Pastime

Nothing lasts, 

Not even those oxymoronic 

 

Images which persist for what 

Seems forever instant. 

 

 

 

A Poem Should Be (25)

Fantastically never-never humdrum 

Boys and girls, and always 

 

Nurturing and delicious, say 

A lot like Mom and apple pie, 

 

With plenty a whiff 

Of Tinkerbell’s stuff, 

 

And just like that, 

The hard-to-swallow 

 

Thought we’ll be only 

Dust one day flies by! 

 

 

 

End Of The Affair

Aye,

You said 

You’d always be 

 

My friend and I 

Believed you, I 

 

Who found it 

Hard to trust 

 

Anybody, even those 

Foolhardy few 

 

Who loved me to no end.

 

Aspiring Medium

The words 

 

Will not come to you 

If you are not ready, 

 

They may not come 

To you even if you are; 

 

You see, the words are complete 

In themselves and do not need 

 

Your presence or lack of it 

To show themselves as they truly are— 

 

Figments of an imagination merely 

Wishing upon a falling star.

 

 

 

 

 

Synaesthesia: Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Fires Of Hell

For crying out loud 

Mensch, looks like you 

 

Can’t make out the rank 

Smell of that 

 

Black plume of smoke curling in 

To your one ear as it whispers

 

Christ Almighty, You never hear 

A word I’m saying, nonchalantly

 

To the other being 

Deftly snuffed out. 

 

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/synesthesia  https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/vatican-documents-show-secret-back-channel-between-pope-pius-xii-and-adolph-hitler  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pope_Pius_XII_and_the_Holocaust