TUTOR of mine, pardon myBRAWL, I mean scrawl, which I wrote in a cloud of excess.
EXALT my marks to an A+ I beg,
PRIOR to my deadline. I’m in your thrall, and thee I will bless.
In the wee hours
Month: March 2024
The death of silence
CLANG! the kids are home. Peace no longer reigns as now
ERUPTs the homework pain, the refusal to read the tome.
QUIET has gone like a stolen garden gnome. Vainly I
SAUTĖ my interrupted meal, my late lunch, midst a teenage velodrome.
Invidious position
Back in the day, the hooker in the SCRUM’s
middle, was liddle – as I was, and BESET
by the blokey blokes around me; SMALL,
with bleeding nose, I hung between the props, SADLY.
In the 50s, the rugby scrum was a different kettle of fish; the hooker, the guy who was supposed to ‘hook’ the ball with his foot, was one of the smaller members of the team, and would literally hang between the two props. These days the hooker is as big and bulky as the rest of the men in the scrum.
Time out of Joint
GLOBE theater, the restless crowd was
BRACEd for camp and bawd, felt time stop, alter course. Hamlet in
FILET collar saw the ghost; on his sword Horatio and Marcellus
SWORE silence. Yet secrets force their telling–his time now runs toward dreaming in the undiscovered land.
Winter be not Proud
LEAFY spring full blooms soon, though winter’s farewells can yet TAUNT. Hellebores and phlox caution winter: “You reckon
BADLY, you overstay”. The sun brawls back, lengthening days, then
MAIZE will plant late spring and herald the sun kingdom, the bask of summer.
With their mouth they speak blessing while inwardly they curse.
BRACE yourself for the finest
FILET in town. Nowhere else on the
GLOBE can you find meat of such quality. I
SWORE on my father’s grave only yesterday, that I would always tell the truth!
Fix it in Post
TENET of modern living: we’ll clean this up in the
MOVIE version with soaring soundtrack. What seems
CHORE, repetitive, graceless, dull, will seem
SMART, suffused with beauty, when the notes tug at hearts.