Sun’s out,
Breeze zephyric.
Blowies buzz,
It’s sylvatic.
.
Indian summer,
is what it’s called.
When summer’s over,
will we ball?*
With blowies gone, all disappeared
Not droning on in my left my ear.
.
* to cry uncontrollably
www.thetranmerechinaman.wordpress.com https://thehobartchinamancake.wordpress.com/category/the-cake-short-story
Sun’s out,
Breeze zephyric.
Blowies buzz,
It’s sylvatic.
.
Indian summer,
is what it’s called.
When summer’s over,
will we ball?*
With blowies gone, all disappeared
Not droning on in my left my ear.
.
* to cry uncontrollably
Weather has returned to flacid,
Misty morn at summertime.
If there’s a breeze it’s soft and placid,
While searching for a tortured rhyme.
.
Sense my thoughts disintegrating,
Can’t place two words in clear sequence.
Seeking wordpress increased ratings,
Viewership and click frequence.
.
As I daily watch my stats,
They are static and quite stuck.
When challenged, “do you give a rats?”
I reply ” Don’t give a fuck.”
………… for many years maintained a fiction
With neighbour of complete different diction.
Whose strategy was most warlike
Finland the victim of nuke first strike.
.
.
Then long comes the Ukraine, “special operation”,
A war launched after lengthy gestation
Ukraine felt just like Robinson Crusoe
Trying to enter NATO cause their phobia is Russo.*
* thc is deeply indebted to correspondent for SV for this inspiration
.
America went through its MAGA stage,
Riotous time when idiots raged.
In Congress now, Bill brings chips back,
From Chyyna for US ‘putor racks.
.
It needs a slogan that’s for sure,
Don’t buy Chyynese one moment more.
Try “MACA” logo on truckers caps,
Folk’ll wear it, they like that crap.
.
“Make American Chips Again“
It’s catchy, almost sounds insane.
McDonald’s sniffs to get a share,
Where profits come from, do they care?
Today the air has buzzing sounds, propellers going round and round,
Sometimes the clouds of moisture made are ripped to shreds ‘copter by blades.
Can’t tell the path by which they come, as I sit here on my bum,
As soon as reverberations fade away I can get on with my day.
Ruminating ’bout many things, my mind is fraught by thoughts on wings,
By slights I’ve given, and families riven, by stuff I’ve said yet unforgiven
As I grow older, care less about, gen x stuff their boring shouts.
Recall when I was at their age, the hardest thing, to turn the page.
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