Shall I forget my asking a brother:
“Who of The Two has A Much Taller Order?”
And Dairy Hand mishandled An Udder,
For round spinning to watch Close Adder…
Martin Luther and Nelson Mandela,
If they were Fidelis - Fidelia,
Then Stark Crudity of South Africa
Matched Mixed Decency of America
And True killers, sometimes reasonable,
Same as Searching Eyes for The Treasonable;
Or would one Some Healthy Type Writer
Praise like Zealous Breathless Writer?
More air outside The Cell for Martins,
Nelson in Dark Prison with Batons.
Martin Luther could time find for Quotes,
Nelson Mandela for The Word that floats...
And one had had A Far-Too-Funny Wife
That drew a picture of Another Strife,
The bizarre assembling for journalists;
For her Cosmetics the longest lists...
There always is some First Among Equals:
The same family but Yells aren’t Squalls…
Some things are sacred
They shouldn’t be tarnished
With vulgarity or crudity
They deserve reverence
God is holy, above anything
He shines down His love
That should never be degraded
With rudeness or offensiveness
There are some things in this life
That is worth more than wealth
Nature with all it’s beautiful wonders
Alive with glimmers of creation’s air
The very air we breathe is a gift
A God given part of our lifeforce
We could never measure it’s worth
It is what keeps us from death’s hold
The trees, birds and brilliant colors
Of an earth that is covered in joys
So enlightening that they surround
With hues of tenderest acceptance
The sacred should be reverenced
With true adoration and respect
That flows from our hearts and souls
With a sense of what is God’s purpose
True wisdom will tell every reflection
That we are sent here with an intention
To give the parts of our own selves
That will acknowledge the spirit within
His spirit desires to guide us to the way
The truth, the life… Jesus is the answer
To teach us about sacred revelations
That whisper with gentle benevolence
My pinky nails, so piercing, so oval
No toothpick, no Q-tip, can hope to rival
Into tight crevices they sublimely scratch
Excavating pearls of luminescent ear wax
Which into a sticky roll I'll mash
Thin upon my finger, a tiny moustache
As I smooth and polish the grainy texture
Its peachy pink streaks paint a calmer picture
For times of madness, for days lovesick
I'll allow a delectable, salty lick
So warm on my skin, so soft to mold
My measure of mercy, my tender threshold
My own body's fatty gel soothes the burn
When harsh words condemn, when sharp looks spurn
Judged by most as primitive crudity
To me, it's simply the essence of beauty.
10/29/18
for Jesse Rowe's 'Overlooked Beauty' contest
You are angst poetry
played on the strings
of an untuned guitar
A smokers cough cord
that grinds like grit in a turbine
Clumsy fingers that slip
ungracefully on the flimsy stretched nylon
A coffee percolating flow
of words I do not know
A language of sophisticated agony
the core of your existence
is wretched from your gut
through the microphone
when my sense are filled with the crudity of your song,
I can feel the pain,
more than words,
you are the poetry that you perform
MORASS OF POOP
lucid crudity,
profoundly abusive,
mostly nudity,
but for some crass morass of poop.
the dam’s jammed with ***********,
jelly-like googly eyes,
a real mr. potato head.
i scream,
someone change mr. wonderful’s diapers!
upon exclaiming this topic,
excrement of cussing,
like diarrhea deserts the hell hole.
something clean,
like angel’s wings,
with diaper pins and all
W W
W W
W W
W W
an angel, nothing like a nun, with cherry cheeks,
simplicity’s smile, and a big bar of soap
at first he froths and foams like a madman
but with a clean diaper and pins in place,
he almost looks like a saint
4/8/2018
John Lawless’ Changing The Mind’s Diapers
I've bought a brand new mabel fern,
expansive, I can tell you,
when I've learned just how it words
I'll have a go and bell you.
It's got five ponds of crudity
which should last me a moth
but just for now I'm sending taxis
and this is the firk one off.
I've learned to use the camilla,
and music files called empty trees
which quite impressed my goon ladle
who wished she had one of these.
The only treble that I'm having
is the massages I type out
keep changing anatomically, don't know what that's about.
I may just take it back and give the ship assassin what for,
and get my monkey refunded and find another store.
Hope you and the wolf are in good hearth.
Two lasses were there
One fat one slim answer to beauty
Each strapping a bag of books as a babe
The slim Roseline smiles at everyman
In stylish exhibition of flamboyance
Hiding her crudity & harshness!
(You star the best in all the world!
A fluke-mouthed teacher did claim –
Is Rose also in the noetic line?)
Then came her fat twin with contempt
Distilling both affection & happy mood
From folks marvel-eyed & distrusted;
A glimpse at her ugly face
Sent both lads & lasses on a roar
Which began the friendly duels.