Hysterical masses in a frenzy
eventually unnerve themselves in a fit of exhaustion.
What starts as a slightly audible hum,
gradually builds until it reaches a boisterous climax.
The orgasmic nature of a crowd
synchronizes itself to whatever is showing at the time.
No one comes late,
and no one wishes for an early withdrawal of forces.
A harbinger of fame and fortune lies in this ability
to continuously bring forth manic symptoms.
The fashionable fanfare for a King far excels that
of a pauper in proper attire.
An average plea would be ‘no contest’,
due to the certain lack of any competitive edge.
The edges being sought out of desperation
are not necessarily in the forefront.
Some folks run roughshod over the terrain,
longing to attain lovable attachments that hinder progress.
In a moment or two you will decide to please yourself,
and that will inevitably coincide with the moment
in which I start another ruckus.
Thank you, dear lady!
I guess your comment IS the start of another ruckus, Keith. I saw that guy in Chichester, just over the downs from here 😉
Next time you see him, Ed, be sure to let me know.
Uproars go down there, too,
especially, if they don’t replace their divots. Toupee! UT
“ At some point, you have to make a decision. Boundaries don’t keep other people out. They fence you in. Life is messy. That’s how we’re made. So, you can waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing them.
Exciting fences are electric
The situation being ‘touch and go’
Commotions come as second notions
The first thought being a consensual affirmation
The fuel always had its limitations
The spark naturally being attracted to weaknesses
Awesome! Phonetically speaking, my favorite lines are: “The fashionable fanfare for a King far excels that of a pauper in proper attire.”
Making certain to carefully pronounce
definitely slows down the process of cognition, eh?
That happens to be my favorite line, too!
And it came to me all of a piece. Lucky Tree!
…and as soon as the trouble pot is stirred I think I will take a hand in stirring it some more. Why should “they” have all the fun?
Aye, the primordial soup
of which we are the ingredients.
Love doesn’t start wars, but
it knows how to rock the boat.
I’ll stay afloat in the pot, stir Mark.
Oh, that tickles! 😉 Dear frenzy and fair lady,
Time for the show! Have a great day, Caro!