A-PASSING-POET'S-PATH
One was a druidic
prophetic bard.
The next was a minstrel
playing the poet's card.
He was a troubadour
at the courts until
fading kings and queens
couldn't meet the bill.
I don't ask, girl,
for you to pay,
or anyone who's going
his or her own way.
A-GIRL-GROUNDED
Sat in a wheelchair -
the breeze in her hair -
at the waves she'll stare
and wish for fish-fins
or a seagull's wings,
her lovely head aswim
with flights of fancy there.
A-WORKHOUSE-WORKHORSE
The Victorian workhouse
made a poorman a workhorse.
(Work shall set you free
proclaimed Death Camps in Germany.)
THE-BARE-BONES-ON-THE-BED
She's got a sinking feeling
now her guy forgets to kiss
when going out the door to work.
It has come to this...
she's sinking like Atlantis,
yes sinking like Atlantis.
She's hitting rock-bottom,
hitting a seabed.
Her ship has now sunk,
to a ghost she is wed.
Oh she's at the bottom
where a skeleton rests his head.
VERSE-POEM-ON-FLIGHTS-
OF-FANCY-WITH-OPIUM-FLOWERS
Coleridge conceived
of his albatross
and was to end only
like his Mariner, lost.
A-WIN-AT-LAST?
Lost her cell-phone,
lost her key.
Lost her knickers
and virginity.
A loser she might be
but counts the latter a victory !
DO-NOT-YOU-TAKE-EVERY-
GIVEN-DAY-FOR-GRANTED-FIND
Sun-up, sundown.
Dawn, dusk.
Sunrise, sunset.
Plus, minus.
A-RAVEN-POET-VERSE
The ravenous raven,
even the carrion crow,
brings to mind black-clad poet
Edgar Allan Poe.
BIG MISTAKE
she asked forgiveness
far too many times.
I was a fool to forgive,
if petty her crimes.
Petty crimes add up
to one big crime.
She wasn't one to learn,
yet I learnt big time !
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