Let your magic tongue express,
dawn realms  to the wider  world instantly,
cast aside inner rein indignant
that purpose phrase now at the cusp,
is both apt and rapt in the present,
an audience not yet risen  awaiting glad cry,
to sensitise a restless motive,
but on the verge within seconds,
a town adorned and still  inspired by itself,
welcomes rambling bards and muses who dream,
one can address in broad  language lyrical,
sustain the heart alive with rhythmic pulse

with a scheming, loving, and enticing guise
alive and well seeking gullible guys
(once upon a time just like me),
who experiences close encounters
of masterly baited entrapment
on Facebook Messenger
and most likely endemic
on other social media platforms.

My humblest bumblebee apology
if nothing but utter milky confusion
ensues from legions of double entendres,
and puns lobbed across your screen
in a harmless attempt
to parry and thrust with playfulness,
but take a deep breath
cause by the end of this posting

The universe is an unsung aquifer of odds on opportunity,
lustrous seam carousel of enigmatic pearl clad whim on tap,
silver foam cascade of boundless heavenly horizon,
quencher of global thirst for animated dreams beyond fathomless eternity

Simple sugars, simple shapes,
Gumdrops litter the ground,
I stuff my face,

Old habits, old flame,
Sugar rush for a quick hit,
To slow down the pace of things,

Stuck in a rut, stuck in pace,
Cravings keep coming,
Keep me safe.

Lost in space, losing my bearings,
Gumdrops bring back the old days,
Nourish me til I find my way

Back on track, back on the grind,
Sweets carefully spread out across the track,
Kept the hunger but no longer feeds the traps.

I found a balance that worked for me,

When one absorbs the restless sea,
amid a noon torrent in transit,
where fancy shade name wind alerts appear,
a silver wave of trivial glib cliché can strike,
the over ponderous purveyor whose at fault,
of low verse stock phrase adorned with cant,
is there a sombre piece or stilted blissful line,
at the cusp of my queued quiescent pen,
with no intention
a thorough scan for synonyms inane and frivolous,
which at this point so compass point aligned,
edging closer to the parody in cliff face motion,
is there an archaic image town vision looming,

Red rose ploy quite the
“BLOOMER”, blue mood shy suitor
strategy just wilts

His poems were kites that reached such heights,
   nary a soul could see them.
Their shapes were eagles, swallows, seagulls,
   dragonflies. I’ll free them,

he thought, let go their strings! “Hello,”
   they said to every bird
that flew nearby. (They sure weren’t shy.)
   Pretty soon the word

about those soaring poems were pouring
   from mouth to ear worldwide.
Binoculars weren’t aimed at stars
   but verses that could glide —

Elysian fields long since embraced dada's soul
which rocketed into aerospace
(courtesy General Electric satellite)
just a tad shy of
fifty four plus months ago,
nevertheless melancholia
still plucks mine heart strings.

Mine psyche still situated awry
placid countenance of yours truly doth belie
residual sadness easily prompted
can easily trigger me to cry
linkedin when grim reaper gloated
October 7th, 2020
ye did somewhat peacefully die
though methinks immortality
I did briefly espy,

when miracles of modern medicine