Verbally Hyperbole

hand metal music musician
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Verbally Hyperbole

Ladies and gentlemen,
Merchants and rental-men,
Fully intended and coincidental men !
I beg your attendant attention, please:
With the greatest of ease,
And a bonnet of bees,
I lyric’ly soar from my verbal trapeze.
So all of you gathered
Are thoroughly slathered
With rather a lather of blather and blust;
An oral oration,
Unceasing cessation,
A nattering narrative blazing narration of patient duration and thrust.
No time for coasting, but making-the-mosting,
A magus contagious in outrageously boasting.
So versatile and so verse-o-phile,
So worthy and wily and worth-all-the-while:
Beguiling my styling, and fertile my smile,
Compiled and dialled for rapid rapport;
For miles and miles behind and before,
Let all know my score,
Let all hear my roar !
Bacon and lentle-men,
Ladies and gentlemen,
All this, I am.  Damn !  All this and more !

Not lesser, not guesser, not sesame seeds,
Not shy to express a finesse in my screeds,
The speeding line breeds and the reading stampedes;
Cascading and braiding and always exceeding,
I’m weighed-in and played-in and feeding the creeding.
I’m kissing the carpenters, dissing the harbingers,
Fishing sedition to sharpen my sparring-slurs,
Casting my catgut to catch me all-that, but
I’m reeling them squealing.  It’s really annealing –
I’m not so unfeeling for wheeling in stealing;
I don’t need them bleeding to heed I’m succeeding,
I’m better at dealing appealing to healing,
And using my jam
To chamois the sham,
To dropping the whopping and stopping the spam.
Pouch and placental-men,
Ladies and gentlemen,
All this and more !  For all this, I am !

 

 

Work in Progress

white and black desk calculator on white graphing paper
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Work in Progress

I’m not some focused market-hype,
Or beta-tested prototype,
Not better – not faster – not fickle.
I still have flaws and silly quirks
I still have bugs within my works:
Like chuckle – like freckle – like tickle.
I’ve no save-game and no abort,
I’m version one-point-double-nought;
No cover – no sample – no sequel.
Organical of recipe,
I move through ev’ry part of me,
As slowly – as sweetly – as treacle.

 

 

Bleed All About It

closeup photo of black and gray housefly on white surface
Photo by Thierry Fillieul on Pexels.com

 

Bleed All About It

They came at first in ones or twos:
Unseasonal, yet harmless.
And with a swipe of printed news,
I turned those lively flies to flews –
A dextrous-forearm mess.

I turned those bottled-blueboys black,
A stain upon the masthead group;
An asterisk to heavy flack,
An apt critique on pap and hack,
This headline now a scoop.

But long before Id reached the sport,
I heard some buzzing overhead;
And looking up, I must report,
A dozen more of equal sort –
The papers filth had spread !

With tabloid reciprocity
And breaking news of utter trash,
With gutterpress ferocity
I blazed each fresh atrocity
Upon my front-page splash.

 

 

Lunar Eclipse

lunar eclipse
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

 

Lunar Eclipse

Last night, there was a blooded moon,
Eclipsed at perigee –
For once the clouds all stayed in bed,
And let her wander free.
She slipped into totality
At just passed half-past three,
She must have made a pretty sight,
But one I did not see…

I chanced awake at ten-past two,
And saw her dimming light,
But didn’t stay to catch the show
And soon bid her goodnight.
I woke again long after dawn
And knew I’d chosen right:
For all the views across the news
Make such a pretty sight !

 

 

The Practical Gardener

gray shed on white and green field near trees during daytime
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

The Practical Gardener

My garden is a rabble
Of the pushiest of weeds;
I wander through the scrabble
Of these self-selecting seeds.
I really should uproot them,
But in truth, I’m loath to scoot them,
When they bring the place alive, alive,
Where lesser blooms won’t thrive.

I love the weeds for their weediness,
For their entrepreneurial greediness,
With none of your hot-housey neediness.
Keep all your grasses and sedges and reeds,
Just give me a garden of nothing but weeds.

My rose-bush is no stunner,
And my aster’s called it quits.
My beans have done a runner,
And my melon’s gone up-tits.
But see my clamb’ring bramble,
And my bindweed web and ramble,
And my nettles stretching high, so high:
At least they’re never shy.

I love the weeds for their weediness,
For their never gone-to-seediness,
With none of your quaint little tweediness.
Keep all your caulis and marrows and swedes,
Just give me a garden of nothing but weeds.–

With maggots on the rise,
And with aphids by the score,
I hope to soon see butterflies,
And ladybirds galore.
So when the slugs come feeding,
They just help me with the weeding.
Those bugs may all belong, belong,
But so does blackbird song.

I love the weeds for their weediness,
For their naught-to-invasive speediness,
With none of your lack-of-succeediness.
Keep all your cultivars, hybrids and breeds,
Just give me a garden of nothing but weeds.

 

 

We Choose to Go to the Moon & Do the Other Things

sky space moon astronomy
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

We Choose to Go to the Moon & Do the Other Things

We went to the moon and we wondered in awe:
For now there was nothing, but nothing beyond us –
If we could go there and could see what we saw,
Then how could we come back to famine and war ?
Just think of the challenges still to explore,
The missions to finally bond us.
We stood on the moon and we finally shone,
We tested our nerve and we found we were equal –
Now climate and poverty prove a tough sequel.
But conquer we shall !, to learn from discoverings.
We went to the moon, now it’s time to move on –
It’s time to be doing the Other Things.