@midnightsonneteer
Married poet, primarily here for anacreontic verse (wine, women, and song). Please no pathologically thanatotic ideology or conservatism, especially MAGA, which is the gateway to totalitarianism, and that most certainly includes any type of salesmanship.
Yet one day a palomino appeared
to chat up an architect nerd
and to each other were equine endeared
for one off man and horse symbiont herd
which made center stage the designer barn
and lip-synch dobbin worth a laugh track darn!
3/3
But a horse won't make of itself an ass
with bloviation too willy-nilly
since taciturn is the vibe that they pass
when chomping a grassland flat or hilly.
2/3
Mister Ed
Each ennead muse took a whisper course
from the dream catching Kootenay shaman
who knew so well how to speak to a horse
as to make a talking horse quite common.
1/3
...ensconced within some gothic iron gate
buzzed in by chic cherub guardhouse sentry
screening out the meek for an Earthly fate
where daisies are pushed up for the gentry.
Tragic the heaven as exclusive club
when the laughs are always at Saint Patrick's Pub.
3/3
...with idyll oodles ideology
wherein we break some quantum field bond
to resurrect into cosmology
but only for some beau repentant monde...
2/3
Heavens to Murgatroyd
Old memories into dreams will merge
leaving us only with myth and shadow
to commemorate prehistoric urge
needling our id from eons ago...
1/3
where no more will we whiff a breath
pertly fresh, cold, and clean,
upon a sphere of sooty death...
which once was sweet and green.
3/3
There's those who will not give a shit
'bout who or what we burn
all squandering collective wit
past points of no return...
2/3
Shahran
It's make or break for Planet Earth,
though many just don't care,
trapped within our orbital berth
and urgent shell of air.
1/3
of octane highs or commuter crash
and motorheads coked up at the wheel
trashing the heavens with gasoline ash
or public peace with addiction zeal
in the Great Humongous war machine
of gas, grass, and ass, ...and no peace between.
3/3
of carcinogenic poisons and war
coveted ever as something to sell
to fuel the zombies keeping cash score
in our hydrocarbon cycle of hell...
2/3
Peak Stupid is Crude
One fifth snarled at The Strait of Hormuz
the oil supply begins with a jam
and makes a commodity ill to use
for all except a perpetual scam...
1/3
and behavior poorly modeled,
through ignorance of man,
the violence mollycoddled...
all mocking nature's plan.
4/4
It spake of trees and alphabets,
of sound conveyed through wood,
and now one of my few regrets
are trees misunderstood...
3/4
It came as soft as pebble waves,
undulating a pond,
an oscillation that enslaves
as if by valent bond.
2/4
Ogham
A Celtic tune once rang the bell
that often chimes my brain,
with no lyrics for me to spell
or otherwise attain.
1/4
It came as soft as pebble waves,
undulating a pond,
an oscillation that enslaves
as if by valent bond.
2/4
in corkscrew renaissance every morning
and corkscrew superstition every night
with all the faint twinkle suns adorning
my darkest ages with daydreaming light...
churning prominence for the midnight yearn...
where the elegist heart...hopes to return.
3/3
in its crackling state of forever flux,
same pale shade Luna shows when she sets
and all throughout her orbital redux
which that spacetime continuum begets...
2/3
Zodiacal Sight
There's moonbeam static when I close my eyes,
the cosmic sparkle of a living gold
candle colored like a French plate O fries
or background radiation uncontrolled...
1/3
And YouTube has a ten-hour block
of Celtic music befitting study
or befitting the well fellated cock,
by spouse, or friend benefitting buddy...
since a pupil off on scholarly roads
will hone discernment after he unloads.
3/3
But Guiness isn't the only choice
for Hibernian equinoctial fun
as harps pair just as well with James Joyce
when reading in clover warmed by the sun.
2/3
The Harp's Accord
Right after the lively Ides of March
is Saint Patrick's exalted day of drink
where corny beef pairs well with heaps O starch
until the vomit plugs the kitchen sink.
1/3
February
The squirrel, junco, and scrubby jay,
play through the drowsy tree
as immune to a rainy day
as any beast could be.
But indoors I read a book
staying warm and dry and fed
to sometimes give outdoors a look
to see if clouds have dried and fled.
Yup it is, you can use a site like www.dcode.fr/ogham-alphabet to transliterate, scroll down about half way, find the "encode" box and tick "Unicode" and it'll generate a character string you can copy and paste
Last One in The House
The nut dry lime
looked not to make a juice
or serve as grist for rhyme...
but truth it was I made a truce
when halves against the press I pressed
to harvest drops and scanty pulp
with which that rind was blessed...
for water in a pint to gulp.
convinced his weave is a real thing...
though as ethereal as promises made
by rights divine or fickle king
with deals so very artlessly betrayed
and just as stiffed as stiffed can be...
in the China shops of bullshot tyranny.
3/3
He can't ignore the pretty girls...
he can't ignore the microphones
as he lauds misogynist churls
and retread ideology clones...
2/3
The Clodpate Administration...
Cantilevered into prone blovia-tio
by gluteal grotesquery counterweight...
Dear Leader horns in like Horatio
in all the press pool-age of state.
1/3
