Holding a clover, soberly ohming,
tomes o' the moment, honed and homing in;
only the fold noticed my homonym.
I hummed the hymn of Muhammad's omen,
encoded in poems, I payed homage in
an ocean of flows: my lungs are frozen;
I suppose it goes to show who's rowed in!
Homer coming with a ton of Trojans,
ghosts o' the soldiers, coldest o' shoulders,
chose a lonely road and Rome claims it's owned;
paving it over's a bold atonement.
So, slowly my ode can grow to a moan,
a whine, nay, a wane: a way to the moon;
a vine beholds wine; a taste. We wait...soon.
Beating a Dead, White Horse
Their daps are a sham; they're feigning a pound!
Afraid I'll lay waste, and take them with pawns!
They say it's a shame, to air out a home:
"Only a ham gets his name in a pome!"
Lonely, a hamlet is barely a town,
there's no one around; I'm heir to the throne!
Aghast when they found me dancing till dawn:
"Perchance he has known he'd fall to this doom!"
A ghost in a gown engaged to her groom;
he's damned to that room--she calls from her tomb!
She's grown oh so gaunt; her face has gone drawn,
a sketch of her self, the day that she drowned,
she begged for some help, in vain, her voice droned;
the sound that would haunt mermaids and the prawns!
A covenant kept, I dreamt of a sea;
my God is a mute, except on his seal,
balancing a ball, a nosy talent.
Above, crept a hawk with rosy talons:
"I've wept in my sleep! You're sod is a moat!"
The reeds are a reef; we hike up our boots.
I liken it to, a point that is moot:
I'd challenge his call, but we need a boat.
Accepted, his wish was to wash away
sin; with a swish he begins to beget
a tempest which brings a lonely egret.
My only regret was wishy-washy;
a pathetic attempt to dig a trench.
I'm drenched in contempt--his fish are exempt.
I run a tight ship, a gun by my hip,
nightstick in my fist, fire hose to hydrant;
eyes closed as I whip, I close the train door,
I blow the man down- my foe's a sane moor!
They all are so sore, I call: "All aboard!"
Some lunge as to flee, they jump off the bow;
some how I doubt, they'll swim to the shore:
we weighted their feet; I'm sure they'll fall proud.
I need to say more, I'm running my lip,
I get the order and spray towards the crowd;
I can't stop the slaughter 'cause they're so loud.
They fall to the floor; they've begun their trip.
They waited to see, and now they found out:
forsaking the sea's a way to God's house!
Advice is given by those who need it,
to those who loathe it; I told the coven,
I owe them nothing! I hold a cloven
sow paw and eat it; a law they heeded,
now thawed and seasoned. A spice is sinning,
but twice I dig in; to find the human,
I slice cinnamon and dice the cumin--
I was assuming your Lord was kidding!
So, though a guffaw misconstrues a joke,
turmeric for punch won't lighten a load;
I chose a measly, greasy piece of goat
meat to please me as they tighten the rope:
I gnaw the bone, it's raw and bleeding;
my lunch is a tomb--its flaw was bleating!