Cliché

There is nothing new under the sun!

Originality is the grand déjà vu.

Yet when the old is twisted and wrung

It may disguise itself as new.

Originality is the grand déjà vu,

No one likes to fit into a stereotype.

It may disguise itself as new,

But our style isn’t a monotype.

No one likes to fit into a stereotype

To be the elusive, helpless cliché.

But our style isn’t a monotype

And novelty has flown away.

To be the elusive, helpless cliché?

Yet when the old is twisted and wrung

And novelty has flown away,

There is nothing new under the sun.

Limerick No.7

Beethoven’s ninth symphony

Makes you smart in infancy,

But just some booze,

Helps folks loose

Any attained proficiency. 

The Most Awesomest Title Ever

 I         A      T      I

T                 H     S

S                 A     N

                   T     T

                          

      L       A     N    G   U   A   G   E 

R

A        S

T        H             T

H       A              A  
E        M            M   

R       E              E   

White Dragon

A herald of the static – from mountains he appears,

Vast, the shadow of his wings darkens the earth.

The wit of the wise is worsted, runs and disappears.

A father of motion seeks to replenish the dearth.

In the valley of plenty even the rich have succumb

To the havoc of this gently giant’s pale curse.

Within the beast’s cold skin, failure’s light crumb

Trail leads to the inevitable, skinny purse.

Limerick No.6

Ok, I’m going to have a shower

Just in about half an hour

But if I delay

You will have to pay,

Cause then this room will smell sour.

Screen and Stages

Born at the Nile’s cradle; blessed by mother and death’s tale,

Then, the infant years carried among the Peloponnese domes.

Fathered by mighty Romulus’ brood and journey the globe,

Till at last, manhood beseeches amongst the Virgin Queen.

Worthy of song, by the greatest of troubadours, is this gift,

And therefore, grand jury, the notary stands proud before you.

Fair point, such a history that is commended before you

Is, without a doubt, a grand precursor for a greater tale.

For now we must turn to the refined and industrial gift,

As age is simply there as a pillar to youth’s domes.

This masterpiece of modern engineering is my queen,

And I shall travel to preach her gospel across the globe.

Ha! Amazed I am that youth’s arrogance stops at the globe.

We have gathered to consider the greater, so I ask you,

Fail not in your task to consider entertainment’s queen!

Masterful she preaches and performs many a great tale,

With a frown and a smile she enchants in her majestic domes.

Dismiss not, for modern foolery, such a splendid gift!

Ah! Such scorn against Ptolemy, the Second’s gift!

The child of “The Wheel of Life” has astounded the globe,

Enthralled and intoxicated are those that enter its domes.

But the solicitor of ancient ruins comes to you,

And begs mercy for a lesser teller of many a tale.

I, though, shall await the verdict of the King and the Queen. 

Behold, the Scottish Lady, she reeks of despair, that queen

Enthrals all the senses, as she devours Macduff’s gift.

Aghast the crowds would not heed the warnings of this tragic tale

If it were to be malformed to suit other places than “The Globe”.

For the proximity of the sweat and blood cries out to you,

The judges, once you suffer by smell and feel in splendid domes.

Suffer you do indeed in this troubadour’s petty domes.

For you could not see the tempestuous eyes of such a queen,

Nor, the propinquity allow audibility, for you

Would marvel at the silence of this grand, marvellous gift.

Not so the ruler of modern leisure across the globe,

Thunder and Lightning as loud and clear as must for this tale!

Hush! For now you shall bare and accept the sentence for each gift.

The King and the Queen bring forth and speak the will of all the globe.

Both domes shall state, along their rigours, many a fanciful tale!

Limerick No.5

What’s the point of a semicolon?

Just so a sentence can be swollen?

I don’t really care

Because to be fair;

I’ll never use a semicolon.

December 9th

Bound the round sound

In lines like vines of nines.

So choose the fuse of the ruse

That you muse in these zoos.

Burn every turn in this urn

And demand a stand.

Why try to cry for a lie,

Just apply a dry eye.

Rampage onstage!          

Fiscal Vocation

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

We eat children by day and babies by night,

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

Think of today and not of tomorrow,

Carpe Diem first and after pull your belt tight,

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

Terms that make your brow furrow,

We deliver a future that is oh so bright,

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

The rumours are just a scarecrow,

To keep the reckless men out of sight,

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

Even though the promises seem hollow,

We save you from that dreadful fright,

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

I want to go home now and end this show,

I’m tired of lenders wanting to fight,

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

Bill

There once was a man who was idle and tame

His greatest ambition was to solve a fool’s game

He broke his back twice and his heart thrice

He didn’t expect that his subjects would entice

There once was a child who was brave and wild

But something happened that made him defiled

He woke up one day and saw he’d grown old

And so he bought a sign for his soul that said “Sold”

I met the poor man on the last day of his life

He cried, the daring child never even got a wife

Yet one thing could still redeem his great mistakes

To tell his story, as his past, finally, awakes

The solemn fellow slowly began his great tale

Which I shall now attempt to repeat without fail

A story that towers so high like the one in Babel

But which now is reduced to the wreckage of fable

The story begins with a knighted boy named Bill

Who never could quite manage to stay still

Every day he travelled to lands far and wide

To return everyday to dinner like the tide

Some days Bill would journey to the Castle of Teen,

A place only the bravest child could be seen

For the mighty King Jim sat on his throne proud

And all that entered, could only if he allowed

The king’s prized possession was the Elixir of Joy

He professed it to be his own private toy

He drank until he could no longer stand

And started to hit the air with his hand

The brave Sir Bill once stole the Elixir one night

And found himself in a whirlwind of delight

Though when he awoke the next morning

He noticed the elixir’s bottle carried a warning

The Beast of Minerva was his greatest nemesis

She ruled dictatorially, the supremacist

Sucking dry, the joy of life and its energy

But she taught him the power of synergy

Sir Bill gathered his strongest allies

And exiled the Monster with their rallies

But once she was defeated and finally done

Another appeared out of Apollo’s Sun

For many a year the Knight fought the beast

Until one day he battled and was finally released

And so his great voyage at length began

Aimlessly wandering without a plan

Breaking through the tyranny of Ponos’ child

Who would attack him with paper and go wild

He seduced the Sirens with great success

And made some later his personal princess

All of which later abandoned him to his fate

He then awoke one day to see that his life was late

His Knighthood had been robbed by age

Sir Bill was now the knave of the stage

And so the old man told me his great tale

But even this did not seem to avail

His distress and fear was far too great

And so he laid back and decided to wait

“Is there no hope of any redemption?”

“No second chances against rejection?”

The broken figure simply cracked a smile

“I’ve been asking that now for a while.”

There once was a man who was weak and old

Before he died, though, I heard it told

His age that had robbed him of his youth

Had at the end of the day taught him truth

He awoke from the nightmare he was in

Arose to his life and decided to begin

Took upon himself his crown of old

Took down the sign off his soul that said “Sold”

For Sir Bill had found his second chance

In the most peculiar of romance

There once was a man who fell asleep one night

And his final thought was, “In the end I got it right.”

Think Before You Write

Pursue the rhyme,
Ignore the time.

Ode to Awkwards

Our eyes are well trained to see the peculiar

So mine found themselves looking upon Julia

She conversed with a lonely soul underground

Until King’s Cross Station, where his exit was found

Further her task seemed to be to hum her darling song

Since I knew it myself, she got it completely wrong

A father of fathers looked at her beyond his paper

So she smiled and he hid as if she were a kidnapper

As this tragedy unfolded before my eyes

I couldn’t help but wonder who of them was wise

Was it the crowd that persecuted, quiet and proud

Or was it the stranger that was loving a little too loud

As she tipped her hat adieu to the distressed commute

She stumbled over the gap, which I found rather cute

So when I found her later on that week sitting alone

I drew near to her and slipped the number to my phone

A kiss of blessing can cause the honest to stagger

They return the gesture without hubris or swagger

The loving heart shall receive its own gift in plenty

Other soul’s can only wish for theirs are empty

The exiles of Acceptable return to your home

The Romans may do, but they must see this is not Rome

Leave the caves you’ve wasted in for too long

Perhaps not you but the others were wrong

The shame that once was you’re prison’s guard

May have left you broken, afraid and scarred

But hold up the mantle that this pen gives you

And rejoice in the knowledge that you have work to do

But I have found a fault in my crafted words

For if you, as I have ordered, would march onwards

You would have freed yourself of discomfiture

 Why, my words would solely become furniture!

At the grand crescendo the choir meets,

As the audience begin to rise from their seats

And all ears await the final chord

As all hearts await the final word

So, um...I guess I’m kind of going to finish here

Limerick No.4

Once I tried to learn the guitar,

Sadly, I didn’t get very far

I strung a few chords,

Played along records,

Then drove over it with my car.

Taking the Train to Work

Rattle, Rattle, Rattle

The stampede, it comes

Carrying its cattle

With all its crumbs

Cringe, Cringe, Cringe

The monster, it sings

The passerby whinge

As the sound rings

Stomp, stomp, stomp

The chasm, mind it

The beast may chomp

Repeating the fit

Rattle, Rattle, Rattle

The can, to continue

You’re in the battle

To increase your value

Remember Me

Looking about me I felt the drip, the blood on the floor made me slip

Once their opportunity rang, with fang, they sang and with club beat me

Now cold, now clapping, now shivering, I began my mighty whining

I felt the uncouth timing of the bell chiming, and away they took me

One guard still has a tooth as a token and away they took me

Yes, a token to remember me!

The first light of day I saw after the fourth call of the cockerel,

 And as one set free amongst the dogs, I tried to run but couldn’t see

Was wrapped, was trapped, was attacked, was burdened with a heavy, foul tree

I crept before my torturers and begged of them what I was to be

Another whip I felt and wept and begged of them what I was to be,

I begged them so to free me.

Such a fury possessed my soul, Hades’ own rage-battalion

Dragged all light from my ambition; death’s delight was my bounty.

Such comfort my perverse heart found in wrath’s anointing

That I laughed before a departed mortal, heedlessly,

Laughed before the law crashed upon me heedlessly,

Oh, sanity had abandoned me.

I fell to my knees, and so my captors tore my apparel-

All saw the gore! By the Roman’s law I was nailed to a tree.

And all could see, they jeered and smeared dust in my eye,

Why, oh why, Yahwe is my trial such a tempest of fury?

Dragged to a hilltop, I am, pushed onward by unruly fury.

Significance, please, forget me!

Agony discovered my wretched body at the skull’s feet,

But behold! There was company, pitiful I was not only,

For two others I found dragging their burdens along the horde.

One, a hard, helpless, cruel man, was flogged for a fierce felony,

The other, fairness covered in crimson, but for what felony?

Between them was tainted me.

The mad mockery made for the fine man like a mighty fleet,

A king, whose coronation brought him a crown that was thornily,

So feeble was his strength by now, that his burden was not his own,

Shaking, scraping the floor, feeling the gore, I wondered of his story.

What solemn sin had summoned him to this juncture in his story?

The thought overshadowed me.

I placed my soul central, wasting wearily as a wastrel,

Justice was my burden, and I suffered for my fallacy.

But what vice would suffice to see this king bare such a sting?

Why such aching for such wonderful, infallible royalty?

We crawled to the pinnacle, I marvelled at his royalty.

The man looked towards me.

The guards, as a piece of meat, placed the King of the Jews on his seat.

As I was poled to the dead ground, I looked to the King wearily,

Amidst all the jeering, I saw at last who it was bleeding.

Like a suddenly birthed seedling, I saw the truth firmly,

Strangely, divine royalty had come to suffer firmly,

It all bewildered me.

The behemoth’s whip sprung to behold the immortal’s flesh rip,

“Speak, noble God, with one word you can rebuke your enemy!”

Yet he hangs, denying his right to see his strength reviving.

Justly, no longer shall I ever walk free; liberty is not for me,

Yet undeservedly does this marvel die beside me,

Darkness crept towards me.

“You! Liberate our carcasses to prove that divine kingship.”

The insolence! Only my Lord’s silence appeased my fury.

I spoke – “A whimsical word of a criminal’s contriving,

This King should not suffer foolish words from one as me,

For all creation is alike, but this wonder is not one as me,

Jesus, remember me.”

The Host of Shade rode on a galleon; prizing their medallion

It covered the Son, finally won - triumph over eternity!

The Pits burst forth into a noxious toxin of rejoicing.

All creation was wondering, when would the Father see?

As I breathed my last, what would the Father see

When he would look at me?

My eyes opened! I beheld a diamond. A bright shining star!

My lungs are filled with wind anew, pain is an absent enemy.

I behold amazingly; humbled, loving, laughing divinity.

The diamond speaks “You begged on a tree to remember me,

Come now and be free, and for eternity laugh with me,

For you asked that of me.” 

Limerick No.3

The greatest story ever told,

Never had one single copy sold,

Because the author’s knave,

Failed to press save,

After he wrote down the gold.

Interview

Question, Answer, Question, Answer

Cunning is the graceful dancer

Another Serving

Curiosity, to such a thing, should not grant honours

But she is an untameable beast that sparks and wonders

The mighty steed pulls my whims in unsavoury direction

The doctor forces me to the table to receive the injection

It is a righteous man’s duty to seek thoughts of a noble nature

I commend thee, righteousness, to find and to capture

The torment that grabs all my senses and deprives me

The fever that begs for one simple task, one simple duty

Rejection of the itch demands all my strength

The integrity must be shielded of hypocrisy for the length

No, I shall be resolute; my hunger shall not be a plaything

I sit before this empty plate and I shall not have another serving.

Damn You, Shakespeare

Fair, my pen can write a sonnet, sweet

But the mere shambles of my paper

Can never desire as equal meet

Avon’s writing; make mine a mere vapour.

Oh, if I could write words beyond compare,

In a world where my work’s alone shall be

Then, my libretto should be seen as fair

And not scattered, amongst more mockery.

But if in solitude my craft finds praise,

And in such a state, a admiration,

Then my critic would solely be in a haze,

Simply offering honour as ration.

So, I persist to note in humble fear

Forever judging; damn you, Shakespeare

Limerick No.2

There once was a mighty old tree

To the ends of the world it could see

But then the lumberjack

Lost his wooden stack

And chopped it for hot cups of tea.

Oizys

“Pen to Paper; Muse do your Magic

Give me stories, may they be tragic

For the shadow is my greatest delight

For my mind finds it at the speed of light”

The poet’s hand has no place for joy

For the metaphor is misfortune’s toy

How then would the muse consent

To a verse in relation to being content?

Zeus’ daughters are easier pleased

With death, loss and love diseased

But I shall not try to delight Saturn

But carry my own cheerful baton!

The Child of Night is exiled from here

Pain and distress, run away in fear

For I bring the other side of life on page

Feel the glory of delight, out of its cage.

Globetrotter

The harbour for the metal birds in the sky

Hosts the universe and exhausts its mind

Was three in New York, now five in Sydney

Yet the toothbrush rests, peacefully, in Tokyo

Beer over the Atlantic, Wine over the Pacific

Remember that apartment somewhere?

Paid a mortgage, quite a decent amount

Apparently too much to have me live in it

John the Baptist and Buddha, today, fly

Arguing the meaning of life and mankind

As I squeeze past to pursue my destiny

To discover substitutes to the onboard video

Hotel rooms are decorated with catastrophic,

Silent, patient, undulated, captivating fear,

As the mind slowly awakes to count

Those days and places that just stare and sit

The holiday marked with the stain of work.

Love, can we just stay at home for now?

Let my heart sink into my own chair,

Let my soul taste my own made food

Can we avoid the others, the berserk?

Please promise me this, make a vow

Let my mind wander on my own stair

Let my voyage, this trip, finally conclude.

Limerick No.1

Long ago the old human race

Used to converse face to face

With laughter and cries

With banter and lies,

Now, talks only on cyberspace.

Shopping

Trotting amidst the fiery frenzy

Guided by global words

The petit body pushed aside

By mother’s hands

All the idle paper is so busy

Sliding amongst the herds

The youth follows his guide

Not sure of her plans

Marching on like a caterpillar

To metamorphose

From young scruffy child

To a handsome devil

Gleefully we see the retailer

Ready to diagnose

The success of the wild

And tomorrow’s sequel

An Old Man's Night Out

This cave stores a resounding thump,

Its rhythm speaks to the snake of people.

This most respected and strange dump

Smells as if it were a dancer’s steeple.

The home of nutrition and health

Has become an abode of dragons,

Spitting fire on a lump of cheap wealth,

Stored somewhere in their wagons.

Mother of pestilence comfort me,

Night has robbed a tavern of its age.

Even my old comrade, I now see,

Has found new suitors to pay the wage.

Day One

Checkpoint! Curtain call for a new day

Pretend you know the words to “Auld Lang Syne”

The diet of good intentions isn’t here to stay

Let the evils of yesteryear go astray,

Redemption is really only a matter of time.

Checkpoint! Curtain call for a new day

In 5 weeks I can make 5 pounds go away,

I can learn to write poetry and rhyme.

The diet of good intentions isn’t here to stay.

The stage is set for life after the holiday.

Breathe in, breathe out and you’ll be fine.

Checkpoint! Curtain call for a new day

The resolutions have a go at their foray,

Takes a bit more to shift a paradigm,

The diet of good intentions isn’t here to stay.

Raise your glasses without delay,

And drink to a grand old time.

Checkpoint! Curtain call for a new day

The diet of good intentions isn’t here to stay

Buchanan Street

My mother once said that I should not be afraid,

For on the day, if I asked I shall receive aid

Peculiar then, I find it that I should be alone

Standing on a wet and cold cobbled stone

Perhaps I said the wrong thing a few days ago,

When asked if I desired my desire I said no

Or maybe my actions have found me here

A sin or two can often produce a tear

So here I ponder - write - on Buchanan Street,

Feeling rather miserable with this heat

Or rather the lack of it, I should better say

How I do wish those birds would go away!

And me alone looking upon the commute,

While I stand here deciding to refute

That man has abandoned his brother,

That people don’t care for one another

My clipboard in hand and my poncho to go,

Even though I may be alone, I will show

That there will be many people willing to give

So that those children in Africa can finally live!