Fullmoonant

As - like not seldom these days/weeks, months/years/decades - words did not come easy me (at least not words ... bla bla bla ...

To cut it short:

Yesterday I had a photo...

... but no words.

Today I have no photo but can offer
- with thanks to the esteemed Jams O'Donnell Esq. -
a fullmoonant poem by The Topaz of Poetry.

Hesitating to click the link?
Trust McSeanagall's words (which, by the way, apply to each poem of William Topaz McGonagall):

Poetry at its peak,
each word of praise
would be too weak.

Strawberry Finn

Berry sitting on a stone,
pondering his otherness
comes to following decision:
I am here, I have a mission.

Dreaming of enormous fame,
Strawless Berry will set out,
find the origin of his name.

But - alas - Seanhenge is mazy,
and soon Berry is quite sure:
"Golly gosh, I am so crazy!"

Next moment, it's getting hazy,

Berry's heart is beating wild.
And the reason? A sweet Daisy.

Desillusion, fading power:

Sad and lonely on his quest
Berry's taking a next rest
on a soft and friendly flower.

Continuing his quest
to find the mystic Straw
Berry takes another rest.

And here magic strikes:

Sitting lazy in the tyre,
enjoying warmth of distant fire:
Strawless Berry and his Daisy.

And the moral of the story:
nothing can cut love in twain.
'cause thus spake Daisy:
"Names are in vain,
otherness is no sin,
my sweet ... Strawberry Finn."

humbly dedicated to the Topaz of Poetry
by Mc Seanagall

Rich Poetry at The Poor Mouth's

Who would not feel a great desire
to celebrate McGonagall & McIntyre?
There's a poetry slam right over here,
it's great fun though without beer.

So hurry soon over to Jams, please.
The winner might win a ton of cheese,
or even unlike Gordon Brown
get a statue in Edinburgh Town.



Bertus, et tu? :)

Poetry at its peak

As I am just told by my dear friend McSeanagall,
in Colin Campbell's Adelaide Green Porridge Cafe
today you'd find

Poetry at its peak,
each word of praise
would be too weak.

A statue for the Topaz of poetry

It's a shame
that criticaster
would dare to blame
such genial master
who earns fame
for all his words.

It really hurts.


My closest friend's spontaneous reaction after I had told him about Colin Campbell's touching plea to give William Topaz McGonagall, the master of all rhymers, late gratification.

There does exist a demand for justice.