Thursday, 8 October 2015

(C) A Personal Poem About Procrastination
Always, in the depths of my imagination,

Percolates a thought that sometimes achieves realisation.

Even politicians must resort to clarification,

Reliant as I am upon your close examination;

Society often infuriates me with their benign abomination.

Of course… I wouldn’t canvas for outright exploitation,

Neither is I falling prey to abject desperation.

Alright, now that I have your rapt adjudication,

Let me now wax lyrical in grateful appreciation.

Perhaps, I should be clearer in the specification,

Often it’s something trivial needing a little amplification.

Excuse me if I delay arrival at the destination,

My dithering about can create some consternation.

A prime example is: the long period of time that it took to complete my dissertation!

By any standard, I could have lost accreditation.

Oh dear! Am I taxing your powers of concentration?

Under sufferance I suspect is your continuation.

Trust me; I eschew obfuscation and espouse elucidation.

Personal development is the objective of this rumination.

Rehashing old ideas should be subject to conflagration,

Overworked sentences are passé by implication.

Come now, I’m not resorting to crude intimidation!

Relax and maybe, you’ll enjoy this mental masturbation.

Another time, this silly rhyme, would cause you constipation.

Stifle that yawn and let’s keep on with this regurgitation.

There are only eight more lines to go to grasp illumination.

In truth, aloof, I must confess to being full of exhilaration.

Never before did I explore such crass interpretation.

And I do hope that you can cope with elite, alliteration.

Trembling now (I hope you are) with mounting anticipation.

Impressed, I guess are all of you with this proliferation?

Obviously, you now comprende my fixation and pre-occupation.

Naturally, this is a personal poem about procrastination.    Plus...  

(C) Not Really!

Not really procrastination, just mere prevarication.

Ok I lied; I just tried some prosaic prestidigitation.*  

Tis mere wordplay; it’s my forte, my form of relaxation.

Russian Roulette is a safer bet if you have any expectation.

Especially, with a rogue like me, so no interrogation!  

Are you now confused, amused, or in exasperation?

Literally speaking, I’m now weakening my communication.

Let’s leave it there, now that I’ve bared the gap in my vocation.

You see, I’ve merely procrastinated with: procrastination.

* Sleight of hand, also known as prestidigitation ("quick fingers") or legerdemain,
 is the set of techniques used by a magician (or card sharp) to manipulate objects such
 as cards and coins secretly.

Sunday, 18 May 2014

© Budget Night: Sad Show

© Budget Night: Sad Show

S o now it is one thirty nine am; nothing stirs, nothing shows, such a sad show.
H ow did things ever get to be in such a confused state, I’ll never know.
A utumn once more gives way to winter and our displeasure grows.
D espair the world that its bold inclinations are due to cruel folks apropos.  
O ver on the other side, in another dimension, well intentioned intuition flows.
W asted effort tries to stem the tide of avarice; that like Everest ever goes...
S kyward. Who will be the first trillionaire? Who cares who wins the game?
H ow these vast fortunes are accumulated – are but windows in the frame.
A nother element of my intellectual capacity, with alacrity, covets the same!
D ichotomies some say are dim memories, money is neutral, takes no blame.
O ut in the country seasons come and go, winds blow, although...where’s the rain?
W ilful negligence of those things that are fundamental, a sentimental refrain:
S ave us, save us, if you please, from these infernal bourgeoisie; they have no shame.