The World Laid Away — Spinning Fast — A Poem For Our Times
A Piece From A Sightseer — To The Whirling Heartbreaking Notion Of Time; Watching The World In Turmoil, Seemingly Enough.
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
Spun away;
Hanging fast are we —
Aren’t we kidding the luckless lot,
To be saying all of you — to all of aye.
Cushioning blows, with hollow throes of joy —
All looking on endlessly, no note of fond amusements,
Clinging in the underpinnings of their eyes;
Go on now, she calls you — bruising in the recall,
Of a business looking a lot like me and you.
Drastic comes the wooing feeling, to beg reason over
The mire, from the flaming cliffs, begging us all off course;
If there was ever a true-enough course, they roll thy die.
Drastic feats the wooing distress, to beg reason over
The awful crowd, that decides too much
On their feet, whilst never knowing why — I decide.
A rumble and a dimple, you try to hide under such a close,
But no sight of a clover comes to dare and reach yer;
So why bother to remark anymore —
All coming under a hearing phono.
Aught should be the laugh, but never mind to begin —
Falling through the seams; it seems to me.
Spinning away;
Holding onto the farce —
I don’t know of the currents of the ocean, as we speak,
I am fostered to the shape of my water-laden clothes;
Blue to the rainbowed streak — comes to my cloistered near.
Near goes that dearborn sight, trafficked to the night;
Hell, to such a sensation, come now!
Yet could I come down and know of the ones it spits out —
A chew for its toothy blithe; come to, big time ol’ Smiley.
Your daft ol’ face amidst the storms,
That wreck the spindle to the hearth —
Homecoming must be the venture by now,
Chugging on along; how does it feel,
To be the spinster upon the wire.
Homecoming must be embraced.
As I proclaim naught to headwind
Whilst the staple comes to the foreign rain.
Trod and trample upon a
Remarkable pad, for the fools’ face
Is awfully looking like this outfit I feel,
I see around this spinster today.
Spindle luck;
Heaving by degree —
To just merely roll it all up, and wrap it away;
Aye, to lay the world away — to never grow
Stifled or rotten of it.
Just for a time, be separated from it;
Whilst I regenerate some — approaches!
Oh, the flirty face too!
Gruddy heft to face yer — I wish to do that,
Methinks one might be the verging temptation,
That says Aye so emphatically — Aye!
What else will they do,
Whilst the artist remains beleaguered.
Always one to blot largely upon the dial,
To the thinning line contained in the bristles of their faces;
They speak to all, but meaning to just one.
Wive be the one who ventures the worming madness,
And makes any remarks charitable
To the senses of aught else!
Oh, big ol’ time smiley, please witness us at our cross.
Peddle us, spinning oft!
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