Nun in FRiar Small-Bro's Grave... YardA Poem by Terry O'LearyThe midnight clings to dwarfish kings while robot drones, adorning thrones, kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard. Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box grace FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. The diplohacks, like melting wax, have swept along the clueless throng, some dying for a life...guard. And Nun, alone, has beached their bones in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Beyond the streams, a raven screams at loser fish that swarm and swish; Nun slowly drains her dreams...jarred. There are no thanks along the banks near FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles the hierarch obeys the bark from maw that oozes pure...lard. There's much ado throughout the zoo in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Well, FRiar’s pets are in a sweat; he calls the tunes near burning dunes and taps his cloven feet...charred. They roast in rooms, their future tombs, in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. His myrmidons, they drool and fawn reciting verse near FRiar’s hearse, extolling wild the van...guard. Remote controls abet the trolls in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. With faces straight, in bent debate, they advertise their empty lies to every passing re...tard. Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. With ghouls, unlearned, no stone’s unturned to burnish blame with Nun’s proud name and leave the midnight sky... scarred. They raise their hats to copy cats in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. While rumours spread amongst the dead, Nun stays the pace with saving grace, and phantoms keep their face...marred. The maggot digs neath twisted twigs in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. In tempests strong, Nun rings the gong but fails to rise in vacant eyes - he palms a one-eyed trump...card. Nun sets her sail, to no avail in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Nun asks him why a bird can’t fly. His mouth, a rut, replies “tut, tut”, with conscience painted white...tarred. A mushroom mold has taken hold in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. “To fly aloft," he laughed and scoffed “lay bare your breast! I’ll do the rest, I’ll bless you in the church...yard”. The golden rule's contrived for fools in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. He cast the bait and wouldn't wait - once more defied, her wings denied, the Kingfish is a bass...tard. A 'no' said twice must pay the price in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. When day’s undone, and night’s begun, Nun stirs a cup and turns face up; she's feeling that she’s ill...starred. ’Tis such a crime to waste her prime in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Nun plans to dine with sparkling wine but sips instead a bitter red served with a crystal glass...shard, Behind the bog, beneath the fog in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Well, minstrels fight beyond the night and demons fete behind the gate, while silence chokes the host...bard. The angel sings with broken wings in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. The webs are spun neath dying sun; and caught ensnared, her flight impaired, Nun’s thoughts are how they’ll die...hard. The puppet people storm the stee- pled FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. And voices wail beyond the pale “The old taboo - it echoes true - Nun’s bound to have her way...barred”. The schemes are strange and minds deranged in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Ms.! Cast your nets, but hedge your bets - there are no odds, where purple gods and hungry idle ghosts...spar with nameless gnomes in catacombs in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.
© 2017 Terry O'LearyReviews
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Terry O'LearyFranceAbouta physicist lacking gravity... learning more and more... about less and less... until we finally know... everything about nothing... more.. |
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