thin arc of bowed buttermilk moon shines like a sliver of cheese.
scudding silver sails of cloud elude capture
as the stars look down miffed and mysterious,
The future ain't what it used to be',
well the days get longer but the years shorter.
the cliched light at the end of the tunnel gets nearer;
all morning falls
skies fifty shades of grey
the gutters overflow, a Niagara
Slow, snow, go, well it rhymes at least.
a rest of a least twenty minutes is now required.
too much to write.
is everybody's a two minute wonder I wonder
life graphs of ups and downs a chains of reason to capture man
to lose his very innocence
made mental madnesswith a circle of woven ice,
to freeze the fevered brain.
What I miss about before, are hugs,
now we live hermetically sealed.
what I miss most about before, are smiles
I learned a lesson early,
don't be seen.
wrap up tight into a hedgehog ball
spikes, spikes, spikes.
sorry you are so underwhelmed,
the poet crashes from pedestal to earth
so a simple matter, we impact then smash, shall we rise again?
all along the maypole the green mans face appears;
words and pages woven in pagan practices.
midsummer madness and particoloured fools
Morris and nine men dance bells a jingling