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Blog Title Photo

Saturday, June 8, 2013

As Oceans Tide



Ever since you left my light, I saw the world in black and white,
The light you took when you went away, your looks sent back as dark today.

The books you took when you went away, your looks sent back to the stacks today.

Baked Alaska's cold 'n hot, What late candidate's bold but not?

One's a dream, that comes with meringue,
The other's the cream from the Tea Party gang.

The road to the Presidency attracts our very best,
Hairpieces from the East, and brains from scary West.

Love that Buddha, and that hawk!
What dove he's true to makes me gawk.
That jade gremlin? I'm not tremblin!
He's got no belly, He's made of jelly.

When Raptors fly, over lands and fields,
It just about ruptures, our plans with Israel.

Water brought pain, from a tyrant above,
He's not stopped the rain, and seems tired of love.

Take all you've assumed, and all you hold dear,
Assume it's all doomed by your innermost fear.

Break out your shovels, take out some seed,
Plant lines of sweet clover, and stand by to weed.

Bedecked with diamonds, collared with pearls,
Heck I'm just rhyming, because I like them curls!

Bernd and I we like the crow,
'Bert and I' is from Down East though.
Birds in Brooklyn? - there are lots!
Sparrows, falcons, . . . Triceratops!

In the air and on the ground, a hawk will stalk, without a sound!

Every Pharaoh with a harem and a scarab ring,
Dreads the power of the net and the Arab spring.

Ces cerveaux ne sont pas faibles,
un veut manger de ce pain sur table!

Des grandes penses, ils sont mieux,
Je veux dancer avec les deux!

When I talk to her, she's sweet to me,
And when she balks at words, I eat a Parle G!

If the Higgs boson,
Had the inclination to think,
One might read of quantums,
Written in Higgins ink.

The origins of Easter aren't at all Jesus,
But a goddess named Ishtar, so burn that old thesis!

My son with his stubble, says the world's at peak beard,
Hirsute chins make for trouble, when eating gets weird.

My flask runneth over, with the smell of your skin,
. . . Specific task odors in cuticular hydrocarb-in.

The sources of rhyme cast a bottomless spell,
Of course like the Nile, they pass time by as well.

A message sent, by the fire stoking,
What is meant, by all this poking?

I had friends who learned to fly
But when they talked, began to die,

They muttered aloud then heard a call,
Fluttered about, and began to fall

When you're painted red as wrath,
Be sainted by my tea-water bath.

Chartreuse eggs? I like the color.
The question begs: 'Who's the mother?'

I glazed and loaded ninety-nine bowls,
In five days time, the kiln will cool,
Then all these bowls will want some tea,
Poured within to give them souls.

You're messin' with me, but I'm missin' you.
 Please let's wait patiently, 'till our moment comes through.

What adds but cannot think, then ferments to a hearty drink.
Inspired a notion of a force unseen and sits between me and what you're seeing.

On motion'd feet I carry all speech,
For when you eat, I cannot speak.
As oceans tide, I sally forth.
All your life, then when you goeth.

The death of one who's great, like the loss of what is wild,
Reminds us that we're late, to pause for our inner child.

See actors, sharp on stage, 'Neath clover, dark in shade.
Above them, a ficus forest, 'Neath them, a fawn adores us.


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