A WHISKEY STONE AND A NOISY NEIGHBOUR

what-are-whiskey-stonesHe tried the sandman’s stones and thought he’d conquer the world.

Like a short shot added,

But, unlike a whiskey stone,

He never took the tone.

 

She tried the love bird’s tone

But sounded like a  gloom trombone,

And unlike the ring of Victorian crystal,

She merely was the Boatswain’s call.

 

And when he took the whistle,

She was through her troubles and blew out the candle.

He looked up and could only see her window sill,

Then he knew the song been done to the thistles

 

Yet again unlike a whiskey stone,

He was not and she was not worth the whiskey,

And sad creatures like Un’s greatest missile,

Landed on an empty isle.

 

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A POEM IN FUTILITY

futility of all.jpg

I do not want to die having done anything,

And I do not want to die having done nothing.

Idealism is futility,

Futility is your reality.

I admit it,

You drink from a golden chalice but your head is made of clay.

I won’t deny it,

I smear ash on my face but my heart knows not decay.

I am sorry that you are sorry,

I am also so sorry that I cannot please you.

Life is for the living,

Death is for the dead.

Do not worry about me – me who is the Reaper’s spawn.

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