Poems

[Nonius]

This will be the poem thread. The rule is they have to be your own respective creations. I write poetry as a hobby and recently learned that someone else does as well. Fire away. I will too.

[FDAXHunter]

On an afternoon so dreary,

I began to get all teary,

As I sat there started crying,

As Trichet announced he's buying,

Bonds of Portugal , then Ire,

Which in turn set Bunds on fire.

From twenty-seven up to one-thirty-two fifty-five,

nearly a handle and a half in 20 minutes... no one gets out alive.

[Nonius]

London the old man with band aid patched scars

I Understand that paris was the bitch

And you punched with Berlin under the stars

But can you do me a favor without a hitch?



fix your tubes and wires and tattered things

Quit boasting good food, the worst of which rots

Make your weather fine, fine for summer flings

get rid of NHS, public troughs for doctor's cots



Lazy ol London, I never thought now

That I'd agree that your bitch Paris rules

Addled I am at that fact, be it how?

Mainly your bitch knows how to work polis tools.



Ol man London, please get a clue

You are a pathetic creature with eternal flu.

[Nonius]

There once was a man called pj

Who sniffed too much glue in TJ

Then he woke up one day

Priced a cap, exclaiming hurray!

dude, time to get a job as a dj.

[Nonius]

Polyamourous life lures me to love

Amorous wife eying my lusting crave

Polynesian goddess woos purple doves

Beckons me to stay for her I'm  to save



Zeitgeist of age don't help me be a sage

Pages of poems I wrote in haste

Heist of love Cross the channel in my rage

Cages of gold replace tins of love's waste



Summer of rain clears my memories now

Fall looms around lynch's corner I fear

Bummers and pain need a good fix but how

Tall orders for the gods in the spiraling sky's tear



Zeitgeist of life is rife with arch strife

Ghosts from linked pasts cut my soul with a knife



Salad days of love are gone forever

Wise men unlike me never felt my urge

Ballads of past Splurge weren't this clever

Despise me I say I deserve the mental dirge



quivering memories make mementos quixotic

Pies in the sky I reach with open hands

Shivering sons don't need father exotic

Flies have a lord but I know not when he lands



Standing before me is a ghost of myself

Flying this way and that way, fractal moves

Landing I hope in my memory's back shelf

spying from the past, what will he prove?



Zeitgeist of life heists my love and my wife

Heightened trembling waters lead to one's strife



Demon mine waxed eloquent that time

When we extolled me to arrest my mood

Semen squirted into the abyss whilst he rhymed 

Then Averting eyes mine, I dodged the feud.



Angels came forth from heavenly angles

Eggs have I many impregnated then.

Plain gels killed off the swimmers entangled

Begs she does that I drop my feather pen



Divine comedy Without Deus ex machina

Devils Haberdashers will  suit me fine

vines of diablesse grapes make gasolina

Melvilles Dick neednt seamen to shine



Zeitgeist of Life full of moribund strife

Zeitgeist of Life cuts my soul with a knife

[Nonius]

swans

[lmog]

A lucid reading leading the word play

Dreaming on the wrong day

Fallen behind, trying to catch that feeling

Feathery fingered soul sleep stealing and bleeding

Brought a tree in through the door and tried to paint the ceiling



Feeding his skull stomach on the scraps the nuns didn't eat

Stubbornly refused to eat any meat

Analogous to what he did when they told him keep in his seat



Flows like Ricci, sleepy from the song that evolved the least entropy

Sent his own sentry on mission to seek the opposite parity

Came back with an empty, thought it was best he keep some focus on minting a little money



Tried to use a published tactic, got it from a high impact journal The Didactic Attack

Passed the smell test, just want to do better than flat

The ratio wasn't that sharpe, turned his screen askew

Highly symmetric return distribution *632

Risk adjusted holdings worth slightly less than the bottom of his shoe



Roll the dice, splice the ice, pour it down the side and keep the contrast nice

Had a cute hue, ochre or umber?

Seemed to take forever like a high molasses number



Did all his stuff by eye, just add a pinch to it, no one's gonna die

Running the numbers won't fix it any faster

Poured it all into the spinning jug, how he became known as the mix master

dynamics



Drank a spot of soma and cut a swath through the phlanax

Dead like the red sea

Blade all rusty

Cast from the blood of a thousand of those felt it to flee

Let it be, it's not something the general public would want to see



Made the decision to make a laser thin incision with sub angstrom precision

Soldered a bare wire to his brain and turned off his vision

That's when he started to listen

For a sub audible vibration

Heard the subtle striations and came to a conclusion that it was a given

His method was as impractical as a galactic algo-rythym



He didn't speak the argot

Replaced the damaged nerve cells with glass beads, quid pro quo

Closed his open wound in the darkened room, put on a bowler hat, a hair shirt and wove a magic carpet using a broken loom



Tired of flying he jumped into the jungle

Dumped himself into a shrewdness in the hope that he would get in touch with his inner evolutionary uncle

Or was it a murder?

Decided it best be left to the minds that decide the difference between a dictator and a cat herder.



The melody is priced on a scale that's sliding.

Driving demand as the supply is diving and liquidity is drying.

High frequency quantitative rhyming.

[lmog]

Took a clip from Outside In, nice!

[AndyM]

err, breaking the rules, but you know what they say about rules...



Donald Hall, To a Waterfowl



Women with hats like the rear ends of pink ducks

applauded you, my poems.

These are the women whose husbands I meet on airplanes,

who close their briefcases and ask, “What are you in?”

I look in their eyes, I tell them I am in poetry,



and their eyes fill with anxiety, and with little tears.

“Oh, yeah?” they say, developing an interest in clouds.

“My wife, she likes that sort of thing? Hah-hah?

I guess maybe I’d better watch my grammar, huh?”

I leave them in airports, watching their grammar,



and take a limousine to the Women’s Goodness Club

where I drink Harvey’s Bristol Cream with their wives,

and eat chicken salad with capers, with little tomato wedges

and I read them “The Erotic Crocodile,” and “Eating You.”

Ah, when I have concluded the disbursement of sonorities,



crooning, “High on thy thigh I cry, Hi!” — and so forth –

they spank their wide hands, they smile like Jell-O,

and they say, “Hah-hah? My goodness, Mr. Hall,

but you certainly do have an imagination, huh?”

“Thank you, indeed,” I say; “it brings in the bacon.”



But now, my poems, now I have returned to the motel,

returned to l’ternel retour of the Holiday Inn,

naked, lying on the bed, watching Godzilla Sucks Mt. Fuji ,

addressing my poems, feeling superior, and drinking bourbon

from a flask disguised to look like a transistor radio.



And what about you? You, laughing? You, in the bluejeans,

laughing at your mother who wears hats, and at your father

who rides airplanes with a briefcase watching his grammar?

Will you ever be old and dumb, like your creepy parents?

Not you, not you, not you, not you, not you, not you.

[Nonius]

Imog I like it. May mash it up, feel free to do same. Andy... Angry