Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

no, seriously

Panicked the expression
confident distress in
finishing your lesson
never look your best in

growl? no! grr? wait! squeak? ahhh!
frustrated your schema
redefine the data

Stop and Pop Ephedrin
and go go go cingulum
Lips-wide-op en-gate-one
bibo gradale malum

Trite Alliteration
Justice Carroll frowns on
somnambulistic fun
far safer with a gun

The Sub-pedestrian bilge-fills
but finished glad, with cold-chills
a peer review’s the best thrill
so flirt and spread the good will

Discussion Group Messiahs (or I Know the Waylaid)

Wound about like phone cords,
Calling for a change
“Let’s hang the revolution
that broke the older backs,”
and stifle every thought.

Torn about like plastic bags,
that carried all our coins
They buy their retribution
in masks of vigilance.
“You dare to doubt our goals?”

Bent about like cordons,
secure in their position,
They try malum in se.
“Taboo,” the cry, “such judgments!
(of) hungry violation.”

Spun about like wind-socks,
clutching every handbill
to grasp a quick solution
for every passing grief
“Don’t call me a fascist…”