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Array ( [sid] => 142694 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Friar Howard [time] => 2008-05-27 06:05:49 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Friar Howard is old,
Yet indefatigable.
Every morning, he rises
And cleanses the stubble

On his still-virile face,
Where the cryptic briar
Pops up even in its winter --
But he is a friar.

A halt in hair being a harbinger
Of death, the rigor
Of shaving and laving
Convinces him of his vigor.

Plus, he must look sharp,
Must contend with a costume,
Red gnomish garb, its flamboyancy
Smalled by his morning groom.

Even the standard, unmistakable
Pants with the pleat
Will not suffice here, as an old man
Targeted for repeat.

Whether it be in anecdotes,
Placement of the keys,
Or meals on the menu
At the ad nauseam delis,

The days have been pleated,
Folded and swaddled in cloths
That leave them misshapen
In their bland, tasteless broths.

--------

Compare old Mrs. Howard, who
Is convinced that blush
Needs her loyalty,
Not that she looks lush

In the crimson lipsticks
And high-peaked Gothic eyeshadow,
But that her powder room
Will grow sallow

Without the reclusive bulb
Of her daily habit.
Each cartridge stands pompously tall,
So how could she not grab it?

And consider how, with
A repentant urge,
She applies the tints as steadfastly
As her husband delivers a dirge.

She says goodnight without
Removing it all,
Without a second look,
Without protocol.

Awoken by to-be errands,
The friar’s wife will rise,
And he will see in the pillow
Her caricatured eyes;

For, she would wear
Her makeup to a tweaking surgery
And, if asked the cost, would
Bask behind it in perjury.

[comments] => 1 [counter] => 166 [topic] => 43 [informant] => screwge [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )

Friar Howard

Contributed by screwge on Tuesday, 27th May 2008 @ 06:05:49 AM in AEST
Topic: oops

Friar Howard is old,
Yet indefatigable.
Every morning, he rises
And cleanses the stubble

On his still-virile face,
Where the cryptic briar
Pops up even in its winter --
But he is a friar.

A halt in hair being a harbinger
Of death, the rigor
Of shaving and laving
Convinces him of his vigor.

Plus, he must look sharp,
Must contend with a costume,
Red gnomish garb, its flamboyancy
Smalled by his morning groom.

Even the standard, unmistakable
Pants with the pleat
Will not suffice here, as an old man
Targeted for repeat.

Whether it be in anecdotes,
Placement of the keys,
Or meals on the menu
At the ad nauseam delis,

The days have been pleated,
Folded and swaddled in cloths
That leave them misshapen
In their bland, tasteless broths.

--------

Compare old Mrs. Howard, who
Is convinced that blush
Needs her loyalty,
Not that she looks lush

In the crimson lipsticks
And high-peaked Gothic eyeshadow,
But that her powder room
Will grow sallow

Without the reclusive bulb
Of her daily habit.
Each cartridge stands pompously tall,
So how could she not grab it?

And consider how, with
A repentant urge,
She applies the tints as steadfastly
As her husband delivers a dirge.

She says goodnight without
Removing it all,
Without a second look,
Without protocol.

Awoken by to-be errands,
The friar’s wife will rise,
And he will see in the pillow
Her caricatured eyes;

For, she would wear
Her makeup to a tweaking surgery
And, if asked the cost, would
Bask behind it in perjury.

Copyright Â© screwge ... [ 2008-05-27 06:05:49]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Friar Howard (User Rating: 1 )
by shelby on Sunday, 1st June 2008 @ 06:21:29 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Incredible write it made me smile. The delight was mine. Welcome to YPDC.

Michelle

*who is an old timer here lol*

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