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| Earwax | |
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| Earwax Oh, neck most vivid, delicate facade livid, Such a wreck True, she comes from another God. Shrew, Be guns from her paradise drawn quickly lightening struck there twice wronged, sickly The ones who ran amuck learned advice Proceed to pay the piper, say in tongues thickly stuck In need you speed sideways, While the apple gets riper, Completely tainted stoned by ways, Tat the writer typer and bleed style seeds sainted sown in the way her hair is windblown and the evening dress she wears who dares, who cares, no one owns, her in that way, her love deceiving the best no affairs or rendezvous’ or chance meetings above this test, split hairs, toast brews, dance, there is no seating a dove in nest, get chairs, coast through, advance before depleting oh, charm so snakelike and yet he doth plod warm yet fake like It's true He’s from another God. Chadwick James (poet/singer/songwriter) Tucson AZ Earwax From Napoli Pasquale took the ship and watched waves in motion,each little dip and flip they made was great to him, like the ocean. In London town he set to work and turned out a machine, that made music come alive from paper rolls and loved by Her Majesty, Victoria_God Save Her- Our Queen. He set his goal at the Ave Maria and we prayed he'd do some more,and he did with an automaton he loved, a magic one called Sid. And when Pasquale turned the handle and watched Sid, with lots of glee as the harmonic toy burst into action, it did, and did. You see. Pasquale made Sid's feet dance to the beat while the dummy he carried on his shoulder played a sweet melody, in miniature notes galore. And they that listened well to Sid knew there was always much more for them in store. Now look on Sid's face, the mouth-less one ,and see an expression so very blank, his pig- tail hair done up to achieve a unique rank. Whilst holding in his hand a jug filled with rolls of sheet- music fresh,wrapped around Sid's arm the cobra who swayed in rhythm, I guess. But if you listen to the beat and take a count or two where to cast your vote : for pop star Elvis P. or tenor Mario(Lanza). But then you know you art supremo. -Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, Oxon, United Kingdom |
