LOVE ON A HIGH WIRE

It is impossible as head-nodders to learn the true subject of our gossip.

But chatter we do,
nod we do,
smile and frown and clap we do…

like starlings at early dawn,
we protest, quarrel and yawn.

We flap, we rustle, we cling together and rise afeather…
seeking the leader
whose silent tether

greets the grey of gloomy,
now gone.

As sundown teases, murmeration ceases;  with one last rustle, we rhyme with the rhythm of billowing blather,
our restlessness astir
as darkness overcomes.

Tomorrow we rise a-more
and like dawnings come before…

we’ll dismount from our roosts, our heads awaggle,we’ll gossip and gaggle; we’ll harp – we will haggle

And as the bloated carcasses of our forgotten comrades add nourishment to the earth, one or two will ask “do you remember whats-his-name?”.

“Oh yes” we reply, “he had so many strange, new ideas”.

And with heads abob we bestow our final, limited approval in measured doses…

and our world nods approval to the brief observance of continuity,
forgetting yet
another
Love Story.

Advertisements

HO HO HO

 

My son, whose brief but popular career as a nightclub comic, once told me that his formula for creating stand-up jokes was one he learned from others of his ilk. His method: make a ridiculous statement; then prove it. Hmm;

I am not thinking of a white rhinoceros. I know this because I am saddled to an elephant hippety- hopping hither and yon. (If this isn’t funny perhaps it ‘s because I am not standing up. Try hippety hopping astride an elephant some time…or atop a white rhinoceros.)

FOLLOW THE LEADER

 

The best style is the style you don’t notice. Somerset Maugham

 

Follow the Leader,

A popular game

Better than anything known.

 

A Daisy Chain

Which leads to what?

A dull edge; to be honed.

 

Forget The Leader

Withdraw your Knife

And check its blade,

How keen?

 

How reliable?

Will it part

The Rarest from The Mean?

 

Now, to its sheath

Replace its Quick

Decisive, well honed Edge

 

And trust it, yes

To separate

The Morsel from the Bone.

 

CRUMBS OF INFINITY

 

No one wants to be ordinary but everyone follows the crowd.

Uniquity? Popularity?

Those who seek to have their apple turnover over and over must first snatch it from the jaws of those members of The Apple Turnover Club to which they now belong.

Look at ’em go….(who am I talkin’ to?)

And, as for that cherry turnover? They look alike, you know.
They look exactly alike.


Hand that snatched the turnover

INTERROGATIVES

lee_broom

How many millions are in a trillion?

How many leaves in a forest?

How many souls exist in forever?

How many came before us?

Where is it written?’Where are the answers?

Where is the heavenly Chorus?

When did the Big Bang Beget the beginning?

Is the answer there before us?

What if I told you I knew all along?

What if you held a Thesaurus?

A new interrogative might have an answer

Or perhaps it would simply bore us.

Perhaps I had better ask Morris

WHO AM I ?

 


PHOTOGRAPH   SANDRA SCHOU

WHO AM I

 

Who am I,

He wondered at ten

And who will I become

Will I be famous

For what he bethought

Will I still be My Father’s Son,

And why am I here by this bubbly brook

With a squirrel and larks nearby

He mulled and decided

If asked oft enough

That one day

He’d surely know why.

He flew the coop they’ll

One day say

He flew

After

Waving

Goodbye.

We thought we saw him

Up high in the clouds

He flew and

He flew and on

He flew.

He flew

After

Waving

Goodbye,

To return

In the

Nigh and nigh.

By Lee Broom

MY SHOES DON’T MATCH

MY SHOES DON’T MATCH

My shoes don’t match
I said to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointy toe
The other a moc
I noticed as I sat down.

I remembered a time
In Pershing Square
An orator holding his own
The end is nigh
Beware my friends
Repent before heading Home

Is he right I wondered
My shoes don’t match
I’d found them a moment ago
I repented not
They felt warm and snug
I left them on my toes.

My shoes don’t match
I said to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointed toe
The other a moc
Each slipped over
A woolen sock
The time was passing
Tickety tock
A smile replacing a frown;

I have another pair just like these
And they are my very own.

CRUMBS
CH SIX
Lee Broom.

A fine WordPress.com site