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Editing - polished draft

The Sad Old Man

The old man stared at the mirror in disbelief
As he dabbed on a little of his favourite fragrance:
‘Le Male’ by Jean-Paul Gaultier.
Was that really him, that saggy-faced creature?
He plucked out an intruding grey hair,
An intruder in his masculine, black, bushy eyebrows;
He had hoped his boyish good looks were still there,
Although a little frayed, a little worn by time.

Feminism

I am wholeheartedly in favour
Of feminism, it's so great.
Women's rights are so important in this world
After all they comprise over fifty percent
Of the human race
And they do the washing up real good.
I just wish some of the more militant bitches
Would stop bleeding all over
The toilet seat:
It's fucking unhygienic.

Epitaph for a Brave Soldier

The morning battlefield lay still and grey,
Its silence broken grimly by the groans and screams
Of wounded, broken, bleeding, crippled men.

Then gently, slowly, through that desolate scene
Came an Angel all dressed in nurses' kit;
She wandered, lovely as a cloud, starched in white raiment,
Giving head unto the maimed and dying.

"Me, me" a legless soldier feebly called,
More in hope than serious expectation
As he knew he was not looking his best.

Bloated swollen cheeks
analogous to first Chinese Brother,
who swallowed the sea,
now non sequitur
off beaten track i.e.
less apropos re: guarding
par for race course as if

ace driver won Grand Prix
latter referencing international
horse race for three-year-olds,
founded in eighteen sixty three
931 + 932 = above number
satisfying ghost of Fibonacci.

'bout fluffiness of hair after washing

Now get ready for...
yup intelligent persiflage
determining if potty "talk" gauge
correctly calibrated courtesy this sage.

Beats out global warming
by a long stretch
most important commander
must set example you betch
chore life no matter
if miserable wretch

survives impeachable offenses
enough to make me kvetch,
especially four more years
yours truly will once again become
bulimic anorexic wretch.

Events in Bayreuth

Most people imagine that lovely Bayreuth in Germany is a nice Bavarian town
With burghers trolling about in Lederhosen and yodelling a bit
En route to have an exciting eight or nine hours of dear Richard Wagner
At the Festspielhaus on the Hill, where they risk their eardrums being perforated
By the hideous magna-decibel shrieks of women weighing 25 stone in their undies
(and that's only the female audience members being goosed, I hasten to add).
But do not be misled, do not assume that is the case, ach nein, nein, nein.

Song of Muses

hold me in your eyes
asI dance into your soul.

blink for a second…

you miss the song of muses.

 

Untitled

I can't bleach my soul.
No, I can't hide these stains.
My thoughts are so dark.
Look into the mirror I see a shark.
The biggest bully to leave a mark.
I can't burn away the pain.
No, not a big pretender.
I see thing as they are not as you want.
Sometimes I can't fight the realness.
It's a fucking illness.
Heart stuck in toxic stillness.

Compulsion Petrarchan Sonnet. November Competition

I am the sensation of the century
All obsolete ideas have taken flight
I will save you, free you, no need to fight
Vote for me I have charisma, pedigree
This one system will stop all treachery
There is no harm within the flashing light
Listen hard, as what I say is right
Emotions ,are just virtual memory

Falling

The moment when
Everything is
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
Apart
But yet it’s
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
Right
Into place

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