Death in a vase

Flowers, withering without water.

Drying, dying, none to care.

Petals dropping, one by one,

Dying, drying, abhorrent, uncared.

The slightest breeze and several fall

Dried, died, yet still fragrant.

Their perfume fills only the imagination.

Reality is the smell of stagnation.

The aroma of death,

By midday sun or moonlit night

They fall, dead, dry, parched.

A flower head bends, droops,

As if looking down,

searching for the water.

Leaves, curl and crisp

Pale to the eye, pallid to the touch

Drying, perishing, bleached of colour.

Stalk, brown and shrivelled.

Crisp to touch, hard, unforgiving.

This is my life, my love, my death.

My very existence, displayed in a vase.

Arranged with care and an eye for form.

Such beauty once was there

Now dead, so dead, so dead. So very dead.

This is what I dread.

©Jospeph R Mason 2021

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Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Petals – July 29, 2021 – Eugi’s Causerie (amanpan.com)

Happiness.

Happiness is not on the face of a clown,

They always have a permanent frown.

Happiness is something you just have inside.

But in people I know, it knows how to hide.

So, give us a smile, no, give us a grin,

Showing you’re happy, is not yet a sin,

Big hearty laughs, so your wobbly bits wobble.

Laughing out loud so it makes the mind boggle.

Like sand in your toes and the wind in your hair.

Joy to the world like you’ve laughter to share.

Pleasure, delight, big thrills, and elation.

Let’s spread it like marmite across our great nation.

So, love it or loathe it, let’s spread it around.

Let happiness, joy, and laughter abound.

Photo by Mary Taylor on Pexels.com

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Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Happiness – June 24, 2021 – Eugi’s Causerie (amanpan.com)

A Celebration of the Confusion of Adolescence.

22nd June 2021

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Let’s celebrate the celibate, those who have not cherished,

Or lived, or lain in sinful pose, or loved before they perished?

Remember those who cannot love, because great pain it causes,

Who hesitate at every touch with long and stiffened pauses.

Forget not those who live to love and love to live enraptured,

Whose very breath, and every thought, through each desire is captured.

Who’s bodies quiver at every touch, perspire at every thought.

Even though they think it’s wrong and shameful if they’re caught.

Let us not dwell too long on this, of lust and things impure.

Instead, consider purity, and how we shall endure.

The former things of which we spoke, put them behind us now,

For growing up is difficult, but we’ll get through somehow.

As adolescence dawns, hair in armpits, face and places,

We fancy boys, we fancy girls, and our voices change to basses.

But we’ll get through, we always do, without every asking mother.

Just take it all in hand you see, just like every other.

©Joseph R Mason 2021

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Mingling

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

I really love to party, to drink, to dance, have fun,

It’s the people I cant tolerate, all things said and done.

They always want to teach you, to do your thing their way.

They always think they’re better, and they’re not afraid to say.

My daddy is a banker, they have the first letter wrong,

My father’s in the army, do you want to see his gong?

It’s then I’m at a loss for words, I don’t know what to utter,

And when I do, it comes out wrong and I begin to stutter.

Well, my old man’s a dustman, I only say it to be funny.

Which makes me appear less to you, cos he hasn’t any money.

My mother though, she knows the law, she’s a barrister.

But actually, she makes the coffee, as a Starbucks barista.

So, in this world, this snobbish hell, where money does the talking.

I go to all the posh old do’s, to do a bit of stalking.

They’ve got degrees in useless stuff, things that aren’t too smart.

Philosophy and media, or history of art,

But what these toffs, they do not know, the thing that defines me,

I studied medicine and psychiatry, got me a PhD.

For all their airs and graces and looking down their nose.

I’m not quite the underdog, not like they would suppose.

So, I mingle as I party, whilst taking careful notes,

And later, when they’re on my couch, relate their anecdotes.

©Joseph R Mason

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Eugi’s Causerie Weekly Prompt – Mingle – May 27, 2021 – Eugi’s Causerie (amanpan.com)

Magic – A Nonet Poem.

Nonet:
A nonet has nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second line eight syllables, the third line seven syllables, etc… until line nine finishes with one syllable. It can be on any subject and rhyming is optional.

Photo by Simon Berger on Pexels.com

Magic hung in the air that dark night,

To spill out over the night sky.

Rummaging in crevasses,

Wait for someone to die.

To raise them up again.

That they might not lie

In cold slumber.

Immortal?

Or die

Twice?

©Joseph R Mason 2021

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Eugi’s Causerie Weekly Prompt – Magic – May 20, 2021 – Eugi’s Causerie (amanpan.com)

From Another Viewpoint

Your viewpoint or my point of view?

Ambling, rambling, almost gambling.

Alliterations flow.

But still, I do not know.

I never have and never will.

But then I hear you say,

You know the drill.

What drill?

What thrill?

What bitter pill?

Resonances flow you know.

And so it goes, or blows, or glows, who knows?

I don’t understand.

Totally underhand.

It’s yours for under a grand.

The farmer says,

“Get off my land,,

You and your band,

You’re Banned!”

Assonances.

Resonances.

Alliterations flow.

Absolutely always avoid annoying alliterations.

That’s my point of view.

It doesn’t rhyme,

It don’t keep time,

The timbres right off key.

Grammar’s lousy too, but that’s just me!

©Joseph R. Mason 2021

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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https://amanpan.com/2021/05/13/eugis-weekly-prompt-viewpoint-may-13-2021/

Wolf Moon

Photo by Vincent Peters on Pexels.com

Did you see the wolf moon rise?

Dazzling watchers of the winter skies.

Did you feel your blood turn chill?

As a full moon rose over snow-capped hill.

Did you hear the howling in the night?

A blood curdling scream to give a fright.

Did you hear that panting like a pack of dogs?

Or wolves, or demons, or perhaps, hedgehogs.

Your imagination just runs wild.

As the fears return you had as a child.

“Get a grip,” you say out loud.

As the wolf moon dips behind a cloud.

No such thing as werewolves, that rip you limb from bowel.

I always get this feeling as I howl, howl, howwwwwllllll!

© Joseph R. Mason 2021

29th January 2021

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Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Wolf Moon – January 28, 2021 ‹ Eugi’s Causerie ‹ Reader — WordPress.com

Dawning

© Richard j. Kirk 2019

A new day is dawning.

A new era is upon us.

A new world has begun.

Clichés each and every one.

Irrelevant all.

Pointless.

Demeaning to the ears.

Sayings which should be evicted.

Vanished.

Expunged.

Erased from all literature.

Cut from the tongues that speak it.

Then.

Dipping quill into crimson mixed with spittle.

We will compose afresh.

Then will arise a new patois.

Acrolect and basilect

Sociolinguistic labels

The upper and lower boundaries

The dawning of a new age.

© Joseph R. Mason 2021

29th January 2021

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Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Dawning – January 21, 2021 ‹ Eugi’s Causerie ‹ Reader — WordPress.com

Everlasting Twaddle

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Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Please don’t read it to the end,

Or it will send you round the bend.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And if you read it to the end,

Then you, like me, are round the bend,

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone…………………………………………..

and on, and on, and on……………………………………………

©joseph r mason 2020

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