingo Club is the place to be When you walk inside this is what you will see Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance All kinds of drinks for you to sup However don’t forget to leave a tip The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know It goes too show Take in the Flamingo Club and just let your senses go.

0

Apr 14, 2016

Apr 14, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC

preservationman

FLAMINGO’S SIGHTINGS

Breaking News A Robinson’s affair It has been called party goers in beware The Pelican Club know about shoot outs There are also fights to talk about The Chef’s have been making guest sick The Pelican Club is not a good pick The ratings of the club had been very low Business is certainly somewhat slow As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go” The Flamingo Club is the place to be When you walk inside this is what you will see Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance All kinds of drinks for you to sup However don’t forget to leave a tip The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know It goes too show Take in the Flamingo Club and just let your senses go.

Continue reading...

five years ago, June 2018, I, poet Sir Humbug, wrote:that the job of the artist was to be luminous and dangerous <> *the job of the artist is to be luminous and dangerous luminous to others by being dangerous to themselves when the words are ripped from the chest, atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes, starburst fireworks, luminous and dangerous, luminating the shared night, laminating your truths, in poems disguised and so the job, our work, begins* <> five years on, somethings have changed, indeed, the dangers of being luminous, clarifying and exposing, the requisite badge of courage, need-be more desperately earned the work is more risky, as the rules of now are none, and the risk of good taste, thoughtful caring, exposing you innards outwardly, so easy to demean and sadly that titillates the iliterati like a fire-working fireflies flashing, their in-concert of ligh attracts the oohs and aahs but too, the restless for glory, opinionated blowhard, whose critical boundaries of ill will are boundless yet, write on, right on to be where courage be the sticking point! your verbs must be pointy, your direction true, adjectives of modest innovation, craft harder, then harder again, for the work must be honest in a manner most delicate now is the time of subtlety - if one must bang pots to be heard, that you to are but a noisemaker, a loser, an addition to those lost in the din quiet passion, thoughtful insight to inside, to the tender parts, will rule the day and the blow smokers will rue the day, as their pretenses chafe and flail wayside, and your words, be like sightings of new lands where you take us utterly beholden, willing explorers to places most wonderfully luminous and dangerous!

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Jul 10, 2023

Jul 10, 2023 at 11:25 PM UTC

5 years later, the artist returns to his first job: being luminous and dangerous

five years ago, June 2018, I, poet Sir Humbug, wrote:that the job of the artist was to be luminous and dangerous <> *the job of the artist is to be luminous and dangerous luminous to others by being dangerous to themselves when the words are ripped from the chest, atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes, starburst fireworks, luminous and dangerous, luminating the shared night, laminating your truths, in poems disguised and so the job, our work, begins* <> five years on, somethings have changed, indeed, the dangers of being luminous, clarifying and exposing, the requisite badge of courage, need-be more desperately earned the work is more risky, as the rules of now are none, and the risk of good taste, thoughtful caring, exposing you innards outwardly, so easy to demean and sadly that titillates the iliterati like a fire-working fireflies flashing, their in-concert of ligh attracts the oohs and aahs but too, the restless for glory, opinionated blowhard, whose critical boundaries of ill will are boundless yet, write on, right on to be where courage be the sticking point! your verbs must be pointy, your direction true, adjectives of modest innovation, craft harder, then harder again, for the work must be honest in a manner most delicate now is the time of subtlety - if one must bang pots to be heard, that you to are but a noisemaker, a loser, an addition to those lost in the din quiet passion, thoughtful insight to inside, to the tender parts, will rule the day and the blow smokers will rue the day, as their pretenses chafe and flail wayside, and your words, be like sightings of new lands where you take us utterly beholden, willing explorers to places most wonderfully luminous and dangerous!

Continue reading...

tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars, diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray, birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines, occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures, sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar *not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling, many voyages of indeterminate measuring length, leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations, each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated, without critique or commentary, the numbers are the gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination, terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute* a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced, notated but not annotated, just numerical truths, (sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie) and today my calculator app informs, that I am now 19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected naturally this provokes a natty, spirited, self-inquiry, lessened, lessor, for better or for worse? have the physical alterations accompanying this reduction mean exactly what, if, it should be, a greater lesser? here is the hard part. your have always been a mirror~poet, laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied, the external never denying the interior “less~than,” a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions, counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections, of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am *gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue, the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:* I, am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds, my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man, there, internal infernal too…

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Apr 9, 2023

Apr 9, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC

tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars, diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray, birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines, occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures, sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar *not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling, many voyages of indeterminate measuring length, leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations, each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated, without critique or commentary, the numbers are the gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination, terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute* a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced, notated but not annotated, just numerical truths, (sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie) and today my calculator app informs, that I am now 19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected naturally this provokes a natty, spirited, self-inquiry, lessened, lessor, for better or for worse? have the physical alterations accompanying this reduction mean exactly what, if, it should be, a greater lesser? here is the hard part. your have always been a mirror~poet, laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied, the external never denying the interior “less~than,” a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions, counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections, of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am *gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue, the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:* I, am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds, my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man, there, internal infernal too…

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Two antagonists joined and evolving... prevailing scarcity far rarer abundance a forked pattern through millennial time new century visions holistic... technology sightings viewing through lenses holographic wholeness appearing in parts... promises of science now simply profound clear water and plenty hungry billions soon fed innovations cropping from the boisterous crowd... standing robots astute heavy labor performed... global nervous system growing and formed by the web... residue and waste becoming power transformed... optimism breaking long history's confines questions large and looming give pause... the antagonists mentioned are they soon to transform? abundance and scarcity new parents new consciousness birthing... awareness with awe in one simple moment? ancient spiritual light is it now flowing holographic vessels to fill? what might the newborn be named? should she simply be called... enough? this name also naming a bright center glow... daughter scarcity now absorbed and lining her abundant light... new strength new vision a new fork in our road?

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Jun 2, 2012

Jun 2, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC

Two antagonists joined and evolving... prevailing scarcity far rarer abundance a forked pattern through millennial time new century visions holistic... technology sightings viewing through lenses holographic wholeness appearing in parts... promises of science now simply profound clear water and plenty hungry billions soon fed innovations cropping from the boisterous crowd... standing robots astute heavy labor performed... global nervous system growing and formed by the web... residue and waste becoming power transformed... optimism breaking long history's confines questions large and looming give pause... the antagonists mentioned are they soon to transform? abundance and scarcity new parents new consciousness birthing... awareness with awe in one simple moment? ancient spiritual light is it now flowing holographic vessels to fill? what might the newborn be named? should she simply be called... enough? this name also naming a bright center glow... daughter scarcity now absorbed and lining her abundant light... new strength new vision a new fork in our road?

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The country road like poet’s fancies unravels Through the giant hanky- sized paddy fields And the dream sized ponds Dotting the landscape in perfect squires and riots of skewed and regular shapes The green spread and the muddy beds, spell the village beauty. Parrot green fields And stark blue skies look at each other In perfect silence, like mother and babe And a great , grey house exposing its ragged bricks, Bared like the buck tooth of the old Provokes a village memory Past picking itself slowy and ambling into the future Its wooden columns stand like mute exclamation marks! or so it may look to me. Flies the skidding scaly tarred snake Fast and spreading like the traveler travelling on it. Patchy it looks, now; And full like the misery of the scorned lover Eager like the maiden speech of a parlimentarian The country road, runs fluid like a stream after the rains. As the rustle of the engine trips and falls into the divine air. A roaming peacock calling adds charm to the great whole fare A winged beauty, struts across Nudged by the sputtering , speeding me. The exotic avian attains the hedges galore With its metal blue feathery strangeness blurred in my glancing eye A species rare, found only in ornithologists diary. A clamour in the air And the school boys emerge in buddy pairs Beneath the village banyan That let loose its tresses to dry like a country maid. I see, a promising glint in their eyes The will make themselves of king and ministers of the modern days The sonority of ringing bell clubs the cacophony of school boys in into two dead parts. They return to their classes, sanctified by the silence, And open their minds to the feminine vocie. A Glorious moment , As the morn of wisdom is born Rich are the sightings of poor country side And many are the mappings on the way, My sensibilities recouped, I drove back not spent But profound. sound.

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Sep 13, 2010

Sep 13, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC

The country side

The country road like poet’s fancies unravels Through the giant hanky- sized paddy fields And the dream sized ponds Dotting the landscape in perfect squires and riots of skewed and regular shapes The green spread and the muddy beds, spell the village beauty. Parrot green fields And stark blue skies look at each other In perfect silence, like mother and babe And a great , grey house exposing its ragged bricks, Bared like the buck tooth of the old Provokes a village memory Past picking itself slowy and ambling into the future Its wooden columns stand like mute exclamation marks! or so it may look to me. Flies the skidding scaly tarred snake Fast and spreading like the traveler travelling on it. Patchy it looks, now; And full like the misery of the scorned lover Eager like the maiden speech of a parlimentarian The country road, runs fluid like a stream after the rains. As the rustle of the engine trips and falls into the divine air. A roaming peacock calling adds charm to the great whole fare A winged beauty, struts across Nudged by the sputtering , speeding me. The exotic avian attains the hedges galore With its metal blue feathery strangeness blurred in my glancing eye A species rare, found only in ornithologists diary. A clamour in the air And the school boys emerge in buddy pairs Beneath the village banyan That let loose its tresses to dry like a country maid. I see, a promising glint in their eyes The will make themselves of king and ministers of the modern days The sonority of ringing bell clubs the cacophony of school boys in into two dead parts. They return to their classes, sanctified by the silence, And open their minds to the feminine vocie. A Glorious moment , As the morn of wisdom is born Rich are the sightings of poor country side And many are the mappings on the way, My sensibilities recouped, I drove back not spent But profound. sound.

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The Allusionists (Mary Winslow and Jeff Steir) these two allusionists (not illusionists!) composition is a criminal sentencing, a full-time sensitizing, a never ending t/rue seeing, recalling, photography by word. I am a career criminal. I know. these two retranslate by digging into word wells and well hid storage closets under stairs so that we, the not-in-attendance may envision their sightings with two hands clutching, comprehending almost better than the one who is actually there. for our version, the one they provide is, coffee with cream, scotch with a beer chaser, tea with honey, all to be, sipped slow, so the hot frost on my the chest, infiltrating nostrils, Vaporub-spreads slow and easy, brainward. the allusionists. the habitual employers of this specific filter, (word weavers, I call them behind their backs), weaving is not in my eternally planned skill set. I do so admire their tapestries that guilt alone demands tribute and obeisance and this poor imitation. I do so admire their tapestries.

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Nov 25, 2017

Nov 25, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC

The Allusionists (Mary Winslow and Jeff Stier)

The Allusionists (Mary Winslow and Jeff Steir) these two allusionists (not illusionists!) composition is a criminal sentencing, a full-time sensitizing, a never ending t/rue seeing, recalling, photography by word. I am a career criminal. I know. these two retranslate by digging into word wells and well hid storage closets under stairs so that we, the not-in-attendance may envision their sightings with two hands clutching, comprehending almost better than the one who is actually there. for our version, the one they provide is, coffee with cream, scotch with a beer chaser, tea with honey, all to be, sipped slow, so the hot frost on my the chest, infiltrating nostrils, Vaporub-spreads slow and easy, brainward. the allusionists. the habitual employers of this specific filter, (word weavers, I call them behind their backs), weaving is not in my eternally planned skill set. I do so admire their tapestries that guilt alone demands tribute and obeisance and this poor imitation. I do so admire their tapestries.

Continue reading...

(AP) another tragic report today of snow mermaids resurfacing a phenomena of drastic blizzard conditions young men lost in blinding blowing winds that sends a person forging foreword then back a step are sightings of real or imagined snow nymphs naked gorgeous young women giggling frolicking through 8’ snow drifts arching limbs grinding hips twiddling fingers toes swaying long hair spreading thighs exposing privates pinching ******* pursing lips gesturing to be seduced beckoning into freezing snow entrapment eventually freezing victims into lifeless blue corpses only additional forensic evidence left behind are definite female snow angel signature tracks in surrounding snowfall areas since onslaught of February 1st storm strike 18 male bodies missing 13 bodies recovered all found grasping clutching clinging desirously to unknown source 5 men still missing if you suspect the whereabouts of any of these individuals please contact 911 authorities warn men of a certain age wear appropriate winter gear scarves raised hats lowered eyes squinting look away without delay if you think you are witness to one or more of these deadly snow mermaids GPS immediately to Police postscript in the several thousand years since these occurrences have been recorded not a single snow mermaid has ever been caught

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Mar 3, 2011

Mar 3, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC

michael-reid-rubenstein

(AP) another tragic report today of snow mermaids resurfacing a phenomena of drastic blizzard conditions young men lost in blinding blowing winds that sends a person forging foreword then back a step are sightings of real or imagined snow nymphs naked gorgeous young women giggling frolicking through 8’ snow drifts arching limbs grinding hips twiddling fingers toes swaying long hair spreading thighs exposing privates pinching ******* pursing lips gesturing to be seduced beckoning into freezing snow entrapment eventually freezing victims into lifeless blue corpses only additional forensic evidence left behind are definite female snow angel signature tracks in surrounding snowfall areas since onslaught of February 1st storm strike 18 male bodies missing 13 bodies recovered all found grasping clutching clinging desirously to unknown source 5 men still missing if you suspect the whereabouts of any of these individuals please contact 911 authorities warn men of a certain age wear appropriate winter gear scarves raised hats lowered eyes squinting look away without delay if you think you are witness to one or more of these deadly snow mermaids GPS immediately to Police postscript in the several thousand years since these occurrences have been recorded not a single snow mermaid has ever been caught

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You're good for me like penicillin. But I haven't popped enough of you yet. Sightings of you as rare as an eagle, The rare occasion I feel like a human. Your purity is beyond belief, like the cleanest **** on the street, Your skin is the smoothest white marble You're like renaissance art I would quit all of my bad habits just for a day in your presence I wouldn't need another sip of ***** or sweaty fumbling in the back of a car How do I tell you how I'm feeling With a keytar and shaker at your door? Could I win a joust for you? I would invent electricity if I could. But that's it, you demigoddess You're boarding now a flying syringe ******* the life of me with every inch What's blood for if not for spilling? To me, you are perfect, love A hologram i'm not allowed to touch My tangled heart with stay right here and pump occasionally for you my dear 10.13.12 1:20 AM

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Dec 9, 2012

Dec 9, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC

You're good for me like penicillin. But I haven't popped enough of you yet. Sightings of you as rare as an eagle, The rare occasion I feel like a human. Your purity is beyond belief, like the cleanest **** on the street, Your skin is the smoothest white marble You're like renaissance art I would quit all of my bad habits just for a day in your presence I wouldn't need another sip of ***** or sweaty fumbling in the back of a car How do I tell you how I'm feeling With a keytar and shaker at your door? Could I win a joust for you? I would invent electricity if I could. But that's it, you demigoddess You're boarding now a flying syringe ******* the life of me with every inch What's blood for if not for spilling? To me, you are perfect, love A hologram i'm not allowed to touch My tangled heart with stay right here and pump occasionally for you my dear 10.13.12 1:20 AM

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This may be bit too early to call but I'll say this in verse one. that I think you're the girl I want to marry I've decided long gone. That you're the first thing I think of when my senses start to wake up, That you make me feel blessed by your love from dusk until fingers of dawn claps. That you came and burst in without any loud alarms nor obvious notice; I knew you've captured my heart completely, all of my actions, my inner prefix. You've sink your unmatchable caress deep through my shivered spine and veins, just when everything is tangled up without any clear sightings bared. You gave me all of you as I gave all of me. Unaware; we both fill in each others space and holes with our own taste of shares. And Alas! The last verse came and I'm still stunned by your aura and beauty; My future bride, this I surrender My last name, I want you to carry.

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Mar 28, 2013

Mar 28, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC

An open letter for my sweet Lady

This may be bit too early to call but I'll say this in verse one. that I think you're the girl I want to marry I've decided long gone. That you're the first thing I think of when my senses start to wake up, That you make me feel blessed by your love from dusk until fingers of dawn claps. That you came and burst in without any loud alarms nor obvious notice; I knew you've captured my heart completely, all of my actions, my inner prefix. You've sink your unmatchable caress deep through my shivered spine and veins, just when everything is tangled up without any clear sightings bared. You gave me all of you as I gave all of me. Unaware; we both fill in each others space and holes with our own taste of shares. And Alas! The last verse came and I'm still stunned by your aura and beauty; My future bride, this I surrender My last name, I want you to carry.

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They ask me to stand up to exercise and play, to run, to swim, to fly. Very well... One and all advise quiescence, recommend counterpoisons, refer doctors. they peek on me, perplexed. "What's wrong?" They suggest new sightings, to try and get out, to not travel, to cease living and to not perish. It doesn't matter… One and all see my struggle for my bewildered expectancies, the stumble of my now fickle nerve. I do not consent… One and all pick on my plagiarisms with relentless blades, judging, berating, amused. I feel fear. Frightened of everything, of this morning's light, of the certain defeat. For today I'm just a mortal, decrepit and ephemeral. For all this and more, on these short days I'm not listening, I'm not here. I yield, I strive again, I succumb. I lock myself with and I open up to my worst and most treacherous enemy, "U" (my ego)

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Nov 25, 2012

Nov 25, 2012 at 4:03 AM UTC

They ask me to stand up to exercise and play, to run, to swim, to fly. Very well... One and all advise quiescence, recommend counterpoisons, refer doctors. they peek on me, perplexed. "What's wrong?" They suggest new sightings, to try and get out, to not travel, to cease living and to not perish. It doesn't matter… One and all see my struggle for my bewildered expectancies, the stumble of my now fickle nerve. I do not consent… One and all pick on my plagiarisms with relentless blades, judging, berating, amused. I feel fear. Frightened of everything, of this morning's light, of the certain defeat. For today I'm just a mortal, decrepit and ephemeral. For all this and more, on these short days I'm not listening, I'm not here. I yield, I strive again, I succumb. I lock myself with and I open up to my worst and most treacherous enemy, "U" (my ego)

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Winter came and summer went The clouds went dark And the chills overcame People hid in the safety of their homes For the wind came howling with a thunderstorm That left people in shivers and children in tears Yet a lonely soul came out wondering For he found beauty in the deadly storm Which could cause magnificent sightings before ones eye With wide spread arms he felt freedom In the dark cold streets He closed his eyes and found peace His grief stricken heart enjoyed the tears of the clouds For once he did not feel alone As the night kept him company Grieving with him for his vacant soul The night sky cleared And the stars came out The lonely man left to the shadows of the night People came out to enjoy the cool weather of the serene night Yet no one saw the wondering soul Waiting for the next thunderstorm

0

Apr 1, 2015

Apr 1, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC

Winter came and summer went The clouds went dark And the chills overcame People hid in the safety of their homes For the wind came howling with a thunderstorm That left people in shivers and children in tears Yet a lonely soul came out wondering For he found beauty in the deadly storm Which could cause magnificent sightings before ones eye With wide spread arms he felt freedom In the dark cold streets He closed his eyes and found peace His grief stricken heart enjoyed the tears of the clouds For once he did not feel alone As the night kept him company Grieving with him for his vacant soul The night sky cleared And the stars came out The lonely man left to the shadows of the night People came out to enjoy the cool weather of the serene night Yet no one saw the wondering soul Waiting for the next thunderstorm

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Stories abound about such things, strange sightings, miracles & traditional tales tell about the power of the lizard. It's been noted the earliest cave dwellers handpainted pictures of the creature. But to date, nobody has ever lived to give an eyewitness account, they've all ended up dead. Which leaves one to ask, "Do you believe in Godzilla?" And if they say, "No!", you have to wonder about their faith.

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Mar 24, 2014

Mar 24, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC

Do You Believe in Godzilla?

Stories abound about such things, strange sightings, miracles & traditional tales tell about the power of the lizard. It's been noted the earliest cave dwellers handpainted pictures of the creature. But to date, nobody has ever lived to give an eyewitness account, they've all ended up dead. Which leaves one to ask, "Do you believe in Godzilla?" And if they say, "No!", you have to wonder about their faith.

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It starts with a sensation of feeling it can't be real This pain, this reality it all seems so fake Living in turmoil yet being awake We've created a fictional story for what we see Lies have become "real" the virtual stains reality Yet we are living in the creative dump Hilary Clinton and Donald trump Opportunists in this world of lies The poet cries But truth is hated more than the lies we perceive and believe cause their sugar makes the medicine go down No need to frown, because life is just for individuals like you We all different but not one of us has a clue Of what's going on Corporations rule the media so what's wrong? Censorship breaks even the strongest of minds Leaves us cold but does anyone mind? They feed us primal fears While we our fed TV box sets of lives we want to lead While soldiers bleed in wars we keep fighting Just because of oil sightings It's all bit pointless as the golden age of austerity kicks in And the rich become fat eating the poor and misery is a acquaintance who is in your house though you didn't answer the door It's all normal check your email and censor your political correctness It's all bull **** tell yourself it won't mean a thing Your King or queen of nothing and there is no God heaven was a bluff It's not real it's tough Because we could have made it heaven on earth But fantasy was more beguiling As we watch game of thrones we are smiling.

0

Oct 21, 2016

Oct 21, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC

Hyper normalisation

It starts with a sensation of feeling it can't be real This pain, this reality it all seems so fake Living in turmoil yet being awake We've created a fictional story for what we see Lies have become "real" the virtual stains reality Yet we are living in the creative dump Hilary Clinton and Donald trump Opportunists in this world of lies The poet cries But truth is hated more than the lies we perceive and believe cause their sugar makes the medicine go down No need to frown, because life is just for individuals like you We all different but not one of us has a clue Of what's going on Corporations rule the media so what's wrong? Censorship breaks even the strongest of minds Leaves us cold but does anyone mind? They feed us primal fears While we our fed TV box sets of lives we want to lead While soldiers bleed in wars we keep fighting Just because of oil sightings It's all bit pointless as the golden age of austerity kicks in And the rich become fat eating the poor and misery is a acquaintance who is in your house though you didn't answer the door It's all normal check your email and censor your political correctness It's all bull **** tell yourself it won't mean a thing Your King or queen of nothing and there is no God heaven was a bluff It's not real it's tough Because we could have made it heaven on earth But fantasy was more beguiling As we watch game of thrones we are smiling.

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They say...."good things come to those that wait"..... They said "you shouldn't walk in the kitchen, while baking a cake". They say "you shouldn't talk with your mouth full". They also say it's rude to eat and run. They have often said...."you can't sit too long in the sun". They say ....you only live once and I think to myself.....how do they know? If they never died and had family cry.....following the hearse and their family to disperse their final good byes. They say "the good die young"....but I know people who were not so good....matter of fact.....they terrorized the whole neighborhood. They say "you are what you eat".....and that's kind of neat. I love shrimp.....so Bon appetite! They say "don't drink and drive".....and I can understand why.... We have seen so many news stories.....where innocent people die. They say "look before you leap".....and I hate suicide.....which is where people have given up hope. They say "it's hard to live" .....but is it easy to die? Is it worth it .....when your abandoned child cries? They say **** them with kindness". I was taught that love is kind and it conquers all. They say that the bible was written by man. They say they don't believe the story about man's fall. I'm not judging....it's not my call....They said it. They say "you should call before you come", but didn't Jesus tell them he was God's Son? They say that the old styles always come back.....there may be some truth to that. They say "when you get married "you should have something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. They never say "I'm going to pay off this wedding for you". They say "good things come to those who wait". I'm guilty of not realizing the goodness God creates and the blessings he creates.....but they say "It's fate". They say you should " you should look both ways before you cross the street". She wasn't paying attention ......so he was able to sweep her off her feet. The light was green, so they were destined to meet......when the light turned yellow......I knew they had to take it slow.....Red light special...so they decided to stop. It became official when he produced the rock. There were no Jay-Z sightings, although they said "He was there!" I didn't see any rock signs being thrown in the air. They say " anyone can write a poem", so I gave them my pen. They never said another word, but I heard they wrote a book titled "They say..." They say " It's okay..." everybody's doing it. They say a lot ....but at times don't say much.....They are always saying something......sometimes I wish they would just "SHUT UP!" WHO ARE THEY?

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Oct 11, 2012

Oct 11, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC

They say...."good things come to those that wait"..... They said "you shouldn't walk in the kitchen, while baking a cake". They say "you shouldn't talk with your mouth full". They also say it's rude to eat and run. They have often said...."you can't sit too long in the sun". They say ....you only live once and I think to myself.....how do they know? If they never died and had family cry.....following the hearse and their family to disperse their final good byes. They say "the good die young"....but I know people who were not so good....matter of fact.....they terrorized the whole neighborhood. They say "you are what you eat".....and that's kind of neat. I love shrimp.....so Bon appetite! They say "don't drink and drive".....and I can understand why.... We have seen so many news stories.....where innocent people die. They say "look before you leap".....and I hate suicide.....which is where people have given up hope. They say "it's hard to live" .....but is it easy to die? Is it worth it .....when your abandoned child cries? They say **** them with kindness". I was taught that love is kind and it conquers all. They say that the bible was written by man. They say they don't believe the story about man's fall. I'm not judging....it's not my call....They said it. They say "you should call before you come", but didn't Jesus tell them he was God's Son? They say that the old styles always come back.....there may be some truth to that. They say "when you get married "you should have something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. They never say "I'm going to pay off this wedding for you". They say "good things come to those who wait". I'm guilty of not realizing the goodness God creates and the blessings he creates.....but they say "It's fate". They say you should " you should look both ways before you cross the street". She wasn't paying attention ......so he was able to sweep her off her feet. The light was green, so they were destined to meet......when the light turned yellow......I knew they had to take it slow.....Red light special...so they decided to stop. It became official when he produced the rock. There were no Jay-Z sightings, although they said "He was there!" I didn't see any rock signs being thrown in the air. They say " anyone can write a poem", so I gave them my pen. They never said another word, but I heard they wrote a book titled "They say..." They say " It's okay..." everybody's doing it. They say a lot ....but at times don't say much.....They are always saying something......sometimes I wish they would just "SHUT UP!" WHO ARE THEY?

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*There was a time, A time so fair, A zero despair, Cuz She was fair, Life as I knew it was drizzling daisies, Bleeding me the feel like the crazies. Perfect absolutes, Chimerical dilutes. Enchanting moments with ephemeral bliss, Rapt me into blissful abyss. Ambient lightnings, Forming supernova sightings. My soul trapped in her seductive high, Unknowing of her destructive lies. Little was I was aware of her two-tone design, My ****** Valentine An alter ego so divine. Demon with deceitful frames, Unravelling her intimacy games. Her bloodless lips whispering in the corridors of time, Deporting me into her hate grimes. Mutating into odium of torrential far cry, Lies sarcastrophic podium of her mislaid demise. Gagged and bound as me you broke down And I believed everything, As my love for you was logic drowned Round and round I emanated all the way down. Still submerged in the swamp of dummy beliefs, Hoping to heal with concealed appeals, Squeals of her feels reveal choking ordeals, Cuz it was a different belief in a veiled inception, Infinitely drowning with these unconcealed dogmas, Remembrance feels like a past from yesterday, All I am choked with are these Interstellar beliefs, Detonating memories, At the haste of light, Giving me an anguish fright from the down right, Corroding my heart with those Sulphur memories we once called a lifetime. Like those 4 years with 4 million considerations. Still lost in her maze of psychopathic daze, Downward spirals decayed & set ablaze. Reveries of her infinite sentiment once called transcendences. All that’s left now are your radioactive reminiscences, Of a place once called Tomorrowland.*

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Feb 26, 2017

Feb 26, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC

Radioactive Reminiscences

*There was a time, A time so fair, A zero despair, Cuz She was fair, Life as I knew it was drizzling daisies, Bleeding me the feel like the crazies. Perfect absolutes, Chimerical dilutes. Enchanting moments with ephemeral bliss, Rapt me into blissful abyss. Ambient lightnings, Forming supernova sightings. My soul trapped in her seductive high, Unknowing of her destructive lies. Little was I was aware of her two-tone design, My ****** Valentine An alter ego so divine. Demon with deceitful frames, Unravelling her intimacy games. Her bloodless lips whispering in the corridors of time, Deporting me into her hate grimes. Mutating into odium of torrential far cry, Lies sarcastrophic podium of her mislaid demise. Gagged and bound as me you broke down And I believed everything, As my love for you was logic drowned Round and round I emanated all the way down. Still submerged in the swamp of dummy beliefs, Hoping to heal with concealed appeals, Squeals of her feels reveal choking ordeals, Cuz it was a different belief in a veiled inception, Infinitely drowning with these unconcealed dogmas, Remembrance feels like a past from yesterday, All I am choked with are these Interstellar beliefs, Detonating memories, At the haste of light, Giving me an anguish fright from the down right, Corroding my heart with those Sulphur memories we once called a lifetime. Like those 4 years with 4 million considerations. Still lost in her maze of psychopathic daze, Downward spirals decayed & set ablaze. Reveries of her infinite sentiment once called transcendences. All that’s left now are your radioactive reminiscences, Of a place once called Tomorrowland.*

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Many houses have been cleaned on ***** window routes Terraced rows and bungelows and other glass recruits Customers of differant types some casual, some suits Pleasent ones and lovely ones, some of them fun hoots One window shined, revealed behind someones bathroom door An awful sight giving us a fright, more than we bargained for We went to clean it was abscene, that horrible thing we saw Showing his snake was it a mistake, or was he just a ***** Every time we went to clean situations would get worse We didn't want to catch a glimps, of his ****** immerse A naked burden it bacame, why was he so perverse ***** windows should remain to conceal that bathroom curse The anxiousness we both felt, how low he always sank Unwanted sightings of body flesh and yanking on his plank Disgusting ways of a deprived mind, so very dark and dank ***** windows are one thing, but not when you ******* **** We did not want to ascend, with each ladder run to climb knowing what awaited us we didn't want to see his slime That bathroom window was regular, he did it every time His kind of antics should be re-classed as a life of grime We're not interested in plonker pulling a real discusting stunt Nakedness we don't want to see, or a nasty shiveled front Your ***** windows are to much so we will both be blunt Keep your wanking to yourself and **** off your ***** **** We don't care how many times, or how much you try There is no necessitation to see your small **** eye Confess your sins and tell your wife and don't you effing lie That you've been bathroom wanking and flashing your cream pie We told him we're not cleaning, when he dosent wear a stitch And because he had to ******* **** and treat us like his ***** We're not your pleasure ****** when you've got that certain itch Your ***** windows we wont clean when your mind is in a ditch It's time us girls said goodbye you've made us ******* cross Window cleaners we may be but your not our wanking boss So now we're gone and you know why, my friend it's adios And all because you had to flash and have a bathroom toss

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Feb 5, 2016

Feb 5, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC

***** Windows - 2018 (Extended & Enhanced)

Many houses have been cleaned on ***** window routes Terraced rows and bungelows and other glass recruits Customers of differant types some casual, some suits Pleasent ones and lovely ones, some of them fun hoots One window shined, revealed behind someones bathroom door An awful sight giving us a fright, more than we bargained for We went to clean it was abscene, that horrible thing we saw Showing his snake was it a mistake, or was he just a ***** Every time we went to clean situations would get worse We didn't want to catch a glimps, of his ****** immerse A naked burden it bacame, why was he so perverse ***** windows should remain to conceal that bathroom curse The anxiousness we both felt, how low he always sank Unwanted sightings of body flesh and yanking on his plank Disgusting ways of a deprived mind, so very dark and dank ***** windows are one thing, but not when you ******* **** We did not want to ascend, with each ladder run to climb knowing what awaited us we didn't want to see his slime That bathroom window was regular, he did it every time His kind of antics should be re-classed as a life of grime We're not interested in plonker pulling a real discusting stunt Nakedness we don't want to see, or a nasty shiveled front Your ***** windows are to much so we will both be blunt Keep your wanking to yourself and **** off your ***** **** We don't care how many times, or how much you try There is no necessitation to see your small **** eye Confess your sins and tell your wife and don't you effing lie That you've been bathroom wanking and flashing your cream pie We told him we're not cleaning, when he dosent wear a stitch And because he had to ******* **** and treat us like his ***** We're not your pleasure ****** when you've got that certain itch Your ***** windows we wont clean when your mind is in a ditch It's time us girls said goodbye you've made us ******* cross Window cleaners we may be but your not our wanking boss So now we're gone and you know why, my friend it's adios And all because you had to flash and have a bathroom toss

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Simple verses, blessed be the uncomplex, But the visions, the glimpses, The sightings, in and out, Are celestial of, in, and on This planet shared. I will walk with you to Henry's Isle, You, with me, on the beach, We will ford Crab Creek, When the tide is low, And repair to The Poet's Nook, Where a moss stained Adirondack chair Awaits the Poet Prince, Your poems carved into It's soul, it's arms, it's back, Giving comfort continuous. This chai, this chair, this throne, Reserved for the lyricist of our lives, The shedder of light upon the special, The seconds, that fete our senses. I await you arrival. Tender this serenade, this overdue apology, For having not thanked you properly For your living kindness, Yet my words, insufficient, compared to yours...

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Sep 2, 2013

Sep 2, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Simple verses, blessed be the uncomplex, But the visions, the glimpses, The sightings, in and out, Are celestial of, in, and on This planet shared. I will walk with you to Henry's Isle, You, with me, on the beach, We will ford Crab Creek, When the tide is low, And repair to The Poet's Nook, Where a moss stained Adirondack chair Awaits the Poet Prince, Your poems carved into It's soul, it's arms, it's back, Giving comfort continuous. This chai, this chair, this throne, Reserved for the lyricist of our lives, The shedder of light upon the special, The seconds, that fete our senses. I await you arrival. Tender this serenade, this overdue apology, For having not thanked you properly For your living kindness, Yet my words, insufficient, compared to yours...

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A gangly youth with his dangling Truths Star Spangled Flagpole In the far corner Summer nudists' Cabins' Cafeteria Ladies not biting Their webs To his fly Now noticing the nudist Silver Theme As daddy foxy Ladies are not goyles Most nudists are old And have let go Fat shaming jokes Turns into a game Yo mama so.... Cougar sells Her Jaguar / Grand Prix She so cougar She's an expensive lease For summer nights Crap shot Tossing Fun waste of time, A gangly youth Will spill The truth His danglings Dip and spit Viscous Losing your ****** you Star spangled Flagpole Can only tell The honest erecting The hard evidence UFO sightings Full proof It's in the pudding Truth is ecstasy Speaking deep inside The gangly kid now A wrangling man Lassos a harem in his pants His dangling truths did just fine Gangly youth drunk off Silken wines divine Moist of kiss Passion blooms of touch Honestly, the truth is Quivering love My Inner howl Feel the earth move Under my feet Truth is 'will always run to you...

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Apr 19, 2017

Apr 19, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC

butch-decatoria

Awkward (spoken word)

A gangly youth with his dangling Truths Star Spangled Flagpole In the far corner Summer nudists' Cabins' Cafeteria Ladies not biting Their webs To his fly Now noticing the nudist Silver Theme As daddy foxy Ladies are not goyles Most nudists are old And have let go Fat shaming jokes Turns into a game Yo mama so.... Cougar sells Her Jaguar / Grand Prix She so cougar She's an expensive lease For summer nights Crap shot Tossing Fun waste of time, A gangly youth Will spill The truth His danglings Dip and spit Viscous Losing your ****** you Star spangled Flagpole Can only tell The honest erecting The hard evidence UFO sightings Full proof It's in the pudding Truth is ecstasy Speaking deep inside The gangly kid now A wrangling man Lassos a harem in his pants His dangling truths did just fine Gangly youth drunk off Silken wines divine Moist of kiss Passion blooms of touch Honestly, the truth is Quivering love My Inner howl Feel the earth move Under my feet Truth is 'will always run to you...

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~ *I see starfish from my false bottom canoe stretching the wave, a shimmer to the sound —slow, fast, wide, and narrow, then gray over blue in the empty mirth. I see trouble and strife, a beacon of decadence, trembling consistently on each note as if she had the permanent fever. I see death and transfiguration, (equal bedfellows), out of the ground as glorious wisteria, there's ether on hand and a lot of bridge work to cross the vocal span of our vibrato wars. I've only got time for the business at hand, these cobwebs in the corner (of history) can linger, or die like flies on the Queen of Compromise, who never was, who might have been, who will always be. am I cantillating or have I ventured into false memory syndrome again?* ~

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Apr 25, 2022

Apr 25, 2022 at 12:45 PM UTC

Sightings in the Test Area During Autumn

~ *I see starfish from my false bottom canoe stretching the wave, a shimmer to the sound —slow, fast, wide, and narrow, then gray over blue in the empty mirth. I see trouble and strife, a beacon of decadence, trembling consistently on each note as if she had the permanent fever. I see death and transfiguration, (equal bedfellows), out of the ground as glorious wisteria, there's ether on hand and a lot of bridge work to cross the vocal span of our vibrato wars. I've only got time for the business at hand, these cobwebs in the corner (of history) can linger, or die like flies on the Queen of Compromise, who never was, who might have been, who will always be. am I cantillating or have I ventured into false memory syndrome again?* ~

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There is an elusive group of creatures Seldom spoken of by sensitive souls Lining railway tracks as far as they stretch Hiding in hedges, dashing down holes All it takes is patience An ounce of imagination From Taunton up to Stoke-on-Trent One can be spotted between every station The Hedgetracker is spotted Silver eyes glow in the green Though most keep sightings to themselves As to be believed they must be seen Hedgetrackers should not be feared They're neither vicious nor malign They just want to keep their peaceful lives Of watching trains fly down the line

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May 22, 2013

May 22, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC

The Hedgetrackers

There is an elusive group of creatures Seldom spoken of by sensitive souls Lining railway tracks as far as they stretch Hiding in hedges, dashing down holes All it takes is patience An ounce of imagination From Taunton up to Stoke-on-Trent One can be spotted between every station The Hedgetracker is spotted Silver eyes glow in the green Though most keep sightings to themselves As to be believed they must be seen Hedgetrackers should not be feared They're neither vicious nor malign They just want to keep their peaceful lives Of watching trains fly down the line

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Finally i'm free, finally i am Away from that cage, far from that hell stage Been two months since I'd stopped chatting with them They've never ceased stalking me, talking to me But I fought them with gallantry The courage of not making a noise The bravery in silence Finally i'm free, finally i am Away from that cage, far from that hell stage Might be the last visit of my loved ones that affected me so much Gave me a true strength to overpower and block They've danced, sang, even performed a magic tricks But all are in vain, the coin was finally flipped Until totally no voice from them, no sightings at all Finally i'm free, finally i am Away from that cage, far from that hell stage It has been twenty minutes since we left the sanitarium Finally i am away, finally i am far "His situation is fifty-fifty" said the nurse that accompanied the body As i looked at him to my curiosity Oh God! It was my body in an ambulance... written: September 1, 2014 @ 9:16 PH standard time Mysterious Aries

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Sep 1, 2015

Sep 1, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC

MysteriousAries

Schizophrenian Freedom

Finally i'm free, finally i am Away from that cage, far from that hell stage Been two months since I'd stopped chatting with them They've never ceased stalking me, talking to me But I fought them with gallantry The courage of not making a noise The bravery in silence Finally i'm free, finally i am Away from that cage, far from that hell stage Might be the last visit of my loved ones that affected me so much Gave me a true strength to overpower and block They've danced, sang, even performed a magic tricks But all are in vain, the coin was finally flipped Until totally no voice from them, no sightings at all Finally i'm free, finally i am Away from that cage, far from that hell stage It has been twenty minutes since we left the sanitarium Finally i am away, finally i am far "His situation is fifty-fifty" said the nurse that accompanied the body As i looked at him to my curiosity Oh God! It was my body in an ambulance... written: September 1, 2014 @ 9:16 PH standard time Mysterious Aries

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I've spent the past decade And then some Drowning. I'm curled fetaly, Cradling the anchor seared Against this inside of my ribs. I've managed to keep my head Above the waves, Even with a tempest Crashing, Beating, Breaking, Forcing It's Way Into My Lungs, If only just barely. There have been so many Failed lifelines, False shore sightings, Ghost ships burning bright on the horizon. But I continue to tread water, Resigning myself to a life of chocking. One day you floated by, Quietly in time with the sunrise, And I felt lighter Simply from your proximity. You stayed a while, And as hours passed I felt myself falling for you. You reached your hand out, Gave me a lifeline, Gave me a handhold With you. Whispered promises In the middle of the night, Hushed attempts to cease my crying, To assure me you wouldn't let me sink, Even as I screamed at you To let me go In the midst of the thrall. I pushed you away, Fervent in the desire To save you, To get you to the eye, So I could drown guiltless. k.f.

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Mar 17, 2014

Mar 17, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC

pyricalarctificer

There's Comfort in The Bottom of a Swimming Pool

I've spent the past decade And then some Drowning. I'm curled fetaly, Cradling the anchor seared Against this inside of my ribs. I've managed to keep my head Above the waves, Even with a tempest Crashing, Beating, Breaking, Forcing It's Way Into My Lungs, If only just barely. There have been so many Failed lifelines, False shore sightings, Ghost ships burning bright on the horizon. But I continue to tread water, Resigning myself to a life of chocking. One day you floated by, Quietly in time with the sunrise, And I felt lighter Simply from your proximity. You stayed a while, And as hours passed I felt myself falling for you. You reached your hand out, Gave me a lifeline, Gave me a handhold With you. Whispered promises In the middle of the night, Hushed attempts to cease my crying, To assure me you wouldn't let me sink, Even as I screamed at you To let me go In the midst of the thrall. I pushed you away, Fervent in the desire To save you, To get you to the eye, So I could drown guiltless. k.f.

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Ms Dolittle was giving her cuppa a sip Her beady eyes drowned in deep brood Last night she didn’t get enough sleep The morning found her in a grumpy mood. She had never seen them in all her years Though read or heard about sightings Dismissed them as mere conjectures The believers’ flight on fantasy wings! It might be the moonlight playing mischief with her The moon can fool with such eerie nightly designs Or maybe had a peg too many she couldn’t remember She wasn’t unaccustomed to swigs of grapevines. Whatever, she saw it clear not imagined in her head The silhouette of her husband on the curtained window Something she wouldn’t wish away as merely moon-made He stood there upright waving to her in the moon’s glow. Ms Dolittle brave as she is didn’t swoon or pass out Just lay there motionless without rising to the summon It was her husband about that she had no doubt For in a troubled voice it said, ‘Come on’. So there he was troubled for not having her company And it was precisely what was worrying her She had no idea with him how she could be She wasn’t yet booked for traveling that far!

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Nov 29, 2013

Nov 29, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC

pradip-chattopadhyay

Ms Dolittle was giving her cuppa a sip Her beady eyes drowned in deep brood Last night she didn’t get enough sleep The morning found her in a grumpy mood. She had never seen them in all her years Though read or heard about sightings Dismissed them as mere conjectures The believers’ flight on fantasy wings! It might be the moonlight playing mischief with her The moon can fool with such eerie nightly designs Or maybe had a peg too many she couldn’t remember She wasn’t unaccustomed to swigs of grapevines. Whatever, she saw it clear not imagined in her head The silhouette of her husband on the curtained window Something she wouldn’t wish away as merely moon-made He stood there upright waving to her in the moon’s glow. Ms Dolittle brave as she is didn’t swoon or pass out Just lay there motionless without rising to the summon It was her husband about that she had no doubt For in a troubled voice it said, ‘Come on’. So there he was troubled for not having her company And it was precisely what was worrying her She had no idea with him how she could be She wasn’t yet booked for traveling that far!

Continue reading...