SORCERERS STONE. A contd of elegy to the sadomasochism.written in the form of poetic drama. A short or cameo poetic drama is shortened or called - C.A.P.O.D.
SORCERERS' STONE. Ikoyi. A Street,Osborne and Gerard. Enter Omashile to meet and relish her lover.
Trash! Never tell,you barely love me again:I sacrifice avalanche still hardly reciprocates being unkind,no empathy whatsoever.And if i had revenged,you will not by this time had liv'd. Oladele.Clownish You sounds,as well as a daydreamer.I had no love for you;still a wild goose chase?Dont you get it? Am just a playerboy.Enter that into your empty skull. Omashile.Oh,am now an empty skull?Now i ve become an object of ridicule,aftermath of the escapade in which you deflowered me and i lost my pride at a dying minutes towards the happily married life. Why in the first place,you put that fickle ring into my hand? Oladele.Are you kidding me?So,at your age,you still barely know about simple tactics of a mere playerboy to get you on bed.You should have realised that before we gyrated the day before yesterday and even now. Omashile.Are you serious? Please dont make a mockery of me. She went on her knees and burst into tears,frantically helpless.And Oladele pixilated with acrimony,snubbed her and exeunt in a huff,..
Sonnet 31.If thou plethora,my well oomph'd oddles,When that sterling pounce my piety with neglect,shall not bicker,And shall be lily livered once more protracted these limber onerous lilts of thy renegade hood, Contrast them with the bantering of time,and though they outmarch and outmaneaver'd,by every lilt as like two peas in a peapod,Lissom them for my litigious,not for my lollop of lonely heart,longfaced by the longevity of these shortsighted blokes,O then this longhaired him but this scary thought of long drawn out longstanding:'Had my indure's truce with this longshot tarri'd out,A gild'd logician lucrative and ferocious than the longshots of the loggerheads'lollop,had logg'd, To sail in long boat for epicure of the lustr'd fleece,But ever since they did not care a fig and wranglings wrangling wrangle,Their brand'd niche,their lucre-lustre,rave for rave,in punctillious mode, they'give the price for monotony.
Sonnet 32.No more floodgates be floodgates,at these prostitutes of mores, Floodgates have floodgates,where roses have thorn and thistles,flood and fountains,lagoons and lakes have floating bridges,And that flirtatious lollop that fritters away verve,in a deadhouse flogging of the folkway, All men cherish this folkway and barely molten,A melancholia melting pot for its medley and public melee,Its bespoke only says messo middling and messo dunghill,not so poised a salvaging time's amiss,Not prepossesing the metropolis from the web of preposterous and howling protraction,For its hypochondriarch predisposition,for the most insensate gimmicks of a gimcracks'bulli'd dawn,The fortunate party,the hilly beans legendary exertion desecrate'd , And the war of attrittion needful hate unflappable,to thrive,That i be emissary in this yet to be knighted mission,an empiricism must buy,to that coagulate self,To the tender'st and sweet'st buds,that entreaties galore,saith to them'life is too short',But its golden pearls are...
undermined,being lameduck and decrepit glimmerrings,To see the goggle eyed godforsakens do deeds of derringdo,To bid nonchallance,to play goblin as a godspeed,kaput fortune's dearest lustre,And coronated in thy insalubrious insalubriate,what avalanche am i sufficed to latch onto,How can my ruse crave inquisition as innuendos to inquire While thou dost inquisitorial that pour'st aplomb in to my holycuriousity,Thine own innocuous insanity too flexing in my nocuous attrition,O give thyself the insidious,if wrought insertion in thee,Worthy insulation on guard,'gainst the insuperable; For whose 'so insouciance that cannot insularity to insulate,When thou thy insidious dost let loose its intrique intoto? Be thou the tenthfooth pole,a barge pole much more insouciance,Than those nearest as dearest ado,which insouciance dost jettission;And he that stampedes heels himself on such contextual ados refrain,let him not coagulate,for a lion trods to outlive him long his misery,if my malinger adophobia
do trite to outwit holycuriousity,The pang being mine,a lifelong frantic but thine misery be thine misery;for the lion trods in the streets,with the eulogy of terror,O how thy viles of manner insouciance sings,When thou art adophobiac,the better morsel of thee feedeth,Who can mine own conquest to mine own triumphalism lilts?And that string that by this wraith bemoan'd never die,What effrontery o what effrontery wouldst thou dare and craves?Were it not in thy celestial ego,gave thee blunt carteblanche, To gavel intergrity of time with the rhapsody of hardihood,most priceless gems beneath earth surface,Which hardihood and time so flighty,dost insouciance trigger so lampoon'd And thou steadi'st how to craft ethos,that in the eulogy of time,the praise of hardihood,doth then beckons, Strip me all my doves my dopes and mopes,yea my mopes strip them off,What thou then hast thou then more thou ere hadst?What avalanche?what surfeit in satiety? No mope,no dope by entanglements that thou mayest genuine hardihood ....
Sonnet 42.Am i not a superhuman,of he who dreams like the gods?Yet still am on thy brace,that my exit mothernture beyond superfluous barely withheld,whom above quietus forever invincible,O what a happy ending that never ends,of a stormy petrel whose figment and forays,begat seventh heaven,O what a happy ending do i find impulse than the sonorous songs of a passing earthling,O what a happy endings do i find,But what'so benediction feint evaporate that blots out malediction? O that lacuna that ages have never filled! That thou mayest be superman like me and yet still do i salivate when sedulous beyond my exit second heaven as seventh heaven servileth,towards his heels beneath headed,Yet they know it not,when throng wallows in sombre Shall i not distraugth,supposin thou art fickle
Sonnet 43.Shall i not distraught supposing thou art fickle,Like a hoo'd discontent'd hibernating in the distress'd purlieus,May modus viviendi still to thee university of adversity,though now alter'd by mine dutch courage ,in the sanctity of golden fleece,Thy insouciance with me invidious charm thy hearty blind alley in frosty alarm;for there can be no abode thy heart in mine dutch uncle,Therefore i cannot perfectly broach thy penitence,in burlesqu'd exemplification,the homeric hooves'hop,Is writ in hoorays and hoopla of "bereft smash hit,or that barndoor barely pays without hardihood" But coronation in thy resolute empire did not destract,That in thy swashbuckling palms,sweet love cast over passionometre,that pays with hardihood should never cease, Wherever thy art or thy pulsate's tireless mortify be,swung beyond the arms of the morpheus,thy morphology should not be motheaten but mothproof opus be,
Sonnet.44- They that ethos-lucre to pay this price and will hone ado,That ado not ado the viles they those ado do opus,Who moving as gregarious flocks are they themselves hooded with gregarious chants and hooched by bandwagon jumping otiose,minacious oubliete,not otherworldly and too oracular to venture,They their opus by heirloom,hell's orotund ornery of damp squib,And Heaven's niches alien to their shores,They being vices,and architect of their own vices,overweight but bad sailors overworn by nether beneath,The season's outlays to the season's prodigals'club,Though to themselves slaves be slaves,ere and thereafter were to live,But if that lifelong servitude with base contagion frollic suffuse in the gregarious chant,the mammoth infection soon outwits metropolis,for the infectious charm that turneth a gangrene will public quagmire overwhelm this plateau, Then they fared far worse than they rave
Sonnet 45.How sweet ozone dost thou make the smell,Which like thy hilly heath'd beans in the fragrance rose,Doth not precipitous stink the beauty of thy blinding sequestrate!O what sweet vision dost thou thy hardihood insulates! That dearth that tells the sparsely beans of thy glorious herald, Not pawing in onerous state of thy beautiful sport, Cannot dispirit thee but in thy lodestar,that with the terror of a lion trods,barr'd a street's compete, O what a benediction to be so enthus'd,as lockaway from the miasma of this ill maner'd flocks! Which for their strangulating infatuation,a lifelong breaths,belabour as slavish ado, Not nothing loath! not nothing loath!locusts of treacherous heels,whose lucky dip,slavish elements bereaved their golden fleece,slammed by incurable vulgar path, O the price of vision is indeed paid by sweet charm of hardihood, In the frontiers of howling wilderness,its mines are dug,its fields are plow'd and evergreen in omni-season
Sonnet 47- An intrinsic intro of so stagnating a fateful nocturne have i spar'd,Bickering not the mountaintop with judgemental eyes of the dickens,jiving and gyrating with sonorous music,the instrumentalists pixilat'd with humorous sound of its mighty pianos,dancing pinkly to melodious cymbals.Purging but alarmist fire of pulsatory-ting'd scarecrow,that overwhelm'd shrinking violet's pschos and its immanent hangover that stall'd his personage,Betwixt mine scalding hot and clemency,a battle line is drawn,And each doth scatterbrain turns schmaltz,unto its schema;When that transmogrify is underpin'd,art is scrumptious for the scum of the earth's biles ,driven away, Or not lilylivered himself with no sighs doth pother,And to the scum of the earth's vilous resins,Upon weary trounce of shank's pony,barely endear'd,
Sonnet 48- If the draconian instance of my landmark stride,were ruritarian rumbustious ruse,should not rut my steely-gripe, For then sacrilegious of sacred crow,would i not condone,from sabrerattling fallen deed,where loungelizard dost renege contest, Not barring sackcloth and ashes,although thy foot did string astray,Upon the most unfairest trods,plaster'd on scorching earth, For sabble wield can sag,both saddle and sail,As soon as the brothel brothels,the prostitutes where he would sloth,But hurray,samba dances me that i am bout to sap,savant savvies of savoir faires,when thou art school'd,But that so much of a savagery lay and scabrous scarifi'd, I must append time's restraints,with checkered antecedence of egalitarian scarlet, Scaring not the worms away,like a scaremonger,by badgering of norm's nether bales but scandalous scapegoats' exemplifications so venomous.
Sonnet.49-How steely was i bepoke when i took my mirth,Each cloven hoofs,on the hop Above piffle were leaps in the dark,that to my lease of creas'd art,as occassion demands,might nightmare go crazy, From the nuggets of hardihood,in the nucleus of nervous obliterate, But thou desert oasis,to whom my nuggets' oblique obsess'd,thy obssesive sable canst not unflappable benumb'd,Most habituate of oblation,now my hare's hale and hearty halcyon days,Thou bereft of halfcock,hairsplitting and mine only punchdrunk,Art punched the pusillanimous pulsate of every limping pussyfoot,Thee, have i not plum'd whatsoever,in any ploy,pointifate where thou art pompous,though ponces,Within genteel poppet of my poppinjay, From whence porcelain of bravado bristly at good trencherman,that thou mayest avaricious partake,Even thence thou wilt be purport -brisky,This bereft i dread
Sonnet.50-This bereft i dread for eschatology,purplish pugnacious for a golden trophy so sure,Utter now of the spring and pother of the benumb,And thee like every shadow tend,upon puritan's pungence,all ados of purple patch pyrexia set,And you not in the inferno of pyrrhic victory being traumatis'd,That thy pyromania doth putsch of your pussilanimous intransigence,The other being your indecision as derelict procrastination doth vile;And you pucker in every malediction,a poltroon ,we acknowledge in all invidious graces,you have no vindicate, But thee like none thee,inane self vacuous thee,factitious trickles for insidious behemoth,Not the nugget nor the gilded purple passage,Of shrinking violets'smother shall have lived to outlive history before history,But you shall thrive with more sparkles in mine spittle,How sullen wastrel shall time's broilling hot be ridiculed, Whereon thou crucifix as maiden wanderlust,strumpet'd thy nugget.
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