A small selection wrote for the month long extravaganza....

the haiku
does logic dictate
poetic works pulsate
non-rhythmically

no no not a nonet, (google it for an explanation)

snow falls all around is silent now,
peace is found as hard earth is bound
in coat of white, crystal charms
deathly cold life will harm
sharp frost graduates
to solids here
speech appears
mostly
air.


Oh Carol
(yeah its a sedoka)

fragile my soft self
wanted so much to be held
but a blackness extruded

my soul returned too
buckminsterfullerene goo
round hollow outer hardshell.

a Rictameter

Said yes
This solution
Came from my confession
Said my now sad comforted head
My heart and soul realising its goal
Needed absolute forgiveness
To be clean once again
Sinner to saint
Said YES





A triolet


My passion it grows. Much faster than a bamboo
small seedlings grew. Pandering my lusting for you
fed by your bright, bright eyes so wild and so blue
My passion. It grows. Much faster than a bamboo
igniting a bit, like fire. This dire desire bursts through
throbbing these senses. They split my defences, in two
My passion it grows much. Faster, than a bamboo
small seedlings. Grew pandering, my lusting for you

Trillitee

To you my will I gave forever, to you: Now must it be,
In sunshine in rain, all winds and purity of snow: You see
For what is the use of life if not lived always with thee
To you my will I gave forever, to you: Now must it be,
My soul its essences, its atoms with all that evolves,
My whole reason for living, round your life revolves
To you my will I gave forever, to you: Now must it be,
In sunshine in rain, all winds and purity of snow: You see


Now that Loreal say it is subleeme
and no longer is it sublime,
Do I praise my lover
then reeme her, with my rime,
Will our swift kisses be still be,
just the same, as e sound, that is now heard
Only follows over lime,
And wont apply to such words like bird,
and bidet, do stay the same,
or will admen change away.
To how one does then politely say.
and they say oranges are, not the only fruit,
Of this I’m now sure, that you will find.
Those copywriters working for lorry-hell
should be locked, Up for this crime,
definitely they are not creme de la creme
Are them those that read,
the advert I’ve just seen.
But all the same I suppose they are
now grinning like the cat that ate the cream.

a three minute flash....

She was blond, long and, leggy
egging me on as she ate
last flakes of choc-o-late
taking those crumbs between
delicate thumb and fore finger,
linger-ring-ly she vanquishing
all pretence of being a lady
or just a motherly mum,
she nibbled and licked
each finger in turn
wicked-ly so, her smiling
eyes burned right through me,
revolving pink tongue
around lips as her hips
swivelled and slipped
suggestive as if
the biscuit was just the
apéritif,
an little old me
was intended to be
the desert,
but oh how it hurt,
since the fantasy was just
Advert on the TV.

....Minute Poem......
Though the gain: I felt pain's misery,
fears blinded me.
They won’t depart,
just stop n start.

Now unfilled grave: To be trespassed
Death not surpassed.
It just returns:
hot after-burn

Showing that I would always be
trapped not free,
Whilst sold soul held
t’was never whole.

-----------------------------------
Winter fell; Dormant.
Sprung branch, pinked with tranches
of blossoms. They knew
Summer promised new life: Sung
by snug nested birds.

Same work with the directors cuts included..
Winter’s dormancy leaves
Its storm spared branches. To be
soon warmed by winds of Mistral.
Sticky, like treacle they budded,
As mother nature opened,
Her wondrous store cupboard

sprung blossoms pinked, then they grew
with soft tissue’s of purples and blues,
Large is assortment of in between hues.
Not battered or bruised these blossoms
Swelled with lifeblood of rain, moistened
Seeds grew till sweet apples burst through
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Time marches ever onwards
It’s not an illusion for
When all's been made: History
Will we then be seen,
parasites of no consequence:
Like worm cast, from cosmic being,
faeces, decomposed.
Silvered slivers side long viewed.
What lies beneath,
the universe here will it now show
pin pricked holes.
Gates ways through to long past times,
where son of man never went.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A sevenling

In arrived sudden: That preagonal moment,
The sun halted in the stillness of the dawn,
as might of shadow’s faded back into black

While unwaxed gibbous moon, poorly lit the earth
Out of this gloom, growling with some intent,
Came one hellish hound: Racing leapt he forward

Obeying his masters voice ‘Fetch it nipper’

__________________________________________________________

A couple of pantoums

So would you like to come and see my Bluebells
They are surrounded by bright green parsley
they're growing proudly in my scabby frontage
Just in case you are now puzzled wondering
They are surrounded by bright green parsley
Good meals, eaten with a waft or two of lovage
Just in case you are now puzzled wondering
I have no luck with tarragon, mint or chives
Good meals, eaten with a waft or two of lovage
they're growing proudly in my scabby frontage
I have no luck with tarragon, mint or chives
So would you like to come and see my Bluebells

............And a more traditional one
I lifted the lid to my life expecting to see,
this was the catalyst the fuel of such a`desire,
a wanton lost need, of circumstance dire
all alone in my need for womanly company now
this was the catalyst the fuel of such a`desire,
Searching desperate again, for want of a lover
all alone in my need for womanly company now
for someone to hold, here in my bower
Searching desperate again, for want of a lover
a wanton lost need, of circumstance dire
for someone to hold, here in my bower
I lifted the lid to my life expecting to see,



Spenserian sonnet

Night returned. So knowing this, cannot rest
Embers crackling, leaping from fire; grate
Insanity crept nearer. My fear attest
Chivvied by the moonlight. Score dark on slate

Image this will be. Yes my final end.
Drab pile of dust, foul cold wind: It deliver.
All that’s left: Of billet doux, from girlfriend.
Her mode of death. Still, it makes me shiver

Her gift left to me: Be my harbinger,
Be not hepatitis, but deadly aids
Disease she passed to me; So I killed her
Six long months lay dying: Behind closed shades

More within myself: Those memories bred
My preagonal Heart; Beat-en. Long before: Death.

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