Alphabet Limericks

or a limerick-a-b-see-diary

Composed in the Spring of 2009

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alphabet

Limericks

or a

limerick

-a-b-see-diary

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christopher Haley Simpson

Dresden


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here alphabet limericks

Are full of quite quaint tricks

For whiling away lonely hours.[1]

So please linger, don’t get sour,

For truth and daft gimmicks.


An imcomplete prayer to precede

(not a limerick)

 

Protect me from writing poems,

With too insatiable a greed for riches

Like poor King Midas

Who wished for everything he touched

To turn to gold,

Lest the fleeting pricelessness

Of my happiness be frozen

In uselessly exquisite yet deathly objects.

 

In thankfulness for the liquid waves

Of inspiration which bear me onwards

Like the translucent wings of an angel

Do I yet remain human,

Unrhymed and incomplete,

Like an unfinished poem.

                  

 

 

 


A

 

It was not Adam but Aurora

Who first sang, excelsis gloria,

The great bright song of our earth.

‘Twas Twilight first allowed Eve’s birth

From Adam’s tickled rib at dusky hour.

 

When Adam caught sight of Aurora

He immediately had to adore her;

With her arousing light

She dispersed the first night,

Astounded bowed Adam before her.

 

But as Adam bewondered Aurora,

Young Cupid whispered “Just ignore her.”

And Aurora soon flew,

What could poor Adam do?

Cupid said “Wait for Eve and ask her:”

 

Having foolishly chosen to adore her

On immediately seeing Aurora;

Wise Cupid explained him,

“Adam don’t be so dim,

Your emotions are likely to bore her.”

 

“Be warned, she has many adorers,

And her love life gives rise to long stories,

But you wait for the twilight

The other girl’s just right,

Known as Eve, you can score with her!

 

Great Adam from old Amsterdam

Met Eve as he walked on the dam;

She had come back from shopping

But wasn’t for stopping

“Must return I’ve forgotten the ham.”

 

Adam from old Amsterdam

Was strolling with Eve and their pram;

Cain and Abel were sleeping

At last they’d ceased weeping

And fighting and calling “Dad-Mam”.

 

A

 

Adam alone now in Aachen

                                    After the heavens had darkened;

                            For Cain had killed Abel

                            And Eve gone unstable,

                            Because of the Laws they’d not hearkened.


B

 

Ein Dackel vom Dorf bei Berlin

Hatte eines Sonntags was im Sinn

Als er sprang in den Bus,

Kläffte „Zentrum ich muss“,

Fand den Tierpark so wunderbar schön.

 

Ein Dackel vom Dorf bei Berlin

Hatte eines Sonntags nichts zu tun.

So er sprang auf den Bus,

rief „Zum Zentrum ich muß,

in den Tierpark so wunderbar schön.“


C

 

A most nimble pianist who’s called Cosmas

Conjures overtures, suites with his fingers;

In a small run down house,

In a drab backyard thus,

How to summon the sonorous Muses knows.

 

 


C

 

There was a young man from fair Chile

Who had an extraordinary willy:

It was purple and green,

Such as never been seen,

And it beeped when the weather got chilly.

 

There was a young man from fair Chile

Who had a remarkable willy:

it was blue, pink and green,

and as small as a bean,

and it glowed in the dark rather silly.

 

Fortune pours or drains the cup,

Falling from the clouds can swoop;

Like an eagle

Or an angel,

Lift us or can eat us up.

 

A mad monk who lived in a cloister

Was addicted to guzzling oyster;

One day appeared God

And said “Stop greedy sod”

Which the glutton’s belief did well foster,

 

(As the sod said a quick Pater noster)

 

Plato’s triangles, and spheres and cubes

Are not the sole everlasting truths:

Since the beginning of time,

Not only have things divine

Been given, but also great cock-ups and boobs.

 

When Sharon met Charon

Out rowing alone

Down the fiery Styx;

She queried “Could you help fix

My boat please, else I’ll drown.”


C

 

Triangles, spheres, and cubes may be nice

But if you ask of my personal advice

In the darkness of the cave,

Where Plato’s ideas pure are craved,

Try vice, you’ll be amazed – forbidden paradise.

 

I’d not prefer to be Rob Crusoe,

On a desert isle where the cold did blow so.

Loneliness and tragedy

Are not the things for me-

Parce que je préfère le comédie comme Inspector Clouseau


The Carmen cycle                 C

 

In Halle blonde Carmen was born,

Near Leuna has long since grown

Beautiful and fair

With intelligent air,

And most tall. New desire she has sown.

 

Vivacious Carmen took off to Hannover’s

Wide fields of learning, found four-leaf clovers

Each day I imagine.

I wonder as virgin

Which lucky boy did she pluck as her lover?

 

Now Carmen sells not seashells but software

In the electrified cities and not on the seashore.

But on the Seychelles

Eyes and waves she enspells

Treading sands with the Indian Ambassador.

 

Blonde Muse Carmen seems poly-dimensional

In a social-field inter-culturational;

New words must be thought up

‘Fore she may be caught up

In rhyme, on her light-footed dance supra-national.

 

Fairest Carmen comes here from the future,

Sweetest hopes in our hearts for to nurture.

In a world ruled by pain

Amidst mountains of shame,

We’re aghast at the torturous past so unfair.

 

So let’s look to the future with Carmen,

She seems a most beautiful omen;

Stop our moaning Amens,

As the dawning begins

Without haste taste the breathe of her morning.

 

I dream of holding Carmen’s hand

In a fairytale or far-off land;

For Carmen has inspired me,

Where other girls have tired me,

I hope that she may understand.

 

C

 

To meet Carmen in Leipzig once more,

I can but fair Carmen implore;

Would that fair-witted woman

Have time to meet me again?

I would be most delighted I’m sure!

 


C

 

First Afterthought

 

Having met such a Muse as blonde Carmen,

Never yet having listened to “Carmen”,

The opera by Bizet,

I’m intrigued to hear it played,

And to hear her voice speak once more “Carmen”.

 

Second Afterthought knowing that Carmen was born by the Leuna chemical works near Merseburg

 

My Muse is a chemical distillery,

The fuse a sparkling pen is, which to the pillory

Of false opinion or fame may lead,

Whilst fissured virtue, virtue fissioned breeds.

She’s a fast reactor then, her bubbling pipes set spirit free.

 

Three Third chorus-like Afterthoughts

 

Without care see the light of her morn!

Now that Carmen, sweet Carmen is born.

 

Without care, men see Carmen’s fair morn,

Now that Carmen, fair Carmen is born.

 

Women race without care in the morn,

To fair Carmen their thankfulness sworn.


   C

 

My Muse’s wish is my command

E’er at her service do I stand;

Patient and happy,

Though she be snappy.

Her changing moods I understand.

 

Her changing wishes are my commands

My Muse’s moods I understand;

She is never soppy,

                                    But patient and happy,

Her fulfillment she’s placed in my hands.

 

 

 


D

 

Astute Dodi sat next Lady Di

As they rode on a cloud through the sky;

Asked who was their chauffeur?

He said “Henry Paul, Sir.

Praise God, who grants us one more try!”.

 

A peripheral dachshund from Dahlem

Took a bus to the centre of Berlin;

He hopped out in Tierpark,

And barked “This is a lark.

What a nice change from drab Sunday boredom”

 

At dreamtime when my slumbering soul doth dwell

In Plato’s dark cave – I’m in Hell.

It’s awful! For to write my distress

I’d need letters and a pen, no less,

But in sleep is no pen, my misfortune to tell.

 

Hannah a white dove

From Kiev – my heart’s love;

Who fills me with joy

In her image I toy,

For whose beauty I long for and live.

 

The incredible sights I declare

Which my Muse heaps on my shoulders bare;

Are produced from mere daylight

Sometimes give me a fright,

Her great power oft leads me to despair.

 

My reckless Muse doesn’t care,

A concealing plain dress she’ll not wear;

She gives me no peace

Her fine breasts she’s released

From her bra – chain reaction so fair.

 

My great Muse made Saint Christopher wail,

Her inspiration was one non-stop tale;

“It’s not your light weight

Or your perfume I hate

But long stories which make me so frail.”

 

D

 

 “I fear that I may fail”

“Your ideas give me toil”

I feel that I must weep

You make me meek

In rhyming so embroiled

 

The perpetual accretion of dust

For the growth of existence a must;

So be pleased to collect

Dirt and fluff so elect,

Not in God but in dust we must trust.


E

 

Stout Eunice who liked to rise early

One morning was taken quite poorly;

So she stayed tucked in bed,

And was tended by Ted,

Her dear husband, which made her feel girly.

 


F

 

Fred from Fife fantasized fondly

Of girls who might love him madly;

He paid for an ad,

In a strange contact mag

But in truth remained terribly lonely.

 

Fenella frowned when I said “Right said Fred”

Are a fantastic group, praising “Oasis” instead;

As we stood at the bar

In far Zanzibar

“But Felix I’d still like to take you to bed.”

 

The Muses usher in new fashions

Arousing in us unknown passions;

So they are quite like mannequins

Or lovers who act on new whims,

Tomorrow’s world to make with new designs.


G

 

A gregarious guy from Grangetown

Had never been seen with a frown;

But once out of habit,

He misplaced his wallet

And he cursed and he swore round the town.

 

Graceful Graeme was gobschmacked,

By Georgina’s nerving wisecracks;

As they rehearsed on stage,

He was getting enraged.

“Will you stop this, you’re getting us sidetracked.”

 

Die Zeichen sind nicht Luft zwischen Geschehnisse,

Sondern die notwendigen Umrisse;

In dem Taumel der Phantasmagorie,

Sie tauchen auf und versinken in furie,

Sind die Sehnen und Sucht unsr’Erlebnisse.

 

Ich sage Dir jetzt ganz genau,

Er kam nämlich aus Heidenau;

Ein junger Man der oft betrunken,

war, und herumhing mit den Halunken,

Weswegen fühlte er sich manchmal mau.

 

The simplest things are mysteries; great gains,

Like happiness and fun, clear skies, cloud strains

And cooling, running water,

Or my erring, helpful daughter,

Or these four walls built for us by others’ useful pains.


 H

 

There was a young girl from Hawaii

Who made fun of a poor little guy;

His hair was so bright,

That it glowed in the night

The poor little guy from Hawaii.

 

My Muse is with me every hour,

Her hand’s in mine, I’m never sour.

But woe betide,

If she should hide,

Or leave, as if with all my powers.

 

There was a rich girl from Hawaii

Who made fun of a poor little guy,

‘Cos his hairs were so bright,

That they glowed in the night,

Hurt his eyes and he began to cry.

 

Damien Hirst had animals stuffed,

So he got famous, made people bluffed;

But I don’t admire him,

His bright grin looks so dim,

If I met him I’d say “Pleased get stuffed!”

 

Of all artists I think Damien Hirst

Is in truth absolutely the worst;

With his skull and bright grin

Put him in the dustbin,

His diamond stuffed soul be thus cursed.

 

 


I

 

Illusionist Ian from Illinois

Hid Helen in a horse from Troy,

In a brand new magic show.

Great applause, he takes a bow.

Helen reappears- turned into a boy.

 

An opening door is Inspiration

Relieving our sense of deprivation,

At being merely mortal,

Predictably mechanical;

A tide of excitation, on waves of expectation.

 

An opening door is Inspiration

Relieving our sense of isolation,

At being merely mortal,

Causing us to hurtle,

On wave-borne soul, excited, expectation.

 

An opening door Inspiration

Relieving our sense of complication,

At being merely mortal,

We may laugh or chuckle;

On tides of exhultation, waves of expectation

 

A door always open is Inspiration

Leads us to our sweet salvation;

For we are not merely mortal,

Ne’er predictably mechanical,

We’re wave borne souls with divine exhultation!

 

 

 


J

 

God sent his only son Jesus

To earth as a child for to please us;

What a horrific loss,

He got nailed to a cross

God was grieved and decided to leave us.

 

You know the second coming of Jesus

At Heathrow caused a great circus;

The airport got crammed,

Things got out of hand.

Said Jesus “Why fuss, I’ll just take the bus”

 

“But Why?” said the taxi driver,

“Saviour, hop in ‘ere, you got a fiver.

I’ll drive ya to Piccadily Circus or else South Carolina”


The Judy Lübke cycle       J

 

Napoleonic gallerist –you just look around,

Will e’er more audacious than he be found?

From Leipzig to Frankfurt,

From Basel to New York,

Judy Lübke – unique of his kind*.

 

To Frankfurt Art Fair, not a pfennig in pocket

He brought artists bizarre (eyes went out of socket);

With Rainer Görß und Nicolai,

Did eigen+art first aim up high,

And struck the sky - on Captain Judy’s art rocket.

 

The global skies he still ascends,

His (art) fair progress never ends;

No Eastern Block nor credit crunch

May punch him off the course he launched.

As on peculiarity** not destiny does Judy depend.

 

To be honest I don’t know how he did it,

It’s a strange mannered*** puzzle which won’t fit;

Like his name – is it a y or an umlaut u?

Lybke or Lübke? I’ve got no clue.

But this seems true - in Art’s firmament ‘tis brightly writ.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* d.H. also „eigen in seiner Art“

** d.H. Eigenartigkeit

*** auch eine Redewendung für eigenartig


K

 

Members of the Klu-Klux-Klan

Are full of hate, don’t understand;

That hate’s the great satanic flaw,

And ignorance a wide closed door.

Truths white and black walk hand in hand.

 

(See also “Praise to the knot in the shoe”)

 

Some say the body’s a knot,

Marvellously tied up by God;

But when we have died,

The frail knot comes untied

And our souls fall out - end of our lot.

 

Cruel, revengeful, unkind could not

Be such a knot-minded God;

Who with such nimble fingers,

And patience did linger-

He’s naught but a knot-tying zealot


L

 

Here are limericks for Lelia

I hope they’ll appeal to her,

For to please her I‘ve writ them,

And to keep both our souls in trim,

Affectionately rhymed for my Ma.

 

I hope such Lancastrian Limericks make glad

They were writ by a real Lancastrian lad;

Naughty rhymed tricks,

Like pick-up-sticks,

Concealed ‘midst words, first learnt from my dad.


L

 

A strapping young lass from Lancaster

Who loved running and always went faster,

Got into a spin,

Tripped up on a pin,

And her chin had to be set in white plaster.

 

There was a bright boy from London

Who oft times suffered from boredom;

but he went for a walk

With a young girl from York,

And she gave him an exciting bonbon.

 

Arty taxidermy is his favourite lark,

No beastlier gains been got since Noah stuffed the ark;

But floating as if in Hell,

Shall his epitath be sealed as well,

In vitro – demon Damien – the grinning art shark

 

A shopgirl who worked in Leipzig

Fell in love with an amorous pig;

Who praised and who wooed her,

Embraced and so moved her,

To dance him a marvellous jig.

 

Judy Lybke from Leipzig’s a lion,

Though he started out dressed like a clown,

In his striped dressing gown,

Became talk of the town,

In the art scene as famed as Napoleon.

 


M

 

The cow who jumped over the Moon

One night had a terrible swoon;

But the cat and his fiddle,

Playing hey-diddle-diddle

Was able to wake him up soon.

 

From ending like poor old King Midas,

Dear God do we pray Thee to save us;

If all we touched turned gold,

Then life’s flow would freeze cold

In dead treasure, such pleasure would kill us.

 

From ending like poor old King Midas,

Dear God do we pray Thee to save us;

If all we touched turned gold,

Then life’s flow would freeze cold

In fine riches - dead idols which kill us.

 

A big bus crashed upon the M6,

Floated on down the River Styx;

“Hey, wait a sec!” said Jesus,

“I Think I’ll get this bus sussed”,

Charon’s oarsticks immediately transfixed.

 

I’ve never wondered Mozart

Truly what thou wert;

A divine heart

Sent to enchant

Our souls, reveal their worth.

 

I’ve never wondered Mozart

Truly what thou art;

A soul divine

Sent here to charm

Our souls with thy fine art.

 

                            His music enspells

Our sorrow dispells

The neverending Muse cycle (a forestaste)     M

 

The heavy demands which my Muse

Doth heap on my bare shoulders;

She conjures up weights in the air,

Stacked high to my greatest despair.

To my mind she’s unkind- I’m abused.

 

She seems to seek me here and there,

I may look and find her everywhere;

Be she angry or meek

We still play hide and seek

For an hour or two weeks I don’t care.

 

Superior Muse thou art in power

I wait on you each waking hour;

You do not pay the fealty

I give to thee in gold but poetry,

At your commands I gladly cower.

(You help me flower.)

 

Our souls, good spirits, Muses,

Are like fair princesses allotted to us;

Our bodies perhaps the prisons,

Nay, fair palaces or prisms,

Through whose windows they may visualise us.

 

We all have need of Muses,

For beneath us and before us;

Is all decay and death,

Atop an ocean of despair we breathe,

Confident, carefree we, living cloudstuff.

 


N

 

From nothingness do all things grow, no?

Such hath the physicists proved you know;

Like rabbits from a hat,

They all appeared like that,

So the cosmos s’the best magic show.

 

At night I’m disturbed by my Muse,

Her dark body doth my sleep confuse;

She bestows a dream kiss,

Which is absolute bliss.

With her sweet lips is my soul suffused.

 

Whilst cycling along the great Neckar,

I met my first girlfriend Rebekka,

With lovely round hips

And pouting red lips,

And she knew that I needed to kneck her.


O

 

From outside of Alpha-Omega

Comes music and song for our pleasure

Melodic mysterial[2]

In daylight ethereal

The chord-sounds bejewelled like treasure.


P

 

A parrot whilst pecking pork-pie

Got a nasty big fly in his eye;

Which riled him completely,

So he squawked most un-sweetly

And caused the nice children to cry.

 

Israel and Palestine

Warring all the time;

Turn Holy Land

To Horror Land,

Humanitarian crime

 

Israel and Palestine

Extremist, martyrs think it’s fine;

Allah drowned in blood

Butchered by Jahweh,

Warring till the end of time.

 


The Rainer Paul cycle                                                                P

 

My wild friend dark strong Rainer Paul

Is a drunkard, but most helpful soul;

Once he fell down the stairs,*

Spouted blood out his ears,

Shed no tears, without doctors got well.

 

Rainer Paul he drinks far too much beer,

Knocks it back as if he has no fear;

He drank rat poison once

When his great love ensconced,

He survived, he drinks year after year

 

(*Cracked his skull.)

 

 

This cycle is to be continued


Q

 

In Hollyrood House sat the Queen

Lamenting the wrongs that she’d seen;

When it got to half three,

Phillip asked “Like some tea?

Cheer you up love, you know what I mean?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


R

 

One day I know the phone will ring,

And God on high began to sing

To me, straight down the line,

In his sweet voice, so strong, divine.

The phone rings now, quite startling.

 

At night how my closed eyes do roam,

Through Plato’s dark cave in the gloom;

That’s why I see with good cheer,

Plato’s ideal sphere

Is here, in the daytime filled room.

 

At nighttime my soul seems to roll,

Through Plato’s dark cave – it’s awful;

With the first light of dawn

I’m no longer forlorn.

The sun’s sphere makes my dark soul feel whole.

 

She’s possibility becoming richer,

Or a beautifully materializing picture;

An attractive plenipotent notion

Happy offspring of pure emotion-

She’s here, whispering in my ear, soul charmer.

 

She’s whispering becoming richer,

Delicately filling in the picture;

Be she but fiction,

Oh what dejection.

I think of her as real as love for sure.


The poet dreams of his life as if having returned from the dead      R

 

I am English love, Haley returned

Behind the lines to live renamed;

To kiss, give German

Women bliss,

Redress with love though I was cruelly spurned.

 

Here in Dresden far from home,

A poet flowers on foreign loam,

Where once his blood was spilt

(What waste when youth’s war-spent.)

Sings Summer joy anew now come.

 


S

 

In Köln a young lad met Simone,

And asked if next day he might phone her;

But he spoke her name wrong

And it didn’t take long

Till she’d gone, leaving him there to moan her.

 

Bedenke, falls Dir Dein Schicksal

Fast trocken wie ein klitze-kleiner Rinnsal

Sehr lächerlich erscheint, daß das große Meer

Mehr schöne Schiffe und Abenteuer

Tragen mag, am Ende mehr Tragödie, Tod und Trübsal

 

My Muse is a feeling of great simplicity

Like an innocent child coming forth by day;

Having slept ten thousand years

And swum through the ocean of tears,

Who contentedly smiles in all serenity.

 

Bedenke, falls Dir Dein Schicksal

Fast trocken wie ein klitze-kleiner Rinnsal

Sehr mickrig erscheint. Hat das große Meer

Mehr schöne Schiffe, Abenteuer

Mehr Gefahren am Ende, Tod und Trübsal


The glorious spoon cycle        S

 

All praise to the glorious spoon,

Without it we’d be quite forlorn;

No good golden syrup

Could bring babes to chirrup,

Bibs all gooey make poor mothers swoon.

 

All praise the intelligent spoon

And in praising don’t feel like a loon,

For we could not slurp hot soup. Oof!

Have bright stains to mop off

Mum’s carpet – she’d scream a shrill tune.

 

All praise the significant spoon,

Spoon providence truly a boon;

Why contradict me?

I’m no idiot see.

Save for spoons we’d have not reached the moon.

 

So let’s all praise the fabulous spoon

Let it’s glory expand and balloon;

In French it’s called cuillière

Which I think sounds quite queer;

And kiss the spoon- it is never too soon.

 

Once a poor child lost his spoon,

As he crawled and cried it felt like doom;

But who came from the shops,

Put an end to his sobs?

It was mum - found the spoon and fed him at noon

 

If there were no spoons of course,

A mother’s lot would be much worse;

For with only chop-sticks or sharp cutlery,

You couldn’t fork feed syrup, silly!

Sticky syrup blobs’d make families curse.


The knot in the shoe cycle        S

 

All praise to the knot in the shoe

Without it what would humans do?

If not for the knot

I do not know what

The poor knotless humans would do.

 

All hail the great knot in the shoe

Its importance each day proved anew;

If not for the shoe knot

We’d trip up a right lot

Who would dare to deny this’s not true?

 

The incredible knot in the shoe

Indispensible to me and you;

Don’t believe my angle

You’ll get in a tangle.

Who survives without knots? -Very few.

 

Were it not for the knot in the shoe

Perhaps we’d stick shoe flaps with glue;

At the end of each day

We’d throw new shoes away.

Thanks to knots we can wear new shoes through.

 

The glorious knot in the shoe,

Who made the great knot, tell me who?

Was it not the divine

Who tied it up so fine

This glorious knot in the shoe?

 

Some say the body’s a knot,

Marvellously tied up by God;

But when we have died,

The frail knot comes untied

And our souls fall out - end of our lot.

 

Cruel, revengeful, unkind could not

Be such a knot-minded God;

Who with such nimble fingers,

And patience did linger-

Why he’s naught but a knot-tying zealot!

 


T

 

It is all a question of Time

Till vision however sublime

Shall become true

And be made new;

So possible and real combine,

(Reality and wish in chime.)

 

My Muse is like a pleasant turbulence,

A soulful eddy to wash away my nonchalence,

She dissolves me in a stream of polyvalence,

Not to drown, but best to swim along’s my chance,

Splish-splash with harmonised, unbalanced interference.

 

 


The tentative testosterone cycle      T

 

To build-ups of testosterone

Desiring men are often prone;

Their consciousness digresses

Their actions turn impulsive,

In search of erogenous zones.

 

Too much thwarted testosterone

Brings men into a danger zone;

They may become aggressive

Their hot thoughts turn permissive,

Caressing girls’ erotic zones.

 

 


A complete limerick followed by unchained, unfinished visions of purgatory   U

 

I fear I’ve gone Unconscious

In terror ‘midst fumes noxious

I’m drifting in my dreams

My world’s burst at the seams.

No wonder I feel anxious.

 

Anxiousness

 

I fear I’ve gone Unconscious

I’m drifting in my dreams

My pretty, petty waking world

Has all burst at the seams.

 

Noxiousness

 

Through darkness hurled

In terror amidst evil fumes, noxious

My poor soul chased by vicious

Dogs, my self esteem is torn and screams.

 

Anxiety

 

Through darkness hurled

Midst evil fumes

My poor soul raped by vicious

Dogs, my self esteem is stabbed and screams.

 

Terror

 

Through darkness hurled

My poor soul raped by vicious

Dogs, blood drenches my sharp wounds

My self esteem is drowned by cruel stabs and screams.

 

Evil fumes

 

Through darkness hurled

My brain and soul have been broke open vicious

blood drenches my sharp wounds

My self esteem been purged by horrid stabs and screams

 

 

My unconscious opened up                                     U

 

Hurled

 

My confidence destroyed by horror

My bones are broke, blood drenches my sharp wounds

Snakes and skulls and stabs and screams

 

Horror

 

My confidence is wracked by horror

My bones are broke, and blood drenches my wounds

Snakes and skulls and stabs and screams

 

Despair

 


V

 

All power proceeds from the vacuum,

All energies from thence did zoom;

Miraculous of course

How nothingness brings force,

Stars, universe into our living room.


A most dialectically rhymed limerick for wintry nights             W

 

All praise to the great hot water bottle

Which relief brings to adult and tine-tottle,

Fair warm rubber belly,

All squishy like jelly,

Inextricably linked to the kettle.

 

 

 

 

 


W

 

Ein Trommler groß, blond, voller Wucht

Er trommelt bis die Bude kracht,

Was hast Du denn gedacht?

Sein Name ist Matthias Macht,

Er trommelt tags, er trommelt nachts.

 

Profound blue and galaxy wallpapers

Decorate the bounds where our soul tapers

Off , dissolves into night,

Blindness changing guard with sight,

Vague spirit floats miraculous on vapours.

 

How I love the world

It’s like an unknown girl

Seen across the street

Who I’d like to meet.

Sets my head a twirl.

 

I’m too shy for the world

Or else no time - I’m hurled,

To ask the unknown girl

Her secret to unfurl

I’d have to prise the pearl.

 

How I love the world

Tis like an unknown girl

Seen dancing in the dark

As if on Noah’s ark.

This pearl girl my head twirls.

 

To me my Muse doth softly whisper

As if I’m being kissed by her,

Secretly but strongly.

Unseen in the throng we

Are one, love’s our gravity, always near.


W

 

Naked existence devoid of wishes

Is but half of life, completely misses

The driving, conniving force

Of wish-formed desire of course.

Fair wishes see, are the great key, and not just for cissies!

 

(So use your head, heed poetry)

 

Because…

 

T’is highest state when we can wish,

There’s nothing higher, ne’er forget this;

In wishing we make possibility,

And so may steer through bleak eternity,

T’wards infinity, where all lines meet in bliss.


X

 

Xanthippe who loved xylophone

Had an awful long way home to roam;

She was lost in Tibet,

Which was freezing I’ll bet

And her fingers got chilled to the bone.


Y

 

When Hamlet hold’s poor Yorick

The dead skull sight makes me sick;

And I ask why,

Have we to die?

Death’s writ in the sky, as Z follows Y, triumphant trick.

 

But let life follow death just as Y follows Z

In the word “dizzy”. Turn things round in your head.

No joke - let us now invoke,

Pure Spirit may Time’s course revoke,

Just as words travel faster than light’s greatest speed.


Z

 

A zebra which grazed in Zaire

Developed a thirst for a beer;

His request in a bar,

For a nice cooling jar

Was denied - “Sir, no Zebras served here.”

 

A zebra who’d grazed in Zaire

Still had a thirst for a beer;

So he hijacked a plane,

On its way back to Spain.

Tourists screamed – “We have no beer here.”

 

 

 

In Zaire there also lived another quite querelous fabulous  Zebra.

 

 


I look inside and around me

See and feel many Muses,

Manifold Muses are manifest.

My Muses are the values

For whom it is worth living,

Or else they are the unseen

Yet palpable forces

The strangely bemusing etherial Materials

(Benevolent matter, mater, Maat, measure)

Who surround us
The cycle of my neverending Muse

 

The incredible sights I declare

Which my Muse heaps on my shoulders bare;

Are produced from mere daylight

Sometimes give me a fright,

Her great power oft leads to despair.

 

My reckless Muse doesn’t care,

A concealing plain dress she’ll not wear;

She gives me no peace

Her fine breasts she’s released

From her bra – chain reaction so fair.

 

My great Muse made Saint Christopher wail,

Her inspiration was one non-stop tale;

“It’s not your light weight

Or your perfume I hate

But long stories which make me so frail.”

 

“I fear that I may fail,

Your ideas give me toil.

I feel that I must weep!

You make me meek or weak,

In rhyming so embroiled”

 

The heavy demands which my Muse

Doth heap on my bare shoulders;

She conjures up weights in the air,

Stacked high to my greatest despair.

To my mind she’s unkind- I’m abused.

 

She seems to seek me here and there,

I may look and find her everywhere;

Be she angry or meek

We still play hide and seek

For an hour or two weeks I don’t care.

 

Superior Muse thou art in power

I wait on you each waking hour;

You do not pay the fealty

I give to thee in gold but poetry,

At your commands I gladly cower.

(You help me flower.)

 

Composed in the Aldi supermarket

 

 

Thou dost make me forget O Muse

All the eggs and potatoes,

In the supermarket while I write

A hyperactive cosmic rhyme so bright

Thus with thee do I both win and lose.

 

 

 

 

 

Composed in honour of a living Muse called Helen

 

 

My silly Muse doth come with a boo!

To Dame Surprise she’s obviously true;

Comes to take a look,

With charismatic cheek

Such a peek-a-boo Muse, so I laugh huh huh!

 

My Muse produces silly exceptions

She makes corrections t’wards new directions;

She likes it topsy-turvy,

Both singular and curvy

She’s an agent of zaniest insurrection.

 

(All to counter arguing and angry infinities,

Doth she develop such silly soliloquies;

T’is a sweet game of evasions,

From reason’s long divisions.

Through gleeful lock and key comedies.)


 

My Muse is a constant collision,

Of words in my head and emotion,

Evaporating into new

Motions stirred through

By her hand, dosed with sweet magic potions.

 

Poetry comes from the despair I

Flee, both eternal and momentary,

Which seeks in rhyme

A chord divine

To ring in time most contrary!

 

The world does not love - my Muses for sure!

Without them this cold, cruel earth would be dour,

Loveless and all hopelessness,

No Paradise here, all Hell no less.

In darkness my Muses walk with me this hour.

 

My Doubting Muse asks “Should or should I not?”

Now queries “What if I had or had not got?”

My Muse of Great Decision

Answers with her sweet precision

In clear rhymes which Doubtful Miss could ne’er have caught.

 

My Muse is nervousness in the belly,

Weakness in the knees, turning limbs to jelly;

She’s basic life I can’t control,

Who with such lack, can make me whole -

Like tunes her wavy ways most unnecess(ess)ary.

 


The Muse’s Medly doth go on and on…

 

My Muse is like fair weather

Or like a storm you cannot tether.

She fills my sail and suns my cheek,

She blows when I need it, now sunny, now meek

Can be - so may we never be still, forever.

 

My Muse is a souring lack-of-fulfillment,

A many-detriment which mars, to my bewilderment;

With “where to turn and what to do,

Or who to hold and remain true to?”

Her insecurity rules, as soaring goals are dreamt.

 

My Muse is a chemical distillery,

The fuse a sparkling pen is, which to the pillory

Of false opinion or fame may lead,

Whilst fissured virtue, virtue fissioned breeds.

She’s a fast reactor then, her bubbling pipes set spirit free.

 

My Muse is an invisible benevolence within,

Or the sun which turns dark hairs to gold upon my skin.

She is happiness and sense embodied,

Both meaninglessly hand-held harmonised -

Life’s greatest prize, caught in or on such tissues thin.

 

Having met such a Muse as blonde Carmen,

Never yet having listened to “Carmen”,

The opera by Bizet,

I’m intrigued to hear it played,

And to hear her voice speak once more “Carmen”.

 

 



[1] Or why  not stay for a week, where truth plays hide and seek

[2] Also kommt es nicht jeden zu , Wörter einzuführen“, sagte Sokrates „sondern nur einem besonderen Wortbildner. Und dieser ist, wie es scheint, der Gesetzgeber, von allen Künstlern  unter den Menschen  der seltenste.“