COLD TURKEY

COLD TURKEY

Grey clouds flow from Northern sky

with double-edged Puritan intent

Flexing sharp scythes to sweep

southern slopes on Shannon drowned pastures

A dismal day’s dark display of religion

The twenty-fifth of the twelfth month

Gone now and far away.

As dead as slaughtered birds

beneath a butchers knife,

A cold turkey.

©MRL 2017

Poetry Indeed !

I have long been tormented by poetry, 

tortured by lines calling me from their depths, 

in early hours before dawn. 

When even my house was asleep. 

To rise and sit at a wooden desk with pen in front of paper 

and write all alliteration that comes to mind.

Fec ! 

It is enough to drive drinkers mad, 

such prattle, poetry indeed.

©MRL Dec 2016

A BATHIC

There was a labourer of Bath

who got so drunk he propounded

he’d rather sleep on the hearth

For with stairs he was confounded 

All night he’d go up two down two 

till his little legs were tired 

So would he turn fall 

in a heap and go to sleep

By

a dying fire

he did

expire.

©MRL May ’16

On Discomfort and Pain

Any artist worth their salt would paint a different scene.

A poet would work his muse to sensibly soothe. 

A composer create a musical charm. 

A songster with vocal harmonics would bring comfort.

“Oh where are these masters of the arts ?”

© MRL April 2016

Can You Help

for

I read just now 

a message

That said 

“Bridget’s

lost

her phone

and 

is trying

to get home”

Perhaps to

Ireland ?

© MRL 26/01/16

Bloggers Be Aware

Beware of mia more

Beware of a sickly slag

Slithering silently

Through dark air

With malicious fangs

Suffering of poison

self administered

Shares her pain

With vacuous vehement

Beware of misanthropy

swimming from the depths

of depravity

Intent on causing trouble

O bloggers beware

and never share.

Do not engage

Delete at source.