The Happy Moron

When Winter ‘just happens’ one weekend
It leaves a five month hangover.
And the Monday morning wind
Says, “It’s time for longjohns.”

my mini-molehill
may mask a mighty mountain…
maybe I’ll manage

fight uncertainty
stare down the eyes of chaos
banish fear and doubt

a river flows on
which none may dam or channel
time waits for no man
not to distract from the poem….
‘inexorable’ is a marvellous word.
‘in’ – negation
‘ex’ – out, outside
‘ora’ – spoken, prayed
‘able’ – possible
exorable – something which can be prayed out, successfully appealed against
inexorable – something which is impervious to prayer or appeal

People who say,
“Hasn’t failed me yet!”
Can often be found
Playing Russian roulette.

The poet stinks.
He rhymes with cheeses
Old and far too ripe
To bear the gentle fragrance
That wafts, so tantalizing
Beneath his eager nose.
The taste is there,
His soul devours
Yet puts to rank words
The scent, which charmed and bound him
Heart and soul. His putrid pen
Scribes odor, not aroma.
Curdled ink betrays him.

heart of mighty oak
will not bend or break or tear
you can’t keep me down

life on the hot seat
wed to the critical path
don’t scorch your trousers