OctPoWriMo 10 – Kyrielle Sonnet (un-rhymed) – October 10, 2015

A Day In Lilliput

Black and white rain in Lilliput,
trickles like treacle in the hush,
as artists play their auto-harps
strumming on strings of vibrant blague.

Public servants and bigots crow,
each one in their own mellow key,
singing their songs of modesty
strumming on strings of vibrant blague.

Journalists and gallerists bray,
waving their arms around like birds,
pompously talking of their finds
strumming on strings of vibrant blague.

Black and white rain in Lilliput –
Strumming on strings of vibrant blague.

Now listen well in Lilliput,
as days progress in emptiness,
listen to the politicians
strumming these strings of vibrant blague.

In the colourless world of art,
“black and white” is all the rage now!
Empty Lore-lies – sing praises!
Strumming these strings of vibrant blague.

“Enough! Enough!”  A brave soul cries,
in hallowed tones of lullabies,
“Humpty Dumpty just fell again!
Strumming these strings of vibrant blague.”

Now listen well in Lilliput –
Strumming these strings of vibrant blague.

© G.s.k. ‘15

Oniric Walk in San Anton – Red Wolf Poems – Prompt #213

 

Angela (Alex) Weddle

Angela (Alex) Weddle

Oniric Walk in San Anton – Terzanelle

Along a red oniric road in San Anton,
My weary mind one day went a walking,
Telling me that I would have to atone …

For all the years of fruitless useless talking,
Of politics and worldly human affairs,
Had made my weary soul sad and balking.

And she said:

“What do I need with more useless cares?
Can I solve these issues with all my cries?
Am I just one more lost, in some idealist’s spider lair?

What good have been so many useless tries,
To turn a world from apathy and heedlessness,
Whose values are only based on who pays or buys?

Our mad world of induced consumer neediness,
Imposed by barons, bankers and moguls so rich,
Has turned our moral sense to nothingness.

We would be better without their endless pitch …
For their ever newer toys which have made us wanton,
Like Circe, they transform us into pigs which wallow in a ditch,
For all else but consuming has been forgotten.”

 


Written for Red Wolf Poem #213 prompted by the painting by Angela (Alex) Weddle