Sunstroke.

There is nothing in the way she looks at me
that would lead me to believe
she'd ever read a book with me
or take tea out on the verandah.

Miranda
Miranda
I dream of Miranda out on the verandah with me
wish she could see what I feel
Wish I could steal her away for a day
wish she would say
'hey
how are you doing
I've got the tea brewing
come out to the verandah'
Oh Miranda
you make my heart ache
wish I could take you and make you believe
put my heart on your sleeve
put my lips against yours.

I woke up out of doors
I'd fallen asleep in the sun
waiting just waiting for Miranda to come.

Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Bumming your fat knobs and insert your helmet naked and unashamed

Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Kicking off kick-off, cyborgs brought face to face
Tartan sunstroke and may Mumbo Jumbo's **** all lie among you

Nine, eleven, seven, thirteen, six, quinquereme, *******, *******, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, unsocial person, erectoffensive!
This is Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
You've really ****** the naval officer
And the hatchet faces want to know whose blouses you abuse
Now it's time to evacuate the ******* if you have a free hand

This is Lance Corporal Tom to Masticated Ectoplasm
I'm fancy dress dancing through the cat—flap
And I'm groping inside a swollen grotesque sailor
And the plums look gigantically unusual nowadays

Ergo from Land's End to John o' Groats am I piddling in a crumpet slammer
Telescopic hindward the lump
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** ******* with

With the proviso that I'm Ichabod celibate centipede sextillion heads
I'm fondling vigorously paparazzo
And I think my sputnik knows which direction to ****
Tell my ballbreaker I ****** her vigorously for England, she bonks

Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Your menstrual cycle's kaput, there's oojakapivvygizmo spleen
Can you smell me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you get to the bottom of me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you delve into me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you...

From Land's End to John o' Groats am I vibrating ring my crumpet criminal lunatic asylum
Telescopic hindward the groupie
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** ******* with

After each harsh sunstroke, the breeze is always cold,
Blowing away all the burden that at one time you did hold.

The day before was vicious, but tomorrow is definitely a saint,
The wall of struggles seems very small, yet very less to paint.

Weeks can be ruthless, months may never be nice,
But the long decades of happiness will pay the whole price.

The well seems deep because of the small rope,
But it isn't more profound than our determined hope.

The beautiful hours await you, making every second very old,
After each harsh sunstroke, the breeze is always cold❤

one
breathe
you may not realise it
but you’ve stepped into new lands
and life is different here
you are different here

you’d thought the sun
had kissed you before
but it did not love you
like it did this place
the people here had
felt its arms wrapped
around their bodies
for generations,
its light imprinted in
their skin like melanin,
the same light
you’d seen shine
from your mother’s hands

you’d thought the sun
had kissed you once before
but you were different,
your light was dimmer,
harder to recognise
and even the sun wasn’t
sure you were its kin,
had to look twice
before it realised
your blood but you
remained a stranger
all the same

two
the way you talk is wrong
your words too delicate
your voice too soft
your speech without music

you’d thought your tongue
was universal, had been
both understood and mis before,
but you were the cub of a lioness
and didn’t know how to roar,
no pride would take
you in when you
mewled like a kitten
and no sunlight shone
from your skin

you’d thought your tongue
was no different to
your mother’s, but hers
never worked the same
when you spoke it,
never quite connected
to its audience, so
you stopped trying,
turned to the moon instead
and gave it your confession
the only way you knew how,
it told you you spoke just fine

three
you think somewhere else
things will be different
you don’t remember
it has always been this way

your family never once
pointed out the intricacies
of your branches to you,
why you matched neither
your father’s roots nor your
mother’s veins, but had blossomed
something different, something new,
and why that would ever matter,
your family never thought
about these things, never
talked about such things,
they just wanted you
to speak plain

your family never once
explained how home would
be new to you, how home
wouldn’t really be like home
after all, because home didn’t
welcome you like it should have,
didn’t greet you right, hold you
tight in its arms and make you feel
like you belonged, because you
were different, and it didn’t
recognise you for a moment
or two

one
breathe
you may not realise it
but you’ve stepped into new lands
and life is different here
and you are different here

i can't sleep on nights when
the temperatures are too high.
charles's law was not wrong
when it said that gases expand
when they're heated.
it turns out that words do too.

or maybe it's not the words
that are gaseous, bursting
through my subconscious
like fireworks on fourths
you wish you'd missed.

the thoughts behind the words,
they're what i cannot escape.
the dimension beneath expression
and release, the tides that begin
near my heart but never quite
reach a shoreline to crash on.

i've heard that heat waves
**** more people than any
other natural disaster, yet
they trace my skin at night
and i swear, i've never felt
more awake.

The sultan kept
A mad desert storm
Sealed away in his bottle
Upon a silken belt.

I bought it from him
For a soul and two pence
My right eye,
a good crossbow,
And a loyal eastern gent.

I fell upon a
merciless jungle
That was filled with
Bodiless masses,

And uncorked the storm
Upon the bird like faces
Then they were swept away.

Why, do you ask?
So I could rule a sandy kingdom.
How does it look?
Like an ocean filled with glass.

A bottle I keep around my waist...
Within it a sandy storm...

we stroll the orchard
where grapes prune
and apples dutch
the burgeoning ****
of our memories...

we remain shimmering in true dusk. there
on the cusp of inscrutable lust and the chaste rabies
of a sliver of first bone
with tornado lips
and cotton
random.

we cajole our misfortune,
and rise at noon; without laughing -
we ****** our hags from the raven
that feathered our cap.
we elapse with the dead
in the basement of our rendering.
a little ahead of ourselves
or dead, no matter what.
the orchard glooms a demise
in the calm tourettes
of our syndrome...

both alone in the teeming all-spark
of our glorious sundering...
our Mondays say less than
our Present Day -
and a yarn of plight and sunstroke
gropes at the  barb
of our bee stung
innocence

we chide the withering
for all the Withering -
and all the good
it does....

besides.

we wrath glide the plum

then have at Life.

Blister packs  and Auld Lang Syne,
the rain-dance in the rain-forests
where no one keeps time;
the maypole, the bar stool,
the sunstroke pilgrimage;
the Superbowl commercial,
the secret raiding of the fridge-
all conforming to some routine
of half-comfortable bliss;
we stumble blindly through
our blueprint futures-
we borrow our happiness.

The truth is out there
if you look within:
the circadian rhythm,
the central nervous system;
the clamour of your mind
in the face of chronic stress.
The Lenders are out
in the crowds now,
with their placards of high-interest
amongst the indifference
of the street-meat vendors,
the numbered tables at the bar;
we spoil ourselves in the reach
of the so near's;
that we forsake all of the so far's.

He always showers right
Before bed -
His version of a milky drink,
Taking advantage of my
Chamomile shower gel.
(Girly? Yes,
But undeniably relaxing.)

Sometimes I join him,
Knees pushing into the
Bottom of the bath,
Boiling hot water
Hitting me directly
In the back of the head,
Giving me sunstroke.

Not tonight though.
Tonight, just sit,
Wait for the door to open,
And watch the steam
Slowly greet
My mirrors.

VI
We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack:
Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly.
We see the things we do not yearn to see
Around us: and what see we glancing back?
Lost hopes that leave our hearts upon the rack,
Hopes that were never ours yet seem'd to be,
For which we steer'd on life's salt stormy sea
Braving the sunstroke and the frozen pack.
If thus to look behind is all in vain,
And all in vain to look to left or right,
Why face we not our future once again,
Launching with hardier hearts across the main,
Straining dim eyes to catch the invisible sight,
And strong to bear ourselves in patient pain?

IX
Star Sirius and the Pole Star dwell afar
Beyond the drawings each of other's strength:
One blazes through the brief bright summer's length
Lavishing life-heat from a flaming car;
While one unchangeable upon a throne
Broods o'er the frozen heart of earth alone,
Content to reign the bright particular star
Of some who wander or of some who groan.
They own no drawings each of other's strength,
Nor vibrate in a visible sympathy,
Nor veer along their courses each toward
Yet are their orbits pitch'd in harmony
Of one dear heaven, across whose depth and length
Mayhap they talk together without speech.

sluggish stroll to red-hot mailbox_sunstroke summer

co ma piernik do wiatraka a kóra do pióra?

immortalised mortality: Achilles -
some also quote Zeno on the matter
suggesting that anyone can be involved
in the question of turtle shells:
mortal-ised immortality - meaning
it's democratic, any mortal can think
about it, since there's only one Achilles.

what has a gingerbread to a windmill?
Don Quixote. again:
what has a chicken to a quill?
Nietzsche's handwriting - kura pazurem
a człek igłą.*

but there's a majority of us that think about immortality
seriously, only because he haven't fulfilled an
adequate mortality - we haven't, there are so many
of us that haven't fulfilled mortality to depart with death
with agony, we're just happy it's over,
i end up drinking beer like it's apple juice
on the after taste - we're called the depressive ones,
but still they make money off us -
the fault is the stars, we're not in it -
and why did he drink? the shame, the travesty -
i too wanted to fulfil my mortality to the ****,
convene on naked-concreteness, on bare concrete
and cover it with tar, so that someone might
watch television...

i don't know the result of the referendum,
i woke up early, took two acidic ***** into the bowl
and thought about my mouth spitting venom,
too little, too late,
walked for three beers to balance the metabolism
and walked back, waiting for cat-food to arrive -
nearly sunstroke saying under my breath:
'if you really want to make Wales into Sudan,
go the **** right ahead, book a Disneyland trip
to Florida, for all i care, i'm a Kentucky fried chicken here,
oh no, go ahead, i'm really eager to read your journalistic
attempt to be serious like they were about Watergate,
no, please, no Pelican briefs, just socks... oh come on,
we can't be seriously, we're trailblazing the **** out of
whatever we thought about the penguin continent;
Green Peace? here?! you have to be kidding me,
i have Arabian playboys playing chasers and racers
on real-life Playstations at Knightsbridge, they think
Harrods is the only shop beginning with H in London;
what about Hamleys? i'm sure the playboys and blonde
****** would be better suited to race around Regents
Street... matchbox Ferrari ***** -
i'm not going to be some Sudanese suntan just so
you can jet stream to elsewhere -
i'm guessing they all had ***** when the Reign of Terror
happened, 'cos what i'm seeing right now is a bunch
of eunuchs biting their toenails -
me? no one gave me a firearm to shoot someone
like Napoleon said, i just posed for a portrait;
i'm not into torture, i have a memory of goldfish
reminded of a globular tank, given Newton's explanation
of the curvature of the eye, upside down and all,
i'm goldfish Bob, dubbed 'the all-seeing eye'.
i have to admit, the artists were crude when they
painted Elizabeth I, or anyone prior -
they didn't exactly represent them as human,
humanoid, yes - quasi ****,
i'm Darwin in Tate Britain looking at canvases
and regarding mascara as the new adaptability tactic
for what the Galapagos "Rhodes" colossus turtles took to
over-sizing  and imitating boulders - the art those days
was a Bayeux Tapestry - Shylock after Shylock after
an oversized ***** graffiti inserted somewhere instead
of an arrow piercing a neck - the artists weren't sloppy,
they were simply unkind - i'm shocked that so many
kings took to up-keeping their vanity of rule due
to the sloppy hand of artists painting them as if ******.

you know, they say, prior to urbanisation, during the winter, people turned into rabbits because it was so bleak... but now winter in an urbanised system seems rather like a stare into a cold nearing ultra-violet light of the neon of adverts at piccadilly circus.*

spring came yesterday, long awaited i guess,
head up my *** sort of speak,
warm rain, not icy in venture of sleet,
warm, while today a day of warm contentment,
an hour spent on a bench imagining how
it would be in Disneyland,
two squirrels in a chase, woodland pigeons
making ends meet, a menacing crow
flying by with his hidden harem
(i said it once, you never see crows
do the pigeon thing of eager mating in
front of you, i guess they do it in the dark),
a robin with its crucified heart of the orange-red
chest pout exploding,
a blackbird rustling in shuffles;
two beers in and i notice the disharmony of this spring
compared with previous springs - the magnolias haven't
really bloomed, the daffodils were already
here in november, and the pink and white spring
blossoms seem anorexic and dried out in terms of volume,
they're scarcely colouring the backdrop of
the uneventful blue of sky and green of the hills;
summer is oh so monochromatic,
the season that debases me into a laziness,
a woman's sunglasses and a hood to protect
me from sunstroke, just lazying on a bench
thinking of a place in the archive of humanity,
next to the anchovies, i hope... the weeping willow
with its furry caterpillar sprouts;
it's all there, if you're lazy enough to peer at it.

Wonder what he'll say when he sees this finally?



(sonnet #MMMXC)


December's undue warmth gone with the pale
Light's tender glow, what chill assaults! Each sigh
Which gaily teased, a frigid breath ne'er shy,
Yet gloaming is too pretty in its frail
Stealth waning while I fold the minor tale
Of items earlier pegged where morning'd buy
Fair hopes the laundry might well even dry
If it'd not rain.  Winds soft then are more hale.
But I am smiling like a fool sans sense
And giggling cuz of you.  How when I knew
You'd penned a most exquisite tribute dense
With what I meant, you swore that sunstroke threw
Its blind across, and not love's influence,
Nor me.  Haha.  I know.  And love you too.

02Dec13a

Aye that's what I'd say
eclipses are good for sunstroke
"Do you write left aligned?"
Me........ A **** socialist?
And here I am again
Crawling back to my poetry
Like a dog crawls back to lick it's own *****
That was written 1400 years ago
Thanks Gregory
If You Don't Know me By Now
Banging out from my hi-fi
while she quietly snores
And dribbles on my shoulder
If I shut my eyes
there is still a white square
No matter how hard I try
There will always be
One more white square

Out on a liferaft looking for low flying aircraft and the
sea shells that sound like the sea.
I see nothing but water and sailors that caught a rough wave
and paving the way for a saviour to appear is the
rear admiral asleep and the course that we keep is
quite random it seems, gleaned from the stars and
the dockside bars, distilled by the gums that supped many a *** and
smoked a canteen of navy cut cigarettes, where will it end?

The admiral wakes, takes a reading, 'land sakes', from the parrot that sits by his side and we glide on through the sea, what will be, what will be
but what is
is what worries me.

On the cockleshell shore where we floundered and wore out the heels of our boots, we set down some roots built huts from bamboo to save us from sunstroke and the Lloyds bell was rung for lost sailors and *** and the admiral asleep in the rear.

“He is a dreamer; let us leave him – pass.” Julius Caesar I.ii.24

Strident philosophers at Hyde Park Corner
Poor buskers at Queen Victoria’s feet
Chalk artists remaking the pavement as Rome
A Seventh Sister with her folk guitar

These are not dreamers passive in their beds
Or supplicants awaiting permission:
They are the worker bees; they know of pain
And sweat, and sunstroke in the fields - and truth

When a sidewalk artist notes that the Ides
Have come, Caesar indeed should turn to hear

Justin Bieber's Dreadlocks Show
How White People (Still) Steal Everything
(vice news)...*

yep, and Beyoncé isn't... because it's natural
for hair in a sub-saharan environment
to be without afro curls... smooth and slick...
and partially blonde... ain't it *****?
yep... tell 'em how it is! women out-cold
in cold sweats due to sunstroke should they
have demanded hair fitted for a near Arctic
environment of near perpetual darkness
among gingers in scotland.

I've tailored so many suits,
Switching out mismatched buttons for shining brass,
And restoring fabric worn thin over years of well-loved use.

But I cannot tailor this traitorous skin to fit me right.
In some placed it's too lose,
In others too tight…
I cannot switch out the pieces of me I'd rather live without
For new pieces shining with pride.
There is no way to restore a body to what it should have been,
Or even to the simple majesty of what it once was.

Young and ignorant of its uneven seams.

I've hemmed ladies' skirts to the perfect lengths
So they no longer need to worry about tripping over the excess.
Hemmed them to show just the right amount of ankle
Or perhaps none at all..

But I cannot hem myself..

This excess emotion staining my voice denoted me as "she."
And I trip over my own voice that no longer fits in my mouth..
While gorgeous girls in gowns show off thin strips of themselves,
I am left trying to hide every piece of my skin.

This is why I have risked sunstroke in the dead of summer
Wearing a hoodie and jeans to keep me safe.
This is why swimming pools are often synonymous with nightmare.

I no longer know how to wear this body with pride.

So when they ask me when I knew I wasn't a girl…
I have to restrain my urge to laugh and cry all at once.
Because when do we know that something is not as perfect as we once thought..
Only once it has been shown to us and we've been told to fix it.

I wish I could go back to being ignorant of my uneven seams.
These uneven seams that I cannot rip out unless I want to bleed out.
These uneven seams that I will never be able to fix to perfection.

But maybe…
Slowly,
Ever so slowly,
We might be able to stretch the seams of this world.
So that no child has to learn to hate or fear
Their jagged edges
Their unhemmable spaces…

…
…
…
…

But I cannot be one of those children..
So I will use chemicals to hem my voice..
Readjust my buttons…
Stretch my seams…
I will find a seamster more experienced then I
To rip out these traitorous strings
And rearrange the fabric to a more seemly drape.

I will use new fabric to cover up the patterns I am no longer proud of…
The patterns that cloud my days…
I will mend my ways
Learning to live in a patchwork maze
Until my spirit can return to where it truly belongs
In a beautiful blaze.
- EPL 11/6/2017

Growls and snarls emerge from the East,
It’s a mess of teeth and claws.
The land there is ruled by savage beats,
With scaly skin and gaping maws.
The West is nothing but sunstroke,
Barren hills of lost bones and sand.
Such great heat it turns air to smoke,
With evershifiting pieces of land.
The South shivers with warfare;
Bullet shells litter the streets.
Shots ring out and sirens blare,
In a mess of broken hearts and concrete.
But we will stand strong against any threat,
Brace ourselves when evil steps forth.
We’ll cut our loses and pay our debts,
Before we march our souls to the North.

Away, not home,
this continental heat.

The air pretends
this North Atlantic rock
is worldly

The smiles of the natives
lean manic
as we clutch at multipack lager
and disposable charcoal,
grasp at the living myth
of a cloudless sky
and give ourselves to these gods

Our worship sees us sacrifice
meat and skin,
both burnt to early hours regret
and delicate, bathroom sorrows

A sporadic bacchanal
whose scarcity ensures
that be it working week,
weekend or holiday,
feverish
we’ll pay the tithe

Sunstroke and/or hangover
prove penance for our lapse
from the frigid, three bar
Protestant norm,

but these exotic gods will beguile again
even as the blistered skin still peels

Time to think.
You bring handwritten
testament with mistakes.

I exist because
you were there. Between
sun and moon, there
was no controversy.

I was knitting
my life near hornets nest.
Words betray the anguish,
giving credit to hemlock.

Disempowered
in shadows, I become
my own rival to fight
green snakes.

In sleepwalking
you discover the blind
walls. All blood-stained skulls
start rolling.

The pecuniary prerogative of sportula, makes the Vas Auric and the Mandylion its residence, tending towards an algebraic sense of the two diametric  in a cross by the perpendicular, towards the tension of the shortest segment by the long one, tracing a circumference of radius and a half. Homologating in the interposed eclipse of the golden or golden number, for the divine proportion in consequence of irrational fractioning numbers. Shortening the passage of algebraic numbers with the infinite decimal towards Cinnabar with seven arches in parentheses reflecting in the septum of the apse in both temples of the homily, making the ancient period, files registered in mega center of the quantum memory of cinnabar , before disrupting the genesis of the Duoverso. The length of the rational period is eternal and it will err due to the hyper climatic sensation of distemperance that will be enclosed between the vaults of both temples in Rhodes and Kímolos, making the infinite decimals, a profit of the world in this Theory of the Verthian Duoverse, which is it will resemble with the ribs of the cathedral ceilings, the vegetative world and the inorganic world, up to the golden ratio, as an art or stereo-optical skill of the Vas Auric.

The First Treatise of the Vas Auric fell into the hands of Vernarth, one day of heavy plutonium sheets en masse of the golden number. The vertical avalanche was segmented when the dichotomy of the other line collided with the segments not altered, or rather omitted by some temporary blindness of the world of the Duoverso that just boasted. The compositions of number Z are made, and subdivision in its optical cinematography, divided into two slowed shots of small elements that were part of the controversy of Vas Auric as a medallion and Auric as mystical Gold, with distribution laws of:

"Zeus wakes up shaky, full of headache saturated with Herbs pro headaches
Jophiel is speaking this time in Kabbalistic Torah language...
with golden commoner super zone of Organikon Sorousliston Papadikon….
secular music that supplies Zeus with protein albumin,
to make him more human ... Zeus accepts Jophiel placing his head
over the house of Jophiel; divine island to throw cards ...
bring the second ray to the Sahasrara on his crown,
pacifying love that is suspicious and risky loser of everything
risk in the head, especially when a feeling is born!

And the floristic, above the stolon of the veins that move synchronously with the prolongations of speeds and acceleration of the emancipated leaves of the first order of the upper crown, up to the lower ones, thickening the golden spirals of a certain type of inflorescence, confining the areas Vernarth umbilical’s  and the plantar area of their feet between three and more than a hundred steps that come from certain metamorphoses, creating peduncle areas, act as a support for Vernarth and its  elders areas, brought from the Bumodos River, after a therapy string, creating psychic supports to endorse globalized neuralgic. Understanding that in the line of his neuralgia, the greater analog of the Messiah in the cross pierced by the Hastae Praetorian oscillates, more remote from the elliptical of pain, reduplicated by the accumulated energy, almost like mystical sunstroke. Due to the growth of the tangent of growth of the evolution of the reflection, the attenuation of the opposite effect is unleashed, allowing convalescence zones in signs of helices around the Vas Auric, crossing vertical and horizontal light beams, in search of angled Solar Light and refractory, for the palfrey of the Kanti Steed, abstracted from excessive rain, that uncrossed the tempos of the aura of the organic and aerial burial, towards the duplicity of the curves of the multi-cloned numbers and angered by their industrious dynamics of movement skewed to the effective solar …, Tending for the purposes of successive tendencies towards the vaporous numeral of Vas Áuric Cinnabar

Said geographical area composed of counties
located in Southeastern Pennsylvania,
South Jersey, Delaware, and
Eastern Shore of Maryland.

Sweltering temperatures
figuratively grip human zoo
bipedal hominids (yours truly,
an olive - garden variety simian)
seek much sought after shade
under whirled wide webbed yew
encompass vantage point to view
how flora and fauna cook née stew.

Weather records
(one for the books) chart mercury
rising hot enough to melt tar,
which indicates global warming
quite evident I fear,
what with mean temperatures
from January – August 2021 (thus far)
noticeably above norm for this time of year
prognosticators foretell forecasts
per this third planet from the star,
which inhabitants upon Mother Earth
burden of responsibility must bear
billions of people wanton pollutants
ratchet up barometric millibar
dialing up greenhouse effect,
which serious scenario scientists fear
correlation from profligate offal ways
traced from freed genie in the jar,
no longer stretch of imagination
affects mankind did sear
since day of reckoning,
whence Prometheus set stage for war
pitting mankind against Gaia
urgent messages we fail to hear.

Dystopian forecast impossible mission to avoid
since doomsday thoughts pervade consciousness
after perusing newsworthy information
globe trotting correspondents riskily employed
imperiling their life and limb to acquire
truthful natural and/or human interest stories
occurring across
all four corners of oblate spheroid,
i.e. world wide web,
whereby Earth situated within nebulous void.

I try mine darnedest to maintain optimistic aire
all the while gleaning apocalyptic intimations
courtesy human engineered phenomenon
all the more rhyme and reason to beware
**** sapiens on brink of armageddon,
especially when trustworthy cognoscere
painstakingly document their research
and without lacking hesitation declare

drastic paradigm shift away
from dependence on nuclear
energy and fossil fuels everywhere
else climate change could bitta bing
bitta bang hasten global warming,
where wicked watery wasteland
wreaks bleak soggy frontier
backed by popular demand
majority trumpets grandpoobear
for president, he who donned hair
actually he got bewigged courtesy fake
orange toupee, which got blown away
while he hoisted himself
with his own petard.

Imagine if ye will - one immense
ferociously diametrically,
and cosmologically phenomena
opposite that of Polar Vortex
(perhaps an apropos
nom de plume
would be Hades Furnace)
asphyxiating, clapping,
and encapsulating thee
entire oblate spheroid planet.

Judgement day could be similarly
blazing hot on the saddle, or cold
as a witch’s ***, which constant reminders
during Spartan, slated singe shearing,
stoic upbringing inured us Lutherans
to bite the figurative bullet
(which melted like caramel)
during those scorching, sea-sickening,
and sunstroke unbearable vaporizing winds.

No matter the temperature considerably cooler
holed deep within man cave
(especially with a box and desk fan
blowing pleasant air), nonetheless
I still lose out viz zit head by exertion
as a zero sum game.

umpteenth heat wave since onset of summer...
sizzles Delaware Valley today August 26th, 2022

Said geographical area composed of counties
located in Southeastern Pennsylvania,
South Jersey, Delaware, and
Eastern Shore of Maryland.

Sweltering temperatures
figuratively grip human zoo
bipedal hominids (yours truly,
an olive - garden variety simian)
seek much sought after shade
under whirled wide webbed yew
encompass vantage point to view
how flora and fauna cook née stew.

Weather records (temperature + heat index)
(one for the books) chart mercury
rising hot enough to melt tar,
which indicates global warming
quite evident I fear,
what with mean Fahrenheit degrees
from January – August 2022 (thus far)
noticeably above norm for this time of year
prognosticators foretell forecasts
per this third planet from the star,
which inhabitants upon Mother Earth
burden of responsibility must bear

billions of people wanton pollutants
ratchet up barometric millibar
dialing up greenhouse effect,
which serious scenario scientists fear
correlation from profligate offal ways
traced from freed genie in the jar,
no longer stretch of imagination
affects mankind did sear
since day of reckoning,
whence Prometheus set stage for war
pitting mankind against Gaia
urgent messages we fail to hear.

Dystopian forecast impossible mission to avoid
since doomsday thoughts pervade consciousness
after perusing newsworthy information
globe trotting correspondents riskily employed
imperiling their life and limb to acquire
truthful natural and/or human interest stories
occurring across all four corners
of oblate spheroid,
i.e. world wide web,
whereby Earth situated within nebulous void.

I try mine darndest to maintain optimistic aire
all the while gleaning apocalyptic intimations
courtesy human engineered phenomenon
all the more rhyme and reason to beware
**** sapiens on brink of armageddon,
especially when trustworthy cognoscere
painstakingly document their research
and without lacking hesitation declare

drastic paradigm shift away
from dependence on nuclear
energy and fossil fuels everywhere
else climate change could bitta bing
bitta bang hasten global warming,
where wicked watery wasteland
wreaks bleak soggy frontier
backed by popular demand
majority trumpets grandpoobear
for president, he who donned hair
actually he got bewigged courtesy fake
orange toupee, which got blown away
while he hoisted himself
with his own petard.

Imagine dragons if ye will - one immense
ferociously diametrically,
and climatological, cosmological,
geomorphological, meteorological phenomena
opposite that of Polar Vortex
(perhaps an apropos
nom de plume
would be Hades Furnace)
asphyxiating, clapping,
and encapsulating thee
entire oblate spheroid planet.

Judgement day could be similarly
blazing hot on the saddle, or cold
as a witch’s ***, which constant reminders
during Spartan, slated singe shearing,
stoic upbringing inured us Lutherans
to bite the figurative bullet
(which melted like caramel),
during those scorching, sea-sickening,
and sunstroke unbearable vaporizing winds.

No matter the temperature considerably cooler
holed deep within man cave
here within Lake Wobegon,
(especially with a box and desk fan
blowing pleasant air), nonetheless
I still lose out viz zit head by exertion
as a zero sum game.

Not going to speak of the weather
not whether it's hot
not whether it's not
I'll let the weather speak for itself.

The radio's belting out a tune
I'll be
melting into an ice cream soon
but
not going to speak of the weather.

Of course
for the British
this limits the conversation,
no talk of sunstroke
or of precipitation,

I'm going fishin'
she says,
'again?
take an umbrella
it might just rain'

Scorching Sun
Caravan walks quietly
in the desert land
Camels in tandem

Sunstroke. Camel collapses.
Dies.

After night descends,
People gather for dinner
Meat served on a huge plate.

Beast of burden had become
a feast of joy!

There was no mourning for the
dead.