A wayward duck up on a hill. He don’t come down and never will. He invents reasons to stay up. Comes down to buy his food to sup. Recharges rum, then up he goes to computerize and then to doze. Seeks neither censure nor promotion. Tries to fend off gross emotion. Keeps himself up on a shelf. Communes with no one but himself except online where he comports with on-air folks of different sorts. For though he might seem misbegotten, here on air he’s not forgotten.
Have you heard the allegory of enchanted mountain with its chocolate boulders and raspberry soda fountain? Snow on the top is ice cream, but beware, for it’s precipitous and only accessible to the most felicitous children who the lessons of politeness have well-learned. Children who are naughty and selfish will be spurned. If you think this is impossible and just a silly story, remember that I told you that it is an allegory. The wisdom that it teaches is good manners are rewarded, and though there is no list in life where they are all recorded, still life tends to give back to us exactly what we give. If you desire sweet things, that’s what you have to give.
I don’t swallow your poetry, it’s lacking rhyme and meter. You fancy yourself as a bard, but you are just a cheater. Your words are all disposable. I’ve heard them all before. Your melody discordant as you walk out the door. I have a little fetish that I stick needles in. They say it’s made expressly for expunging faithless men.
Let me stand here for a moment hidden in the shade, for my tank top strap is broken right by my shoulder blade. I’ll shuffle off to mend it when the band starts up again, but will stand here nearly silent as a statue until then.
My arms are wrapped around me, holding things in place, for with one side that’s set free, I’m not ready to face the folks up in the grandstand staring down at me. Their half-time entertainment I do not want to be!
I’m a living manifestation of how things fall apart, for the garment that once hugged my frame now hangs below my heart. The breeze blows yellow pollen downward from the trees to coat my arms and shoulders and makes me want to sneeze.
Oh that I’d brought the handy shawl Mom thought that I should bring, I’d now be in the powder room, fixing everything. Instead, I stand here cross-armed wishing eyes could be averted so their perusals of my chest could thereby be diverted.
Prompts for The Sunday Whirl Wordle are: shoulder powdery wraps broken shuffle blade stand moment again nearly silence. Image by Racool on Freepix.
Though once judged diabolical , with no rhyme nor reason, my acts once labeled as commitments of the highest treason, I have at last been vindicated, judgements now reversed and I can hold my head up high—an action I’ve rehearsed.
Though once I cowered in my room, at the limits of my sanity, waiting for the world’s conversion from its rude inanity, I’m ready to come out again now all the world agrees that it is cool to wear your jeans when ripped out at the knees.
Shredded around the ankles, slashed along the thighs, butt cheeks half revealed to any passing viewer’s eyes. What once I was reviled for, when down on my luck, is the coolest fashion now that intact Levis suck.
I’ve been having a conversation with Jez who is astonished that I’ve completely worn the letters off ten of the keys on the keyboard of my MacBook Air. I jokingly said it would be fun to try to compose a poem out of only those ten letters. Actually, nine letters and a period that will come in handy. The letters are:e i o a s h l n m and . (the period.) The joke is on me, however, as I then felt compelled to actually do it.
Me is I. Oh. I am me.
Shine on oh moon on all I see.
A shame oh shame anon anon.
I shine on him. He shines me on.
A sin a sin I moan I moan.
On a sea alone alone.
Seasons mesh on moon on sea.
I am alone. Moon shine on me.
For the final word on those worn-out letters, go HERE. See-saw!!!
Spin your web. Enact your plan.
Insist you’re of the common man.
Hang a pendant on a chain
Sway it forth and back again
just a dozen times or so,
mesmerizing in its flow.
If you mollify their fears
with promises placed in their ears,
you need give them little proof.
Just call the liberals aloof
and assure them that you’re not.
They’ll overlook your sins and yacht.
Call black white and call white black.
Blame others for what they lack.
Forbid care for the halt and lame.
Point a finger, blame the blame.
Soon they’ll have you in their head.
Certain folks like to be led.
Monkey see and monkey do.
The gullible will follow you
Since my store of giddy-up is no longer stellar, I’m limiting vacation plans to rooftop room and cellar. My travel guru’s dubious. She says I’ll change my mind. She thinks I’m merely ground down by the daily grind.
Though I rehearse refusals, the practice doesn’t work. She merely puts them down as a momentary quirk. In fact she has been needling me to book a new vacation and poo-poos my refusals to my great perturbation.
My stubborn change of attitude regarding foreign travel, she’s sure that she can pick at till it starts to unravel; but these are the travel plans for which I’d like to vouch. The scenery is gorgeous between my bed and couch!