Poetic Usage

Am I spent?
Have I lost my poetic muse?
Must I reach for the rhyming dictionary
To craft a meaning that rhymes with 'lose'?
And after that, what comes next?
Another phrase contrived for me to use?
I should tread with care, now, and
Have a care the phrase I choose
And not prolong this game, now,
Lest at last I am forced to use youse.
Have a care, now, I say again
And do not stop the poetic fuse
Or sooner than I care, now,
I'll that ruse abuse.

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  ¶ 10:14 am

 

Bus Ride

Bus is big.  Bus is wide.
Bus has legs no seats can hide.
Bus is stopping, says the sign.
Riders hopping; keep in line.

Bus goes forward, hippety-hop.
Bus goes toward the very next stop.
Passengers board with plastic to pay.
Bus lurches on its sectioned way.

Passengers bored with nothing to do.
TV Mobile hasn't a clue.
Perhaps they think, or empty head,
Forty wink or paper read.

There's so much to do
When there's nothing to do:
SMS,
Listen to Y.E.S.,

Bang your head,
Might be dead.
Bus is stopping to let me down.
Bus is tops; the talk of the town.

Just can't wait for the end of the day.
Won't be late, with my card to pay.
Bus is a must; the way to go
For all who think that cars are slow.

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  ¶ 1:06 pm

 

Paper View

Oxbridge trained and Wall Street smartened,
L. K. Wise and I. S. Ardent,
Singapore's Old Guard ages faster;
Soon we gain a different master
Just as like to cling to power,
Seeking to prolong his hour
On the stage, as he well knows:
Same Old Guard in different hose.
The Old Man will not retire
Until Death at last puts out his fire.
We the people dare hardly wait:
Before he dies, emigrate.

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  ¶ 10:52 am

 

Doing it

Feeling low yet never so high,
I can stand on a cloud yet not touch the sky,
I climb a mountain but the mountains are drowned:
Before reaching the top they cannot be found.
I am mired in mud yet awaiting the day
When, like the jumping jeweller of Lavender Bay,
I see what lies behind this world.

Though now rooted to a spot
And feeling insignificant, an infinitesimal dot,
One day, I'll fling myself off this hill of despair
And seek my answers in the empty air.
But look at my stand now, whereof I am not bold
Enough to refuse what I'm bid and so do as I am told;
As yet I am unhurled.

Too frightened to seek
A higher destiny; too meek
To improve my lot,
It can be said decisively, decisive I'm not.
So, at last, I must ask: do I have it in me
To over come the uncertainty I harbour within me?
And show my flag unfurled.

If it seems I am too self-obsessed
It is certain that you sooner guessed
It and discounted my pledge.
But let this be my hedge:
Should I fail in my quest,
I still have Nature to do the rest.
And you will be the herald.

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  ¶ 8:24 am

 

A Nonsense

v. 1.0

1.1 .v

The lakes are coming In numbers shaped of red. The aroid pintful's humming The flutest ones are said To take apart of speech. Fusing knots of sand, they're In treason to the beach. Would it not be fair, It asks for wood to plane And makes a wooden knot be there Two planets X, to see a gain, Enjoin areas' heroes again. Ne'er Thinks: this would end... or Might refer niche-carved cherubs, There on a ledge, and ere 'e saw, Ring-like flying clubs. To curassow, he'll abhor The point is wattle a Cur, a sow, and he'll labour On again, off again, dear. The carp inters or opes (see For your self) 'is wine, As sour as any I drop. See, You'll find that autopsine.

The lakes are coming In numbers shaped of red. The aroid pintful's humming The flutest ones are said To take a part of speech. Few sing notes of sand there In trees unto the beech. Wood it knot be fair, It tasks forward too-plain And makes a wooden knot be there To plan its ecstasy, again In joinery as he rose again. Near Thinks this wooden door Might refurnish carved chair, rubs There on a legendary soaring Like flying clubs. To cure a sow, he'll labour. The point is what'll ere Cure a sow and heal a boar, Onager - 'n' of ague - and ere The carpenter's autopsy. For your selfish swine, A sower as any eye drops, see. You'll find that aught opes eyn.

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  ¶ 9:41 am