FUNKY FRITH-BLUE FUNK

                                                      

SONNET-1-Impale not the hours, that genteel pact did stook,

Upon that furtive gad,it winnows,whereon every specie doth bleed,

Will pluck like a leaf impalpable to blench funky frith,

And that immolate,imporous fairly doth not excel over peremptory

Implore,

That stealth away,unflappable placidity of the  impassive  waves,

To a dingy din and dionysian bray of heinous gallows and hoods hie

him stringent,

His fume fungible cannot fumigate , ecclat incursion of its funky frith,

And like a funambulist, trapped with its tethering rope,the incorrigible

Earshot of the incrustation

O earth ,funkying  o  the earth moans,and barrenness flies on every side ,

Frost on lusty leaves,impudent pottery,a postulate pleonastic to elope,

Nor as a plumage, disdain’d brine being pluck’d and viscid like a plumpy

Prisoner,

Lush’d out of drowned seas of funkying  wedlock, O gathered flowers rot

Away when not timely  distilled by heavenly  moistures,asphyxiated by

Trapped breeze and winter of gravy train far away.

SONNET-2-As whiffs,like a whim,whistle in the whist,that caprice like

a freak,a buzzing sound,

A whir barely  frets ,its whirlwind over its sagging mile, whisk eyed reverted

 back to its windbound,

Then let not its winter wheeling waves deface thee,break even some spiral

over hapless dusk,

Wince not,adorn not your neck with the bracelet of its sorcery,to deign its

vitriolic malignance,

That unkempt swagger is forbidden usury,which wattles those gladiators,

Wasping its unflappable Trojan horse,that’s for prudence,to breed another

 Crust,

A thousand times thyself a merchandise,warpier than thou,or a thousand

times virulent thee submerged,

Be it foul play or wastrel tacit,if a thousand times of thy wastrel thee coagulate,

Then,what could a funky frith,a voluptuous grope of sandy shore do?if thou should

Wassail’d ,wasp in its gaol,be not a nebula,and a warren to banish its volcano,

Volcano!volcano!!volcano!!! it burns an Everest lustre,unhallowed and all the

Colours of rainbow sunk beneath its primrose bank.

Sullen’st music hear’st not mellifluous symphony,nature’s vouch,sour after

sour,sour with sour,

Flex and war not ,nor its yellings mangled tis gravy train eloped;why hear’st thou not

 humourous girth,

Or otherwise cringest with hedonism thine contempt;if the funky frith of

Trojan horses,be smitten,by hurly-burly.

SONNET-3-Do pervert thine marrow,in retrogression,thy sinew,should’st hustle flimsy,

How one persevere humorous girth,hurl’d beneath dunghill,strikes a lackluster

With tides downhill;

Veering  pertinacity and ignobility ,to encrust sarcasm,in one fell swoop,

Funky deign doth sings whose clutterless and clueless lyrics,being frivolous

Vedette,

Sings foul play,to thee;’’thou unblemished rot,is it for frith,runnest thou affray,

That burnest like a volcano on misty mountain?Ah thou clueless bigot,if thou

 Clutterless hypostatic

Hypostasis shall harp to abide and trojan horses,reddened by kismetic palms,

Running away,will make thyself merchandise of contempt,and not to  smother ,

 A steely fibre, rampaging igneous rocky ignite,the earth with thy hell tarry still,

And thy impudent iceberg weep,

Not being with a trademark distinctive hewn,has hurtle behind glorious palms

And feet,

When every sordid plough,in that hell,might be dunghill cremat’d by sweltering

eyes of laborious hours,

Her humus vertex enclosed and still  the world contends;but  custom’s freak,hath

 upon the earth elongated,

 Behold ,what a miser in the world doth speaks,condescends but his  immolate

and groove unscath’d,

the afflict’d so destroy’st his hood,so illogical and illiberal and no poison as

venomous and no cancer as gangrenous,

As the frith,funkying on a pure cauldron,its carteblanche sparest no rod,that on

Himself,kismetic feet smouldered,

SONNET-4- What a vile ,that heaven’s plaudit eulogises,for

hypothecation thou bearest not sword for nothing,

As the frith and thy merchandise are so froth a verecund

Unleash if thou wilt,thy art as thy defence ,thy breastplate,

That being against thyself,might loom and linger ,seeking

furacious claws,to ruinate,

Which to thy thraldom,should be thy relief tied,shall its thralldom

 fairer ,that its purest gold, be as the glorious dew and kismetic

palms not akimbo,Make thee that harpoon for  dart against whales ,

That beauty still bedecked the gladiators,with untangled kismetic feet

of gold ,

Or to thyself decimates its kindled kismetic feet of gold;rise above

 The heartburn ,impetuous and headstrong,

So fast as thou canst run,with that fresh blood that thou mayest

 Fret with arts yonder hills’ escapades,

Beauteous pearls and pebble dusk,coagulate at hansock ,imploring

Hebetude to hebetate,

Clasp and heckle a reef knot,that homily,upon the growl of sands

of time,might centuries preach,

Heathendom decrepit with funky frith, heaves its headway,whereon

Sweet compare,hailed mass boggy cloak,but homologous disjointed .

SONNET -5-O that you were not slammed by this thraldom yourself?

But harlequin like a clown in a pantomime ,haziest hawks,much stronger

Than hebetude yourself ,

To treacherous slam thy bellicose navel,and in neuter of this malediction,

Beware of wits’ end ,

To jealously price your verdict ,not imprudence plucks,so should thy heed ,

Be bristl’d to hatch in its season  ,

And above thy deign reproof be,held in legion of hostage indigo,helot and

Hobbledehoy of its gauchy but ineffable clouds,

As infidelity infest its despondent seasons,infelicitous growls its sullen

gown,

Whose ode on indolence ,is as stale as frittered zeal ,and a  barren land

Which lets so  a discreet callow,overwhelmed crust,fall to deceit and

 decrepitous indexterity ,

Which infecundity,in an evaporating soil,upends against  its stormy mists,and

Barren soil,unthrifty jingoist,o none but impaled frugality appends sagacity,

O you had a bile ,let your foible be cut,O you had a bile,indeed,let your

foible be cut  ,

Let it be cut otherwise obscure shalt thou histrionics and melodrama play,

Then shall the impudence of this oddman’s mélange,whisks infiltrate away.

SONNET 6-Thyself pedigreed,thy pedigree itself pedicured thee not to funky-

Frith,

Over strangled vale unbetrothed ,over pink sallowed shells befuddled and 

besmirched,

Still jump through the hoops,hoicked  in a hoopla of hornies and horseplays,

Hobbyhorses of hobos,fleabites, hokum and hives of  histrionics,still funky frith,

Thou hillocked hillbilly,be not in hock,wherein you plow this glum brass that gnaws

So deeply,

Be thy gob,at thy fulminate,not gobbled this sacrilege,and be not gadfly as thou

sunketh do,

And when thou blue funk,funkiest fracture and fest,gallivanting footloose,shriek,

At the pit of hell,

Earth shattering earthlings,perished earthwork,burrowing earthworms,subacid

earthenware,

Dotage of dead-brat and deadbeat ignition,gadabouts,whammed, with

confiscated volition,

And wrought wryly yoyos,whingeing and whining and shrieking,a mere whimsical

pracis,

Thou art thyself a whipping boy,witchdoctor of thy own self-abnegative witchery,

When bulwark falls,a waif that returns his distending passion,not shirk its eagle,

Nor its  tendentious wakeful,hobos no more at the ignition plow;what viva his

 plaudits earn!

How come vacuous vagrants entangle this plain,embroidered by blue funk

that friths!

SONNET 7-The urbanity of this utopian urban myth,more than proven,as

 Sacrosanct,

As urbane as its diffusion,that s fairest of its provincial legions,to stymie

That s splenetic  styptics  stylistics to eclipse  carthasis of the cosmos  renegade

 funky frith apologia summons,

Much averse doth avarice its avaunt ,bally ballot of its

tendon soothe

And much less worth not much a disdain of his auxillaries,

More than a sinister to balk and hoodwink,once the balloon

goes up,

One dapper ,a Cardoso at Venice,poignant out of corps de ballet,

her ballerina swayed ,

Hardly had he decked his waist with the baldric of baleful baulks,

Did he his balls of  banal and prisoner of foibles at the bar interrogated

at a stone s throw,

On a bank holiday,a tenth foot pole at the cashing point stared him in

 the face ,

And upon bearing his soul ,that his teeth bared,that quirky eaon,barge into

his sedulous groove,

And barges as he traipse and  traipses as he barge,stonefaced as barefaced

Barmily barmy

And no pacify to sooth him apoplexy and exhaustion tis like a barman and

a barsmitzvah,

A toddler barbiturates served he,and soon,that his ignoble beast of burden,

Ferrying ire and beaten blue by its own batik, dozes off,on a  sofa of

crowded alehouse,

His orgy,beast of prey by aura,that brash alterego that bearded the lion in

his den to gash showbiz opera,

A repertoire of besotted ballerinas,stampeded with besmirched feet,at his

heels .

And being turgid upon his hellbent,sloshed them to pulsate wherein pulses

And pulses as they heart-throb,

And dare a damn dead opera,damn dead ,unfair to fusspots with bated breath

Asphyxiated,

Open sesame!open sesame!open sesame!open sesame!had he gone to bats?

How well,his stormy petrel blazes them trail to trail-blaze in his traction of

tortuous grail,

But he not frugal at Venice,had morbid lurk,at nadir to jade them well beneath,

And now at hand grieving as they merely meek and prattle,without practice,is

his soldiership of oratorio,

And they like a heathen to the atteliery goons them moorless,at his beast of burden

Apoplectic avaunt,

Beyond their  kungfus,kudos coronated to him of a timely berserk, they crowed not

and kowtow,

And being subservient as sedentary at his heels,they ply their troth,tis awoke he,in a

Flabbergast ,

Why art they cringy bounteous crowded at  his circumference,wherein his radius stood?

O lest his cosmos should fret idolatry swing thy neath of apostasy,

wine and dine,

What merit fastened in his fret to goof that he should plumb upward bank

 licentiousness,

After his cameo refrain then under duress swung in the amorous bank,

And a lifelong flirt stained and stigmatized a once glorious plummet,

For you the love as lust or licentiousness can mean nothing to prove,if nothing

But smear,

Unless it be for chaste to chide thee,a  bully-some virtuous lie,that never

Refrains,

To do more damage than mine own lease to wither funky frith’s gauchiest

 Clouds,

O how sloth,heaved more coals upon the deceased dreams,than libidinous

Heels,

O let not this defilement,pine away sanctity of the soul that should in his

Martyrdom mammoth salvaged,

Ain’t no true love at Alupluto;for the banditry by tentacles of its blanket terror,

Had mortgaged womensfolk for a prize of aggression,and every raid,pleasure

them deeply ,

And durress’d into oath taking,minacious random raids coagulated with terror,

Stare them clear,o stare clear;for the womensfolk,art being plunged into its

 Cimmerian darkness of counter espionage,

Lest thy esoteric well kept be divulged at the price of lecherous dogs

Dine and wine

I am the bard of Alupluto,in me thou fadeth not in the sunset tis sunrise

And twilight of such glorious herald ,

Which by me if not reneged doth gavel silvermoon  as the deathbed of

 laborious rites,

That on the ashes of ash heaps,gregarious chant ,greedily and greedily

doth lie,

And if it be not thee pervertest abstain;abstain!abstain!abstain!abstain!

Why is their resolve,they the mighty fallen heels, so barren in the land,

So windy sail  besmirched and encroached ,from the coagulated bed of

 silvermoon?

Why with thy gorgeous brawn ever flexed at fracas do I not they as thee

Implored them to lunge?

Abstain!abstain!yet they  disgusting and repugnant abscond from its refrain

Why I write thee,I implore thee that this salvo  that  they fiasco flex’d,thou

Mayest not err,

Keep the invention away from the weed,that every word of the gospel,doth

Fairly observe,

Let it be known that sweet allegiance,beyond compare,a surest salvation

train,

For as the sunrise is daily twain to the sunset in the conjugal bliss of the

Elliptical oval,

So shall thee to thine twine of salvation train unbundled,as is the pracis

 of galactic stars,

In the golden hook bereft of wrinkles,whereon that this thy chef d’ouevre

So grandiose a cheesepairing of painstaking good cheer enlist thee in

the golden sands of time,

As predestined hewn of the kismetic palms,unctioned by mothernature,

In the frittered banks,thou shalt not be found nor fired blank,with the

Blandest grin,

Many a ilks of this Venice dapper,crissedcrossed this plains,damocled

by licentiousness,

And lo,silvermoon went up in smoke,depleted without remedy and this

Epistle of etiquette,

Not etiolated,wilt not thee, thy craftsmanship crabwise never ever

Crashland,

Where all thy treasure as thou thyself not outgone noon doth not

 homage pay.