Luny Day

What the hell is it about bloody Mondays?

Is it about the end of a hangover-haze?

Guilt-ridden compensation for the weekend's laze?

Do people jump awake

and do a double take

at the enormity of the innane targets that they chase?

What an invention, these bloody Mondays!

Care to chance?

Chances and prances may oft lead to dances
and dances and chances are age-old friends.
But dances are not assured with prances,
given the off-beat message it sends.

A self portrait by a small ball of white fur that sits on the bed.

Reality's in my eyes.

Contentment is my purr.

Dawn shall break when I rise

and clean my pristine fur.

There shall be food when I mew,

there shall be love when I'm due -

And I am due when I wish:

It's like the salmon in my dish.

Call my name with all your might;

I'll turn on a whim.

Pick me up without the right:

your fingers get a trim.

The noise and mayhem of the world

disappear when I am curled.

I live on simple terms and ask little of life:

To eat, sleep, purr and be left away from strife.

I have been called

and shall again

be known ever more

as the epitome of beauty,

grace and elegance -

oh, what a bore!

Reeling

Something's been up with reality. It seems to have lost some tenacity.
Reality sits in a reel and appeals that it's less real.
The appeal to be real reels and ends in a fatality.
Colours and shapes always show - even through a haze, a definite glow.
Just out of reach, like they're there, but not. Like fairies that would disappear when caught.
Something's been up with reality. It's losing some fatality.

Morning form

Come now, there must be more of my heart I can outpour.
This form grants such fluidity, yet direction and solidity.
The morning blooms bright and shiny, far from glooms and demons, whiny.
The sun is high, in a crystal sky; the leaves are lush with a full, fresh green. The day ahead is far from bed: it begins to catch the dreams one's seen.
Yellow flowers in the garden, at a height of a full six feet, say, "The nightly dark, we pardon and have come, the dawn to meet."

Form

It's sad to see my blog shrivel. (I'll not say die, in denial.)
I say I look to be inspired, but of the muses, I find none. I say the world is way too wired. The blame game is just no fun.
Perhaps an exploration of a new form and style will lead to inspiration from within, at least, a while.
As I write, I like the flow, I feel the energy slowly grow. A budding blossom from a storm: inspiration from a form.

Dot, the I

I'm standing out on Neptune, the outermost world.

Pluto's a hop away, where I sleep, soft and curled.

I look deep to the distant land where rumor says is origin.

I look out to open space and wonder where... where else I've been.

Space-time curves down to Sol.

Shouldn't it rather lead to a soul?

I can be lord, I can be master, I can serve them without a wince.

I am a god, I am the devil, like so many, I am the Prince.

Lunch

An elderly man sat across the table.
(This actually happened, it isn't a fable)
He placed the order for his food -
Finger Chips! (Perhaps a fast. Perhaps a mood.)


The waiter then noticed the small box emerge.
He was trained about scamsters - Oh! What a scourge!
"No external food!", he said pointing to the box.
He had caught the man red-handed - the wily fox!


The old man smiled, wrinkling his features.
He said, "My boy, these are my dentures."

Mo-mint

Give me a moment.

Give me a mint.

Forget the hues,

give me a tint.

Forget a laugh, I'll take a smile.

They're what add up to joy in a while.

Bumpy roads, here's an ode.

Bumpy road to everwhere.

Roads quite bumpy.

The rhythm's mad, if you care:

One, in three-and-twenty.

Drive over the nasty bumps;

Leave them be.

Leave the bumps in the dumps;

Leave them be.

Don't worry: rock or sand;

Leave them be.

Don't worry; paws or hands;

Leave them be.

Don't look for fur or blood;

Leave them be.

Move on from eyes with mud;

Leave them be.

Let them go, the tears and smiles;

Leave them be.

A mere ponder on cunning wiles;

Leave them be.

They're from a different world, so

Leave them be.

We're here so we can go.

Leave them be.

They were born to a different route;

Leave them be.

Worrying how to help is moot;

Leave them be.

Leave them be; the wise have said,

Leave them be.

They're not alive; bumps are dead.

Leave them be.

Sometimes

Knotty, sometimes nice.
Sugar, sometimes spice.
Lemons, sometimes tarts.
Bitter, sometimes hearts.
Comfort, sometimes numbs.
Toast, sometimes crumbs.
Think, sometimes a thought.
Stink, sometimes a pot.
Bottle, sometimes a-void.
Pink, sometimes Floyd.