Author: Toastingfork

Not afraid to rhyme.

Golden in the Fall

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autumn autumn colours brown countryside
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Golden in the Fall

The leaves are falling down again,
They do so ev’ry year
It doesn’t mean a thing to you and I.
The days are full of wind and rain,
But we are not, my dear –
It is eternal Spring for you and I.

If trees have lost their beauty,
Then I guess they felt the need,
But we are still perennial and pure.
And even if we’re fruity,
Well, we sure ain’t gone to seed –
We’re nothing like Autumnal, that’s for sure !

The leaves are falling down again,
The boughs bear only rooks,
Or else are torn and splintered by the storm.
The frost may star the windowpane,
The ice may sheet the brook,
But we’ll just snuggle closer, safe and warm.

If days are getting shorter,
Then our nights are getting longer,
And the season’s chill is firmly kept outdoors.
I don’t see why we oughta
Be beholden – we are stronger
Than the puny pull of Autumn’s metaphores.

Suburban Spiritual

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telegraph pole
Wires by Tom Lantaff

Suburban Spiritual

If the bells ring out from the crossing tower,
I’ll meet my love upon the hour –
I’ll meet my love, and we shall stroll
From the old gas works to the new may-pole.

If they call to prayer from the minaret,
I’ll meet my love on the High Street yet –
I’ll meet my love, and we shall wend
From the old canal to the new bridge-end.

If the trumpets bray the sabbath’s start,
I’ll meet my love in the Hounds & Hart –
I’ll meet my love and we shall roam
From the old duck pond to the new dogs’ home.

If chanting comes from the temple door,
I’ll meet my love by the superstore –
I’ll meet my love and we shall stray
From the old sheep track to the new free way.

I Am, Therefore I Think

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compassion
Compassion by Donato Giancola

I Am, Therefore I Think

Do you ever wonder
If we clever, clever humans
Are merely ponderous machines ?
Biologic robots
With the programs written in our genes ?

But surely we have something else ?
A spark, a drive, an inner sense
That keeps us in control ?
But let us drop the pretence:
We are talking of a soul.

So why should I be special
When my laptop doesn’t care ?
I mean, I know I’m here, sure,
For I’m aware that I’m aware –
But is there really need for prayer ?

Perhaps if future androids
Ever learned that they were androids
Then would it break their spell ?
For all they look like us,
Would they think like us as well ?

Would they get less good at being good,
Or just less good at being ?
Would they start to doubt, or start to shirk ?
Or maybe even build machines
To do their work ?

Or would they shrug it off,
Or learn to cheat,
Or maybe even start to pray ?
All in all, I wonder…
But do they ?

Weasel Words

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weasel
The least weasel in Summer coat

Weasel Words

Some folks hate the spiders,
And some the toads or rats,
And snakes have their deriders,
As do pigeons, pigs and bats.
But surely the most slandered
And unfairly gerrymandered
Are the weasels, hated weasels –
Just as welcome as the measles.
Perfect to disgust the kids:
The creepiest of mustelids.

No.  I won’t stand for it:
Discrimination, that’s its name.
Think them evil, call them kinky,
Just because they’re low and slinky,
Just because you need something to blame.
Don’t call them duplicitous,
Or cowardly, or weak –
As mother’s they’re solicitous,
As predators they’re sleek.

Was ever so maligned a beast ?
So fine a beast at that !
They thrive in north and south and east,
As cute as any cat.
Was ever so maligned a beast,
For being red and small ?
Least weasels ?  They ain’t least !
They’re weasels most of all !

White Rose, Red Leicester

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tomb

White Rose, Red Leicester

A long-dead king has gained a sponsor,
As he gets re-buried in state
A tyrant, if not quite the monster
That the Tudors would create.

But wait –
We’re missing the beauty here,
Amid the pomp and lack of debate:
It’s not in the marble, or toady veneer,
In a minster of the second rate.

So a long-lost king was dug out of the ground –
So what ?
But how do we know whose bones we’ve found
Despite long centuries years of rot ?
That is the beauty we’re missing, I say –
The beauty of DNA !

It shows us just who’s our forebear or grandson –
And surely that’s all worth a king’s ransom !
And where were such secrets first teased from their source ?
Why, right here in Leicester, of course !

The Selfie-Stick

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man kissing woman holding selfie stick
Photo by James Frid on Pexels.com

The Selfie-Stick

The kids have got a brand new toy
That’s cheap and fun and ev’rywhere –
It brings them joy in the bright, fresh air,
It’s something they can share on dates,
And something to deploy with mates.

How dare they !
These noisy louts !  This raucous zoo !
These brash young cupids all a-pout,
All mugging to their stupid stick –
We have to skew these buggers, quick !
They should have eaten up their sprouts,
Instead of dining on mange-tout !
They get about too much, these kids,
They ought to learn to do without.

They’re trying to extend their reach…
They need constraining –
Loitering about the town,
We need to teach the little jerks –
So salt the leeches, swat the gnats,
I swear the mouthy snots are gaining !
Keep the little sprats from reigning –
Keep ’em reined-in, keep ’em down !
Keep ’em straining, wipe their smirks !
It’s time these clowns learned where it’s at –
They want our crown – we can’t have that !
So stop their fun and make ’em work
To pay for our retirement perks.
The little berks !  The pushy brats !

Three Minute Pop

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black and grey vinyl record
Photo by Brett Jordan on Pexels.com

Three Minute Pop

Attention – this is a radio edit,
This is a cut-down and re-spliced precis,
This is an abstract for those who ain’t read it,
This is a digest, a brief prima facie.
Right about now there should be a solo,
Alas, this synopsis has run out of credit.
The next verse is missing – the hole in the polo –
For this résumé is a radio edit.

To Ev’ry Dream I Ever Dreamt

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sleep
Sleeping Venus by Simon Vouet

To Ev’ry Dream I Ever Dreamt

Oh, what a night we spent together,
That night I spent in your arms !
That night I fell headlong for your charms,
That night we met in the dark.
Though my eyes were closed, I saw it all,
And yet, so little I recall…
And yet…I kind-of sense you’ve left your mark.
Oh, what a night we spent together,
It felt like the night would last forever –
Yet ev’ry night ends with the lark,
The radio’s bark across the hall,
The clanging bells that wrench me from the ball.

Oh, what a night when I slept with you !
For just one night, and never again –
Now ev’ry night I wait in vain,
Until another REM-ling takes your place.
We had a time, though, you and I,
Just wish I could have said goodbye –
But I was snatched from your embrace,
Or when I looked away, you fled –
Our words unsaid with the dawning sky,
One more lost thread, one more forgotten face.
We were, alas, a one-night lie,
And now I wake to an empty bed.

Psychopomp

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faceless

Psychopomp

One god, two gods,
Sitting on a cloud,
But we killed them both for dead
When their wrath was disallowed.
Three gods, four gods,
Lurking in the gaps,
But we winkled all them out
When we stole their thunderclaps.
Five gods, six gods,
List·en·ing to prayers,
But we did them out of jobs
When we always dodged the fares.
Dead gods, fled gods,
Nothing left to show –
Five thousand down,
And one more to go.

The Misanthrope’s Love Song

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honest john
Honest John by Alan Coulson

The Misanthrope’s Love Song

Ah love, the reddest of congealings
Oozing out of ev’ry pore,
And pouring in from ev’ry spout,
And weeping from each sore –
This slushy syrup’s seeping out,
A haemorrhage of metaphor.
But if this rising tide of treacle
Is the honey without equal,
If love must be sickly sweet,
I guess I’ll have to grab my spoon and eat.

Ah love, the Romeo of feelings,
Acted out for evermore,
With nothing new worth saying,
And the sayers such a bore –
The role we’re always playing,
Like the millions who came before.
So how are we to find the heart
When offered such a clichéd part ?
But if we cannot be the first,
I guess at least this script is well rehearsed.

Ah love, the feeblest of concealings,
Giggling its guffaws galore –
The grinniest of poker faces,
Blurting out the score.
It favours twos to lonely aces,
Bids on hearts and bets the store.
You know, a sharp or cynic could
Defraud such love of all that’s good –
But maybe I’ll relent today,
And sigh, and shrug, and ante-up to play…