Skip to content

Category: Eternals

Constants – 16

My pal's gold color'd locks and gold stash,
    My pal's droll grand chops and fab snoot,
My pal's  "don't draw a blank"-look and bass-alto call
    And dog who has gnaw'd on my boot.

All oft call to my mood;
    My gasps almost constantly show
Scraps of my pal's tobacco's odor.
    Commonly from Tallow Stall Row.

At days that my gasps grasp tobacco,
    Pathos knocks my awkward gong.
Mayhaps my mood looks at my past pal,
    Or mayhaps my gasp was too strong?
Comments closed

Neverendings – IX

Right there where the Feed Dyke
    Meets Leiden's fine New Rhine,
My friend expressed he'd spend
    His resting life with mine.

Divide the Rhine Dyke midst De Vink,
     With ferry in the Rhine,
There, well-nigh six weeks in,
    He bridged the friendship's line
Comments closed

Alivings – XXV

If I hark at Always a blaring,
Mayhaps it's a tympan's bass,
My wailing starts right away;
And - I ain't familiar with why.

If a playing artist asks: 'In which way,
Sir, is this tympan's bass - mayhaps
this blaring - this stirring?' -
I still ain't familiar with why.

Was it as in days far by
A pal did play a tympan's bass
With lavishly fab skills?
Alas, I still didn't grasp why
Comments closed

Alivings – XLIX

Many a day did my milkman
    At dawn fill in his maid:
'Again a damp sill.' My man didn't grasp
    That nightly crying spark'd his plight.

I think his maid and him lacking this insight,
    Was a bit awkward, - still in which way this girl
Practically didn't catch anything,
    That was in fact a hard pill.

Comments closed

Infinitons – III

Why I moist my torpid nights
    With poison'd drops of crying? -
I know nothing I'd opt for first,
    Which isn't disclosing it.

So if this is which I wish
    Do I know if I might?
Nothing is with no origin, -
    Still, don't my drops know no font?
Comments closed

Alivings – I

A skydisk casts back starlight
    And past my fanlight asks:
"Alas, my pallid lyrist, -
    Is that a cry I spy?"

Wasn't it this skydisk asking
    I'd bid it: find a star. -
As what spark'd my glist'ning iris,
    Is singly my affair.

Comments closed