Bird has got to fly
Poets gotta sing
the truth
Maya angelou
Sang to me sotto voce
Like a freebird that
Could not give
a damme
Or an irish
man
Without
A wigwam
The woman at the next table
passed me the ashtray
with a kind and understanding smile.
I poured myself in with gusto.
I do not care for the one
with the mean grimace and fixed gaze.
Bribed my memory
To serve me well for a while
Let’s see what happens
Refugee bodies
Respectively estimated
Around two hundred
Mass exodus proportions
Rio de Janeiro fishes
Ahead in the polls
Twenty sixteen Olympics
Might be a stinker
Climate change to blame
Too many fish in the sea
Like men
Most worth throwing back
World in terrible chassis
Is there fur will, yes or no?
a bald dog hollered.
Finger shows telling
ghoulish tales of reading
after dark descends
the staircase bearing scissors:
The Barber of Free Will
On days like these…
climb up trees
worship iguana
axolotls go a long way
sometimes wear pyjama
*
Always remember…
The sound is always
preferable to the furies
Take it easy my fine fellow.
Let the air breathe you.
Cliché-ville in two hours!
Originality
requires effort not force,
focus not hocus pocus.
Step outside your omphalos, Carlos.
See the world as same as us.
Manor farm narcolepsy
Soporific chattering classes
Plum voiced gobbledygook
Farmer Jones dismissed
Afternoon of sport
Formula one gymnastics
Garden of earthly delight
Bursts out in force
Three raspberry tulips
Wag antic bulbous splendid
Ice wind defiance
Indoors trembling spectator
Whisper sweet chastisements
At lost sensibilities
One departed Eye
Farted violet nonsenses
Some left for the coast