Grumpy Matinee
there's a fine haze webbed over the air and
growing thinner over the hours, the pendant of my quiet bland spirit.
left to consider the market place of options and availbility
but contemptious for any devil-may-care allowance and in consistent doubts foreshadowing the outcome of my decisions,
i turn myself from mirth and purposefulness,
and seek only a reward in a rich harvest,
but i haven't start sowing yet.
my coffee tastes bitter,
not so much as the briny scented red gorge
which evaded me in all these sullen years of false promises
and empty hypostases,
and which my body periodically yearns for.
it's one of those jaded, latently tension-filled days,
omen-like whirling afloat on a river of irreverence, lucky-bummed avoiding the belt of stony traffic wardens rising from the water,
sighing deep in relief that you made it through
- crash-proof -
til you tumble into a foamy cascade, break down below a pink,
yell some expletive and stupidly swallow so much water,
to drown inwardly.
ach, i'm merely in terrific mood to spout bitter stuff
for the fun of it; creative brainstorming.
it's the after-effect of entertaining intricate thought processes and devoting oneself to loftier life goals than the average sapiens. it's an man's thing.
well, it's my thing for sure and very sourly indeed.
any problems with that, finish then your beer, and you, missus, powder your nose.
yes, one of those days...
one which toughens you up, don't take the piss from anyone, where you beat the crap of somebody, upon which you came to the cumulation point of living, just another employee of the darwininan factory line.
Moral is just the scholastic interpretation, the anal-ysing of behaviour as it is,
the factor that goes beyond good and evil
which are only red spiked herrings of limitation, and dapperly maudlined by explanations and defences to swallow the bitter pill that life is full of shitty moments
and that you just have to carry to go on, right?
and that the sun smiles at you while you rather would hide, but,
luckily there's always a good reason to let out a snappy tongue-lashing or
unleash the fist for a gratifying bargain.
oh, and as a valentine to shocked natures:
women, they're far more than two tits and an ass,
they're a pebble to throw over to some distance,
to set upon new and strange soil a landmark
of a future reborn.
(I finish this poem with a big grin, and accomplished)
growing thinner over the hours, the pendant of my quiet bland spirit.
left to consider the market place of options and availbility
but contemptious for any devil-may-care allowance and in consistent doubts foreshadowing the outcome of my decisions,
i turn myself from mirth and purposefulness,
and seek only a reward in a rich harvest,
but i haven't start sowing yet.
my coffee tastes bitter,
not so much as the briny scented red gorge
which evaded me in all these sullen years of false promises
and empty hypostases,
and which my body periodically yearns for.
it's one of those jaded, latently tension-filled days,
omen-like whirling afloat on a river of irreverence, lucky-bummed avoiding the belt of stony traffic wardens rising from the water,
sighing deep in relief that you made it through
- crash-proof -
til you tumble into a foamy cascade, break down below a pink,
yell some expletive and stupidly swallow so much water,
to drown inwardly.
ach, i'm merely in terrific mood to spout bitter stuff
for the fun of it; creative brainstorming.
it's the after-effect of entertaining intricate thought processes and devoting oneself to loftier life goals than the average sapiens. it's an man's thing.
well, it's my thing for sure and very sourly indeed.
any problems with that, finish then your beer, and you, missus, powder your nose.
yes, one of those days...
one which toughens you up, don't take the piss from anyone, where you beat the crap of somebody, upon which you came to the cumulation point of living, just another employee of the darwininan factory line.
Moral is just the scholastic interpretation, the anal-ysing of behaviour as it is,
the factor that goes beyond good and evil
which are only red spiked herrings of limitation, and dapperly maudlined by explanations and defences to swallow the bitter pill that life is full of shitty moments
and that you just have to carry to go on, right?
and that the sun smiles at you while you rather would hide, but,
luckily there's always a good reason to let out a snappy tongue-lashing or
unleash the fist for a gratifying bargain.
oh, and as a valentine to shocked natures:
women, they're far more than two tits and an ass,
they're a pebble to throw over to some distance,
to set upon new and strange soil a landmark
of a future reborn.
(I finish this poem with a big grin, and accomplished)
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