Author: Toastingfork

Not afraid to rhyme.

A Hat that Lets the Rain in

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crowns

A Hat that Lets the Rain in

The king awoke one morning
And he couldn’t find his crown,
So he rang out for his footman
To bring forth his ermine gown,
Then ordered for the palace
To be hunted upside down –
And if it were still missing,
To send men upon the town.

His reason for such urgency
Was really very plain,
That if the king is crownless,
Then he rule goes down the drain –
For if he stands bareheaded
How will peasants know his reign ?
A king without a coronet
Is thoroughly mundane.

Fetch it !  Find it !
Capture it and mind it !
All your heads are bloody shreds
If someone has maligned it !

The soldiers rummaged ev’ry house,
And prodded ev’ry nook.
They barged upon the merchantfolk,
And half their wares they shook
Incase the prize was hid within,
Exposing crown and crook.
And if it weren’t, the goods were wrecked,
So clumsy was their look.

They burst upon the womenfolk
In most ungentle ways –
Their conduct was improper,
And their language coarse of phrase.
They entered ev’ry schoolroom,
Ev’ry salon, mill and maze.
But still it was not gainedfast,
And the town was all ablaze.

Search it !  Seek it !
Plunder it and wreak it !
All your eyes are filling pies
If somebody should sneak it !

The aldermen and dowagers
Were startled and incensed.
These worthies sought an audience,
Their grievances dispensed –
But found the King uncaring
Of the tumult he’d commenced.
They left with bitter passion
For the town to stand against –

“His majesty can issue
Any ruling or decree,
But that is all as naught to us
Who choose to disagree.
It’s time for him to realise
He’s just our employee,
And if we are unsatisfied,
It’s time to set him free.”

Pounce him !  Pry him !
Prison him and try him !
All our souls regain controls
If ev’ryone deny him !

The king awoke one morning
With his royal head uncrowned.
He spent that very evening
In cells of harsh surround.
He never understood it,
How his luck could so confound.
His coronet, in passing,
Was to never be refound.

Always Known As

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temperance
Temperance by Cesar Santos

Always Known As

Elizabeth has never liked her given name
And wants to substitute or rearrange it –
Maybe she should shorten, though that does seem tame:
Elly, Lisa, Bette – they all estrange it.
No, they’re common, twee and lame,
And all too lacking in acclaim.
So she must start afresh, aflame !
She mustn’t just shortchange it.

Elizabeth has never liked the name she’s got,
But ev’ryone who knows her knows her this way –
And even if she calls herself by who-knows-what,
It won’t mean squat – they’ll never come and play.
They’re far too used to it, she knows – it’s what they say,
And even if they try, they’ll slip – they’ll slip a lot.
‘Elizabeth’ she’ll be until her dying day –
Unless she leaves them all behind, for those who know her not…

State of the Art

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passages
Passages by Dorian Vallejo

State of the Art

You know, the public used to love
A crafted verse, a witty rhyme,
A fresh, bizarre or telling thought –
But that was all a diff’rent time.
These days, the public hardly notice,
’Cept for those they hear in songs –
Elsewhere in there gen’ral lives,
There’s nowhere where a verse belongs.
But, you know, I blame the poets,
Writing verse that’s too obscure –
Too aloof or crass or trendy,
Self-obsessed and immature.
There’s no-one wants to please the masses,
No-one wants to catch their mood –
I tell you, light verse is the highest
Form of poetry pursued.
Ah, but listen to me whinging –
Who am I, so untoward ?
After all, I try to please you,
And my verse is still ignored !

A Little Way Off

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The Letter
The Letter by Duffy Sheridan

A Little Way Off

“Watching you daydream is like watching flowers bloom in real time.”

– Russell McLondon

When your eyes unhook their gaze,
Slipping back in time by seconds,
When your thoughts roam out to graze,
Something not-remembered beckons.
You are taken through by where-knows what ?
It’s all so ev’ryday except for when it’s not –
Just like random numbers, only with less plot.

And your smile is sort-of-just –
And never meant for those who see it.
And your breath is held in trust –
Softly, slowly, then you free it.
Waiting for your day to recommence,
You’re floating off beyond the realm of making sense –
Just like in the movies, only less intense.

Resurgam

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parasite
The Louvre (by Louis Visconti & Hector LeFuel) looking less than healthy as a nasty parasite latches on

Resurgam

At architecture’s stony heart,
The most intrusive form of art –
The hardest form to just ignore
It’s always there, forevermore.

And yet, each ancient monolith
Must first be built so they may live –
And stand a thousand years, or one,
The wrecker’s ball will always come.

Now see this cycle gather pace
As sprawl eats up all empty space –
To build from floor to chimneypot,
We now must find a victim lot.

To build, we first must pull apart,
A former draughtsman’s work of art –
Each building that we fight to save
Is stood upon another’s grave.

Tillers of the Ground

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agriculture plant blur wheat
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Tillers of the Ground

In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat of thy bread
For here all the days of thy life,
And this is thy price when thou hearken instead
Now unto the voice of thy wife.
And the wheat thou shalt grow and shalt harvest and mill,
Where’erso the oak-tree may thrive,
Is fruit of the labours of farmers who till
To better the grains they shall scythe.
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat of thy bread,
But sweet grow the grains in their ears –
For whilst thou lay pampered, they fattened each head
Since thousands and thousands of years.

Ghoti

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school of fish
Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

Ghoti

Language is languid, it’s lazy at heart –
Refusing to change and keeping its calm.
Sometimes it’s hazy and falling apart,
But let’s view its ticks as a charm.
Cos under the surface, its footings keep shifting,
Its grammar gets shonky, it’s meanings keep drifting,
It’s making it up as it any-old wishes –
Till some fish are fish, but some fish are fishes.

Stagehand Biog

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stagehands

Stagehand Biog

Beyond the tabs, there lurks this guy
Who hangs about in wing and fly,
Behind the flat and scaff and track
In creeping soles and black-on-black.
He waits in darkness for an age
To make his entrance on the stage
To set the prop and push the truck,
But only when the lights have struck.
So should you see him here tonight
Upon the thrust when all is bright –
If left exposed, a frightened stray,
Please pity him, and look away.

Human Nature of the Beast

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jekyll & hyde
This looks like it came from a Jeckyll & Hyde graphic novel, but alas I cannot track down which one.

Human Nature of the Beast

We know that it isn’t correct these days
To dwell upon appearance.
We know we’re supposed to all scorn the gaze
Of probing and interference.
It’s what’s on the inside that’s worth all the praise,
If mutual respect’s to be more than a phase –
The package should never set eyeballs ablaze.
But have we the perseverance ?

We know this, we know this, we know it’s correct
That judgement should always be saved.
But on that first sighting, the verdict’s direct –
So tell our subconscious it’s badly behaved.
But in our defence, well, we must interject
That lust is a body that flexes unchecked –
So call it perverted, or lewd, or erect,
But still it comes grunting when craved.

We know that it isn’t correct at all
To dwell upon their beauties,
We know we’re supposed to quell the call
And concentrate on duties.
We know it’s absurd, but the order is tall,
And even the gentle and noble‘est fall,
And find themselves sweated and slavered of maul
At the hint of a glimpse of such cuties.

We know this, we know this, we know to our soul:
We’ve all of us bile and phlegm.
But don’t be ashamed, they’re a part of the whole,
A hangover from our primordial stem.
The things that’s important, to keep in our mind
Is that any such thoughts must be kept in our mind,
And to never be let out to leer or grind –
There’s more to our beings than them.