Monthly Archives: March 2021

Fly the Skies

the psyches living in the presence shine
shine with fires of deep compassion
that flashing, pulse, like a strobe
to transport hearts about the globe

their secret is not hard to find
but every novice must commence blind
until an occupant descales their eyes
their boredom hides angelic skies





© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) –Limericist 2007/2021

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Posted by on March 30, 2021 in Poetry



Remember the 60's?
the 20-year cold-war fatigue
and Lennon sang, 'back in the...' where?
and everyone grew their hair
and everyone else was 'square,'
and Woodstock was the right to 'bare,'

that was 50 years in the past
their teachings didn't last,
the world is going insane
trying to make everyone the same
& now the hippies sport a cane

soon, the net gets everyone typecast
tracked with stereotypical abstracts
compliance is demanded
sameness is heavy-handed
indoctrinating their conclusions
self-righteous in their exclusions

No chance for ideological reconciling
because with hate, they're unsmiling
but have they known themself?
trying to force everyone else
on the shelf?

traveling through countless changes
all falls apart --then rearranges
we reevaluate our positions,
testing our assumptions
producing green adoptions,
accommodating to conditions
no one knows
how expansive the range is



© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) Limericist 2021
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Posted by on March 26, 2021 in Poetry


Girl in the Mirror

Her sapphire eyes mirror a glowing
wonder, mixed with loss and longing
beneath flowing auburn curls,
aquiline nose, and mystical
flawless features–
yet she suffers

Her enticing lips are sweet as cider
extracted from the choicest ruby red apples
but can change vicious &
as a witch’s brew
her perfect teeth gleam proudly
as impeccable milky pearls– sharp
as her razor wit

Her figure, like the strong lines
of a ming dynasty oriental vase

and the onlookers stare & drool,
just stare & salivate,

however, she waits–
the girl inside the woman
waits with moist tired eyes
for the seer
who will recognize her simply
for the person of her genuine self
before she fades away





© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) –Limericist 2007/2021

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Posted by on March 23, 2021 in Poetry


Mermaids from Monkeys

In 1842, there was
a travesty called ‘The Fiji Mermaid,’
composed from the torso
of a dried monkey corpse fastened
to the tail end of a fish–
Megaphoned mouths
of carnival barkers touted
the splendor of the
so-called ‘genuine’ mermaid
and seduced willing suckers
‘born every minute,’
to dish out oceans of hard-earned money
just so they could gawk at the mocking
man-made monstrosity.

many believed the hoax
because conniving predators could lie
using the straight face
of shark-persuasion,

but supposedly we have evolved since then,
now we follow dosed network news shows,
and give rapt attention to talk-radio hosts
not to mention, the trustworthy internet–
where everyday carny barkers lie to us,
showing us their freaks for ratings.
so we’ll order their snake-oil
or buy their leaky book

folly is confirmed
by her children,
      is it not?





© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) –Limericist 2007/2021

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Posted by on March 22, 2021 in Poetry


Wait for It

a thought came
twirling down
from a graying November tree,
one of the last to fall,

‘look at all my crusts of death,
and answer me.

–bipeds of clay,
do you doubt when
howling winds, ice, and snow
our root to rock,
that Spring will squeeze
out of us
baby buds again?

for each change
the wintertime will become warm,
the dark will lift,
the lawns will need a cut
and misfortune will become
laughter again.’

bowing, the child of earth
hunkered down



© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) Limerict 2021

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Posted by on March 21, 2021 in Poetry


African Airways

of course, a taste for the steal,
I mean, the tail just flew away

off mud and grass with loud coughing laughs
absconded a Kenyan thief,
fuzzy ringed flag
in its nozzle

sporting swifter than the
serval cat ever was

predatory indifference
taunted the dead nighttime hunter
propped up & tailless

here is what happened- a jammed bus
on 4 AM schedule careened
the hazy, dark, and treacherous Mumias Rd
unceremoniously clubbing the nocturnal mottled ghost
leaving the night cat lifeless on the roadside

daybreak revealed the spectacle,
local villagers spotted the remains
near Shibuli on the Mumias Rd
the dusty stiff feline baking
in noon equatorial sun

carried it to our yard
propped its perfect putrifying body up
with forked sticks, like a
prized trophy, and took snaps
a rotting shell of natural beauty

snipped its tail for a hat,

set on the grass thatched roof to dry
of an old mud kitchen hut
but a bandit chicken hawk detected it
flew off with the fuzzy ringed streamer
festooning its cawing beak
this pirate had a knack for the steal

but only lifted
what was already Kenya’s
and therefore, its own



© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) The Limericist 2021

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Posted by on March 19, 2021 in Poetry



I heard
   ‘when it’s good, it’s very good
   but when it’s bad, it’s horrid,’

which is the authenticity of the experience
isn’t the sunny blue sky like God’s smile
because of the dark frowns of yesterday(?)

don’t you think it’s also true
that the range of our moods
expose the vastness of our creativity(?)

the question then is, how shall we cope
through all the varying weather conditions
of our souls(?)

maybe, we have the need to accept our changes
those diverse emotional environments
without allowing each fluctuation
to completely color our world(?)
knowing that, ‘This too will pass,’
just another episode,
another blip on the radar screen
is it meaningless -?
no, but not entirely defining either

because we are a continuous mixture of
highs and lows –light and darkness
struggle and rest –questions and answers
problems and solutions –faith and doubt

bitterest winter  –mellowest summer

all within the womb of possibility together
highlighting the saying of a friend
who recently said
‘relationships are difficult
great ones are usually the most difficult,’

therefore, there remains for us to answer-
are we willing to face difficulties together(?)

one day at a time –we must count the cost
–or venture the volatile seas ahead without
a ship, worthy of the voyage

as Noah of old, we observe that
floods will tower to consume us,
white squalls will come as perfect storms
to annihilate us,

but together,
we can build a reliable
lifeboat to rise above



© –Limericist 2008

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Posted by on March 17, 2021 in Poetry


It Prowls About

it stalks with lidless eyes,
a watchfulness not resting
a cat staring down a bird,
it’s teasing, and it’s testing

slinking around, it gawks and waits
for its prey to trip and fall
the butcher wants to eat
to munch into a skull

it often threatened me
misery, it was vouching
on its haunches, biding time,
like a spring, it’s crouching

the ophidian is eying me,
so patient to predict
the timing for its toothy bite
unceremoniously, to stick

venom dribbles on its chin
as pin-fangs toxic flow
drooling its saliva
its greediness to show

soporific as a reptile,
a specialist in skill
enjoys toying with its food
then, at last, the kill

In an incautious moment
snapping jaws fasten at will
wheeling and I’m tossing,
down towards hell

revolving, I dance with it
splutter and spin
locks itself onto my bones
with a wide mirthless grin

now it got its trophy
the thing croaked out its day
once, this thing guaranteed
with blood, I would pay

incapacitated in its grip
my hope waning dies
history parades
before my drowning eyes

paralyzing numbness
overrides my fight
to a mud bed, I’m descending
banished from the light

a memory surfaces
of a sure victory won
all looked gloomy and lost
down grinned the sun

I, then, could see clearly
the skull-scar near the creature’s brow
an earlier splitting
from a pulverizing blow

with my restoring vision
and every measure of my soul
fingernailed the damaged eye,
to tear it a new hole

my clawing chiseled into
its miry pea brain
bellowing, it released me,
I swiftly swam away

writhing in rage
while recognizing its pain
aware this time it lost me–
is on the prowl again


© –Limericist 2006/2021

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Posted by on March 17, 2021 in Poetry


Wooden Bones Were Willing

When our ships met again in open seas
our eyes met in the salt air
under gull cries
a vow was kept
testified by Neptune
for sundry nereids inspirited
the disclosure of secret love

you are gentle,
& the wise know you,
my feeling was divulged to you
but I bear the curse of graves
previous voyages
strong vessels with wooden bones,
scattered at the bottom

a sounder ship is awaiting
the occasion to navigate
through stormy wrecks
to embrace you
I know seasoned sailors
have already ventured
your cliffs and crags,
but as the ocean is unpredictable and wild,
my love for you is obedient to dare–

if you would but show me
that you would share
a harbor with me
until sunset.

my heart is bared
like the sea turtle without a shell,
you have the skeleton key that unlocks
my loaded treasure chest,
the mechanism is rusted–
but you can still open it, and I tremble
waiting for the noise
of turning tumblers,
but you
have delayed, and my bones
quake at the possibility
of unrequited love sinking me
down into the pitch



© –Limericist 2009 

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Posted by on March 15, 2021 in Poetry



blind by years
of eyeing what may
have been

a fixation to rectify
conclusions that left

desperate in the pursuit
of improving a battered past
exhibiting no signs
of resuscitation

nurse this project
try to be precise, matching back
grimy bones

in phantom wasteland
pictures lacerate
with a jangling chain
ghostly voice


© –Limericist 2007

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Posted by on March 14, 2021 in Poetry