Last Commented Allegory Poems (898)

Should I drop u a note
naturally, l am eating alone
waiting on a bowl of gumbo.
Ur a no-show
screwing in the shadows
likely doing the three famous maestros
Larry, Curly, and I hope
U choke
on Moe.
I'm sorry but feeling pretty low
I'm losing my Piedmont pillow
I remember u long ago
u tried to corner the market playing the blues on a banjo
Made sense maybe since lock-in a cellar sits a dusty jazz piano
Then lockjaw denies u fame and fortune blowing
the piccolo
always known for ur solos
this was before wearing out ur welcome on the cello,
Started as a joke
writing "Ode
to The Twilight Zone"
staring the fallen saint, Billie Joe
the story goes
before fleeing on rails like a hobo
down Mt. Kilimanjaro
she had an episode
losing her halo
slipping from her dome
while dipping her bent toe
into the dark cosmos
but caught the eye of fire breathing hippo
in mid-pounce feasting on a giant translucent minnow.
yet the halo plunged like an oscillating dildo
topping the speed of light (what did Einstein know),
when heading for ground zero
but caught on film in slow-mo.
Oddly snatched up by a swooping sparrow,
but dropped like a dirty ho
on seeing a dancing scarecrow
doing the tango
with a Hispanic hallucinating gringo.
Never scare off any black feather bedfellows
Each of them has a mind of their own
Scavengers are at home
grilling up some squirming lizard toads.
on the sunbaked back roads,
like on US 95 thru Mosco
not in Russia but Idaho
and yet the halo continued to roll
for years though God only knows
till it finally landed in Chicago
on the Antiques Roadshow
shown off by an old crone
or was it Saint Billie Joe
incognito
sporting a big nose
who lived alone
making a cameo?
Drooling over its host
a fat sweaty long fellow
who smelled like pork roast.
Sampled his ear lobe
on milk buttered toast
out doing Van Gogh
mesmerized by horizons aglow
but tripping on too much ginkgo.
Anyway, my hat off to those
poor blokes,
seeing nothing that doesn't show
dreaming of giving up the ghost
depending on the cash flow
soon on the back of an icy slope
surfing down the hills of Glasgow
yet these days at end of their rope
with necktie yokes
now a foot off the flo,
swinging low
to the tune of Desperado
fading in/out on solid-state radio.
Again, the Silent Telephone
landmines another mofo!

In this soft woven skein; - a chrysalis,
Nests the close-swaddled fabric of her young;-
As life grows ripe with Nature's catalyst,
In a soft downy womb - that's silken-spun;-
Now with the dew of morn is crystal kiss'd,
The young worms glow, as first rays from the Sun,
Bathes each swelling grub in morning light;-
Caterpillar gold, from the depths of night.



© lovecanbereal
All rights reserved

cool beneath the palms
one bourbon, one scotch, one beer
ripples in the sand

dance me a samba
la fiesta in the rain
swirl of a red dress

from the heights they came
fine gossamer on the wind
seeking exodus

Let Me Play >
In Your Garden
Where The Warm Lily Grows
Swollen In Time
Up Through The Moist Grass
Wet With Dew

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-c*ck clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

Oh the sight sound and taste of love
It touches us like a dove

There is a reason the dove has wings
It flies into our hands and touches us for a moment
and offers its song to sing

It then flies away as free as it came often leaving much pain
It can overcome us like a thunderous storm
and fill us with things fuzzy and warm

Yet, it also has its illusions which leads us to confusion
Its scars can last a lifetime
Or paint a picture with rose color shades with brushes of empty affections and its imperfections.

See how we chase after a dream of love and hope
Yet, sometimes one can rush too much too fast and feel like a dope

They say anything worthwhile is worth the wait. Yet how long must some wait to seal their fate?

How many can often be so blind they dont see the signs.
Fools tend to push away what may be in front of them for a different flavor they think will do them a favor

There comes that moment in it's time of torment
the fool looks deeper into the pool
And what does he see but his own false perception of self
as he laments upon a stool
Taking sips of consolation in his isolation

Each and every day it seems to be getting harder to fulfill one's desires.
Yet, the question the fool must ask to his task is his intentions true and noble?

If our task is to find the barriers and excuses we create against what we seek are we sometimes afraid to take a peek?

Has some become so bitter and cold and just got so set in their ways feeling cranky and old?

Whatever happened to joys of childhood when there was a time when all that mattered was baseball and icecream

Now all the fool hears are sounds of moaning and groaning of his own doing
along with silent screams and his broken dreams

Today the fool just sits in his rocking chair safe upon the porch watching life pass him by like a summer breeze
as he takes his last wheeze

The illusions of love they play clever tricks as the magician dazzles the audience with beauty and hope
For some let us be mindful of truth and illusion of love before we lose sight of the dove.

The vast night sky, my empty page,
In starlit words I sink,
Moon beams ignite my muse and sage,
And steep my thoughts in ink.

I gazed inside my heart to write,
Where flows a lifelong stream,
I dipped my pen in to the night,
And wrote a morning theme.

My poems they can be dark or bright,
As feelings I impart,
Conveying sorrow or delight,
But always from the heart.

Hear my advice, my poet friends,
In fantasy just roam,
Poetic vision never ends,
So dream and write a poem.

he sat on the old deck chair
and thought about her
about how she tied a strand of blonde
behind her ear
when she was anxious

how the sun made plans
between the gaps
of her fingers
how her breath tasted

how her beauty
made her invisible
against the birdsong

how the curve of the earth
found a mooring
in the shape of her foot

how the moon
used the naked oak
as a chinstrap

how her eyes
were stainglass windows
in the chapel
of her face

how the untried seconds
were a lifetime
in old clothes

how she dressed
in the untailored truth
of honesty

spoke
in the dialect
of unaware kindness

and sung.. in the key
of smiling

pause and feel it
so familier
yet you've never
seen it
with your eyes

a kind of innocent
expression
something naive
something wise

I wish I knew what you were
searching for
something shimmering and right
a favour granted by your yearning
the place you grow to
from demise

the days are listing into evening
before the sun has kissed your skin
If you were oceans on a dance floor
I wouldnt wait to jump right in

pause and feel it
without feeling
rather be it
and move on

you won't know it
when you taste it
you'll only know it
when it's gone

a kind of dreaming
way of singing
superimposed
over thought

a commodified
returning rainfall
that can't be trapped
nor sold
or bought

I wish I knew what you were
looking for
something shimmering
and light
something hewn from endless endings
something spoken
in goodnight

be it couples , be it elements ,
be it fire , be it water .
Always there is a mystery to them ,
the opposites.
their existence baffled many ,
baffled philosophy , baffled science .
some exist in conflict , some in harmony ,
the opposites.
ying yang , positive and negative ,
good and evil , light and dark .
balancing one another since the dawn of eons ,
the opposites.
in the origin with the big bang , in the every existing atom ,
in the age of the cave man , in the age of the modern man.
they were with the dawn of the universe and will be there till it ends ,
the opposites.