WORDLE #204

For Sunday Whirl:

WORDS

I am sure they speak in tongues
stolen from distant planets
when they tell me bones of clay
possess a desire that burns
from wild beginnings of sleep
and dream of Super Powers
through to the end of the night

WORDLE #203

For Sunday Whirl:

Primate-ive

Rustling monkeys will always keep you sweet
At least in the dry eyes of our skipper
He says it's blasphemy to shed a tear
For the sake of those plague ridden animals
Whose whole reason for being born
Is to swab the deck he commands

WORDLE #202

For Sunday Whirl:

TURN-ON

Bee sting cheese string images
Cattle drive club sandwiches
Trample grapes and knead that dough
Wind me up and watch me go
Make excuses loud and proud
Plant the seed and join the crowd
Watch their minds begin to slip
That's the best part of the trip

WORDLE #201

For Sunday Whirl:

NDE

Stone circle of empty graves
Yet to bear the weight of death
Granite slabs awaiting names

Cards on the table, you were
about to howl at the moon
until fear coursed through your veins
and your ghost returned to flesh

WORDLE #200

For Sunday Whirl:

ELUSIVE

Delicate shapes are forming
beneath an umbrella of
kaleidoscopic petals
longing yearning forever
the too blue skies of freedom

Impossibly tiny shrines
post apocalyptic tombs
hopeless, fearless and dreamless
perched on a mantle of peace

Until or indeed unless
that river of blood runs dry
still the deal remains uncut

WORDLE #198

For Sunday Whirl:

SOUND OFF

So wound up you're fit to burst
First you try to to break the glass
Alas can't damage the seal
Feel a fool, take a tumble
A fumble fit for a clown
Drown your sorrows, drink your fill
Instill a sense of release
Fleece them for round after round
Emit not another sound

WORDLE #197

For Sunday Whirl:

ALMOST RUN

Spread the news, it's official
The Patron Saint of Something
Is coming to my rescue

She can afford to spend time
away from her cloud on high
and that ever ticking clock
She observes this Holy day
and achieves a state of grace
with a certain measure of
let's call it 'humility'
The perfect host welcomes me
as my race is almost run

WORDLE #196

For Sunday Whirl:

CHANCE

At the risk of sounding trite
I'm going to spell it out
In words you can understand

Always mind your own business
Aim to stay away from fire
That way you'll avoid scorch marks

Maybe then and only then
Will you see it's miles better
To set clocks to chime at dawn

So make the sign of the cross
Father, Son, Holy Spirit
All know the lie of the land

WORDLE #195

For Sunday Whirl:

BRAIN FREEZE

Only a single item
appears on your bucket list
An inky scrap of paper
says 'Never capitulate;
condemn, or be condemned to
a life of abject ennui
that continues without end'

You want to smell fresh air, but
you can't generate enough
power to channel your thoughts
or render them capable
of processing common sense

WORDLE #194

For Sunday Whirl:

HIGH 5'S

We resolve, review, design,
shine, sing songs from nine to five.
A New Year... Resolution;
revolution three six five.
The Earth's turn, dedicated,
dated year two oh one five.
A Mayfly-brief win dealt; a
form of shelter... Gimme five!

WORDLE #192

For Sunday Whirl:

 

AIR

 

Couldn't help yourself, could you?
In the panic that ensued
you and a thousand others
who thought they had room to talk
discovered there was no choice
 Couldn't believe our own eyes...
As heat became more like burn
they shed not a drop of sweat
always believing he would
perform a miracle, man
and, boy, did it get them high
when she said the snag was fixed

WORDLE #190

For Sunday Whirl

FORGIVE THEM

When locked in chains that enflame

You point the finger of blame

And it's no strain to sustain
Your deranged haze of hatred

Feign regret through the filet
To the cape clad clergyman

A traipse through your secret cave
In exchange for his silence

WORDLE #189

For Sunday Whirl:

RETURN

Those bent on self-destruction
tend not to avert their gaze;
ready, willing and able
to face the gathering storm
in all its mighty splendor.
That death rattle awaits them.
Their last breath reaps a cool breeze;
the hardest harvest of all.
Their secular cremation,
Requiem Mass in  plain clothes.
Skin and bones... reduced to dust...
Their remains...? Scattered ashes.

WORDLE #188

For Sunday Whirl:

SKELETONS

Resolute; your policy
of honesty spills its guts
across a forgotten stretch
of a neglected landscape
that still bears the stains of guilt
stirred by cloudy memories
of miserable children
awaiting the decision
as death's vortex pirouettes
perhaps just moments away.

It could be all over in
the flutter of an eyelash

WORDLE #187

For Sunday Whirl:

JUST GOOD

Tempted by her subtle hints...

...since saving her sorry soul
stole his fresh set of morals.

Quarrels and a mix of lies
rise up like a toasty flame;
shame adds to lingering guilt.

Tilt that balance till he yields,
shields down. But sex between friends
tends to leave a bitter taste,
laced with scorn, on his palate.