ludic verbosity for the win
PARKA against the cold, mask against the Covid,
SPINY old age, tougher than tough,
BUSHY hair tufts, sharp mind, scoldy tongue
CHAIR, Bernie, mittens. Who can forget?
CHEST of red the robin puffs, perched on twig in
SHRUB on day when snow is gone, yet air is hardly warmed by sun.
CREDO of chirps, profession of tweets, faith-song for spring to come.
BELOW the heavens, below heaven, creation sings for history to flow.
DEUCE of a situation. String pullers, mid-life or older, feed the
BEAST of populace, the roiling mass, to extract gain.
NOISY mob on one side, power and wealth come out the other.
YOUNG will eventually live in the ashes left over. But that will be their business.
Sans
FALSE teeth I feel anything but
LUSTY. My mouth is a vast space, an
EMPTY place. My tongue whips round gummy
FLESH usually hidden away during the day.
FALSE north, false clock, false currency:
LUSTY pleasure mill,
EMPTY days, empty nights,
FLESH decaying, nothing lasting.
I ARBOR ironing. I hate it with a burning passion. I’ll
IRON Your shirts one last time, then that’s the
LIMIT. You’re big enough, long past your antic
TERRAway days. I loathe ironing. See to your shirts yourself!
LIMITed suspense in this, my pedestrian life. Dramatic
IRONY either overlooked by me, or generally absent.
TERRA-trapped my life, my sensibilities, yet sometimes imagination gives a spark, as when this
ARBOR seemed to be Arden, and you Ganymede, and me pining for Rosalind, not yet knowing.
The
WARTY, naughty boy, a miniature
KNAVE (with barely a skerrick of
PUBIC hair) determines – inadvertently – to
SEVER several fingers in the mincer.
WARTY hogs trot satisfied under the blazing sun.
SEVER their ambitions from jellyfish, who want to rule. Yes, warthogs think us
KNAVEs; they need no Wifi, they never posit nationalisms to mask their pain. Yet, their conception of
PUBIC good, which, could they pronounce the letter ‘L’ would sound so much better, is sunny and hoggy, each day a gift: They do not need to rule us.
Note: This masterwork of a poem is twinned with my other masterwork poem for a day earlier, the 2023/04/20 words: https://dailyquordlepoem.com/2023/04/22/the-day-of-the-bloom/ . What a difference between Jellyfish and Warthogs and how they they approach other species.
JELLYfish: now perhaps two centuries left till they can make and hold
PRONGed spears (how have they heard of Poseidon?). Come the day:
GLOBE-domination, nothing less, is their cold plan. The Day of the
BLOOM they have named it in their gurgly speech: jellies multiplying, jellies seizing all.