Tag Archives: nonsense

Lumbolesh

Seeking the sun and feeling the sky,
the bumbledy centipede swerves and winds by –
Consoling caution with captive replies,
the yippee-ki cowboys sweer by their eyes.

Sing me a lumbolesh, blow on a conch –
fling to the puzzling cat on its haunch.
Open your eyes to the sunlit above
and swerve and console and just sweer,
well sort of.

Alchemy

Skimilvee this, and jorating us that
around the sculpting parapet.

Pleady, the cosmities open and close
and stars swim around in the bath.

Immanent, always the commuting desire
allaying our jittles and wrath-

turning lead into gold, then likewise is sold
and evaporates in a quintet.

So, jorate the statumly, conquer the reavenly
all you would want, or even empath

Turns back in a cyclic anomaly
and sculpts a new parapet.

A thaych from a hayd

In a thaych from a hayd, in different seldia
sailing and sauntering, lengly along –
soutery pleasantry goes a lot farther
than fowling diameters and biling a cause.

A thaych on a hayd, though blonding or greyishing
is bankled and combed where it sits, where it lands
And enschewous decibels echo a singable
sound in the topost, the autory gland.

On thayches with hayds, so many to count among
wordansing, all the while twirling their ways.
Countermand into the idents and lipses
and give no more thought to unwreakable days.

balmy

When indespant and lonse,
the words open up
and breathe on me
barthey verses, to which I’m wont.

Panoramic, juncted words –
brandished in copper,
malleable to the heart of trees
that shade the summer sun.

But sometimes sotted into mine,
the gold babuery of a balmy poet-
meant to insinuate and/or describe,
the otherwise abstract baptivized.

And other-sides in the silence
of a toiling stone wall,
an unlikely salving to soothe-
a compote of strength and solitude,

something only a barthey verse could do.

Among

Among the quichens grows a kree
a site-astoric flustsymbly.

A kree is there, not roneously,
but freet and gorl and groverly.

And how it came to grow just there,
the primmets wonder with atious care,

For quichens do not keep or share
their time or place or own elsewhere.

The primmets garnered brave and asked
the kree just how it came to pass

that it was given reign to mass
and live with quichens, in their class.

The kree looked puzzled, audly moussed
the primmetts had not gaged – deduced

the kree was here for years to roost
and shared it with the quichens fruste.

second hand

I heard the words
and their correctedness,
in picturesque suffectedness.

She spoke them with such emplity
and vocal resnoguity.

I could not dare not write them down
and use them later for colored sounds

To poke at the sentence
bruskly and paciously,
or converse on the gartan
defendled loquaciously.

And if the strunogrammatic skills that I now display
cause you to mattle or otherwise say,

What silliness falls from there on page?
My stars! This is nonsense.

It’s nothing so sage.

It’s second hand outwisms
pure and just plain.
So read and enjoy it,
my emplitious refrain.

Singing the moon

In a twildly dusk, I see
a flaxum and her mimbles, we
open talk and loydal sing
with sunbeam-laden mulbering.

The verse rafeals a higher cause,
and willently, we sing then pause,
our fragenotions echo there
as we chorus contricare.

As just as then, we breathed and stopped,
fixembled, stable, clembed and swapped
A song sincerely wooed, then freed
and flaxum/poet now agreed.

Then in mirist silence found,
tracing back with embered sound
songs at dusk- the most revered
The ferrel-maried moon appeared

and strummed the night to denser aires
with open chords and fortunes fair.