Tell all the truth but tell it slant -- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind --
I hear the rains accelerate From the lightest sprinkle. Soon the streets are aflood; mere sound Makes my fingers wrinkle. The rain continues to ratchet Up: faster & faster. 'Til it's maxed out at a speed that Spells certain disaster. How can it keep up this dire pace? What sponge this cloud must be To hold on high, up in the sky, The contents of a Sea. But, in time, the downshift begins Towards just drips & drops. No matter how boisterous the band, The song, it always stops.
I dwell in Possibility -- A fairer House than Prose -- More numerous of Windows -- Superior -- for doors -- Of Chambers as the Cedars -- Impregnable of eye -- And for an everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky -- Of Visitors -- the fairest -- For Occupation -- This -- The spreading wide of my narrow Hands To gather Paradise --
A cow is an animal, &
animals are creatures.
So, having strong proclivities
is a cardinal feature.
Calling them "creatures of habit"
must be for a reason.
If creatures did not form habits
the term would lose cohesion.
But I digress, I must admit.
Let me get to my point.
You see, a sloping pasture must
be murder on the joints!
A random beast, who stood this way
& that, would balance out,
but standing each day - just one way -
could cause a hip blowout.
A cow that grazes on a pitch
must have unequal legs.
Maybe, all it would take would be
two tiny pirate pegs.
For wearing pegs on the downslope
side would align the hips,
but then on walks down to the barn
cows would be prone to trips.
For now, there's just one solution:
bovine chiropractors!
Because the cost will be so great,
I'm seeking benefactors.
So many historic figures
whose look we think we know.
Did Jesus of Nazareth sport
hippie hair & a halo?
Perhaps, he did have quite long hair
but not the tawny blonde
of which so many "portraitists"
seemed to be quite fond.
The Shakespeare that we recognize
is drawn from memory.
Kings oft declared true depiction
a form of treachery.
Past commoners' appearances
are lost in bygone days.
We know Van Gogh from a mad mind,
and know him thirty ways.
Do you know whose look we do know?
Every teen now alive.
There're pics from every angle
stored on redundant drives.
Do I look blurry to a fish,
as if a floating cloud?
Does it expect I’ll dart away
as silence rings aloud?
The Ladybug of my childhood had polka-dots of black, adorning the split red shell that covered its wings and back. So, who erased this bug's black dots to make it less dice-like, making it a Lady in red? Said thief can take a hike. I had so many fine questions, but it just flew away. Maybe a bug somewhere out there has more spots coming its way.
To say you love, but require change
is so deeply fishy.
To mold the nature of your love
as if her soul were squishy.
Don't sell us benevolent kings, such creatures can't exist. An unchecked mind won't self-censor, and lame dogma persists.
There never was a Golden Age,
a time much better than right now.
But playing martyr 's all the rage:
to think our world the garbage scow --
whose stinking mass forever grows.
Lest you think that I'm saying these
are times of pure and sweet repose,
Please, let me put your mind at ease:
These times are best. These times are worst.
(To blatantly steal from Dickens.)
This twist is just how we are cursed
to shriek like that sky fall chicken.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 