PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY.SONNET-129

May i a plaintive of the old lady,reiterate,for the umpteenth time,this rekindle before time, worth more than a red cent;that vision is not sweet when not mated with gallantry and not merely mated with gallantry but also stratagem,the empiricus harbinger of silvermoon,Its furore may not be enthused across the board,What fudge,this fulcrum boredom stay put boredom,When vilous art plays the arithmetic chess at dusk,contempt of time may not even the nimbl'st sorcerers foreshadow'd,how sweet vision plays the pingpong of hardihood for sweet liberty,endears it to grease byzanthine,sometimes at the slightest bashing and volley of crafts,And still yet barely heavy,overwhelming intent that the price of liberty is paid by those winces who flow gallantry,Gone beneath enamour'd embroidery,a red cent more than arboreal eyesore compare,this wrapping chess plays not its inclemency,to its guerdon bearest in vain,What asinine which hath duration as the pristine price of liberty,doth gallantry,never plead to impress nor slack.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-128

Some unscrupulous to say clott'd crocks,in their autarky of cloudcukoo land,overwhelmed through its artery of gallantry and heroism,Oft did the old lady heave hardihoodto her ovation realm,Which art had gilded flowers and purple birth;Blazing the sunken flowers in the muddlepath therein, That cockeyed cock'd hat knocks had purloined insularity in cavaliers, And often savaging,what discontents,it crows,yelling unfathom'd yippies,in beautitudes of profound caddles,manifold in every comme ill fault,An innumerable silvermoon,supplanted from an eccletics,it drew,Of hackney'd gait and rudder bank,Who incinerated by her capital engross,in adownpour threw,Upon whose margent emblem she was commended,Like a pawnbroker,pawning peasantry to peasantry or sweet vision's rainment that lets regalia not dissipate to the muds,where birds in windy flight,gallivant but its acrobatic swings by its adrift of abstrusion,earnestly compress'd them conform,In this adulation of self libation,a visioneer ought to fly in its aerospace.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-127

Then how,when arts calls them to motherwit resist,What gravitating bogstandard,canst thou ruminate,thy redundant spares must be imbroiled,Which when ignition thrust,acidulous sands cremat'd,From off a pedest whose gravamen sunnyside rework'd,a bounteous tales from a dark'ning vale,My wraith to sweet vision this self esteem faraway accorded,And and up,my plod laid over this dappl'd vale,Ere headlong fallen,a dipsomaniac and dionysian dunghill,ample rebound,congress of acidulous sands,thwacking of desert oasis with gushing rivers,Storming the stormy clouds with her dirgelike grief,gust and disparate hodgepodge,Upon this stanchion,a plopped heave of strays,Which fortifi'd his hardihood from this depressant vale,Whereon silvermoon might be thought,sometime it yell'd,The lugubrious raccoon worn and still undaunt'd flex,Time not had been decommissioned,all that nuptial knots ties with sweet vision my old lady,Nor ordained to expunge her estranged spouse from the living room but spite so frosty of a treacly morass.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-126

This arsenal and foundry cannot its stokehold deny,hath not left metalurgy sallow,where prescriptions for metal casting are dutifully kept,The Old lady is the haven which struck didstitch, These doses the hoot i care now in season is the dose notdenied,And being stonecold stoop,guerdoned with silvermoon,My Old Lady and my glides as stonework,beyond shuddering stomp of stormy clouds,a castrate at straitjacketed ends from a stouthearted streak likea streak of lightning,silvermoon gilded,For to her,i have sworn fairest to defend,which art stubborn as a mule and rich as a croesus,Unthrifty vision,why dost thouthy tentacles nuanced,upon thy selfwanton slide?Motherwit inquisitorialgnash,spews nothingness butdoth reproach,And being frank she minces to carteblanche its illusion,Then sumptious knight of old,why dost thou alarm?Thrifty vision,why dost thounot populous acclaim,so vast a horde of hordes,yet derails mammoth appeals?For having solitude inthyself bears,than of thyself repugnant throng dost frivolousdeceive

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-126

This arsenal and foundry cannot its stokehold deny,hath not left metalurgy sallow,where prescriptions for metal casting are dutifully kept,The Old lady is the haven which struck didstitch, These doses the hoot i care now in season is the dose notdenied,And being stonecold stoop,guerdoned with silvermoon,My Old Lady and my glides as stonework,beyond shuddering stomp of stormy clouds,a castrate at straitjacketed ends from a stouthearted streak likea streak of lightning,silvermoon gilded,For to her,i have sworn fairest to defend,which art stubborn as a mule and rich as a croesus,Unthrifty vision,why dost thouthy tentacles nuanced,upon thy selfwanton slide?Motherwit inquisitorialgnash,spews nothingness butdoth reproach,And being frank she minces to carteblanche its illusion,Then sumptious knight of old,why dost thou alarm?Thrifty vision,why dost thounot populous acclaim,so vast a horde of hordes,yet derails mammoth appeals?For having solitude inthyself bears,than of thyself repugnant throng dost frivolousdeceive

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-125

You Son of a bitch,revert not to thy bitches,You daughter of Jezebels,renounce thy witchcraft, You evil spirit,exorcise and retreat from thy belzebub,Golden morn flees when old lady flees,then night cometh,when oracles upturned and subjugated,and karma due,All benediction,a blasphemous blast furnace,when sweet vision sent on exile,sojourns without return,same with freedom a fellow fugitive,at its retreat,O backward violet,o dreadful art,why dost thou blether a blatant,pout at the immanent bliss of her golden morn and take puff at gallantry,thy coat of arms,thy blazon to project a glorious sun,And be wedded with her raiment?O sweet vision,why do they abhor thee in thy glorious temple of gallantry?My old lady is my sacred nugget,for that which longer,it nurtureth feedest on the silvermoon,which doth makest a manhood and a barndoot hit,The parllor'st streets unappetised to plead stubborn as a mule and the crux to thy consternation bears,My stonework,my stonemasonry stockily built dykes against nefarious waves

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-124

Do not slack to throw a banquet and at dusk goes to your rest,let its chains bind thee and charms feed thee when thou art sown and tilleth the acidulous sand;for when thou art laid thy carapace,thy sweet vision shalt never lie,Fire thy bazooka in thy morn to beard nefarious lion in its den,this acidulous landmines,when thy beatnik bedraggledand beautitudes spawn'd by the immortalizer,the old lady of the st.blues'golden morn,time's beforehand surmount'd,Beneath this slope,backward violet grimaces,This strays as they stray'd but above thisfriction,forward violets steadfast aplomb,whereon with theold lady,they cut a distiction,Toarraign bestrewed bestiality of time,O that its halitosis of murky bellicose be bewitch'd and bewilder'd,ere those blackclouds,betoken a storm,To bill and coos,gravy trains nigh and afar off,for a round robin billet doux of the appogee,There is no buffer under heaven,beneath hell by which minnows and minnions mt.everest billy o's climb'd,except if it be a good billet of this good saviour

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET- 123

That with glee upset their destinological apple cart,cimmerian darkness of repugnant budhist spirits,arboreal eyesore of ciradian lepers,archipelago of unruly belicoses,arrant arses and argybaggi'd armschair critics who ere the sentinel makest a vacuous difference of a crumbling cloud,My sempiternal treasure,my marbled frame immortalizer,sweet vision,they are fallen on thy landmines,a vast swathe of winces,a behemoth shoal of living deadjones,scabb'd in this graveyard,love this dungeon of arcane to dwell,Yet time and season on its armada of embarrasing armouries,behind the arras,fleeting the arrant clutters, That artery,with the apposite artifice,enroutes neplus ulstra spareth no hobson choice,be it articulated ambition or pure alabaster'd atlass of arts and crafts,this roost earnestly endears ashore,Sweet vision is the charm,being zenith aura of the arts,wherein trajectory is cast over the back of beyond,Feed into the morning and raise your buoy with thy capricious riparian rights,and throw a banquest forhim

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET 122

A hilly beans on planet earth lives in the paradise of dreams,Who barely bicker at the acidulous sands of time,And withheld bay at the moon,keep it at bay,draw a bead and tell their beads,to outlive the vultures upon this acidulous sand,to beard the lion in his den,And hardly ever convinced to greedily adjourn the virulence of fate to grouch this blinding adenoids,Whose Adam's Apple and adrenalin were latticed by clutterless amplitude of patience and fortitude,of perseverance and its afterglow,They,in a bird's eyeview,i've spar'd my animadversion and it is they this batch the accidulous sand direly bittersweet sequestrates,Having being animated in this anthropomorphic animal kingdom of sweet vision,o sweet vision,how glorious thou art are!how glorious of thou art are!o spirit of glory, Wights devoid thee are blackmass of blackguards,blackholes,horse and buggy blankets,the blacksmiths ofblackspots,antiquated folks,being derelict apostrophes of depression,hardly as workmen,in the senile bough blame their tools

THE BARD OF ALUPLUTO'S COLLECTIONS AND QUOTES.PART TWO

The only way to success is smartwork and not hardwork.You cannot fail,when you know where you are headed and the battle for the preeminence of man,must be fought at the spectre of intellectual freedom.Victory cometh like a thief in the night but who can stand when it cometh,nor withstand the momentum of apotheosis.There is a season of destiny,when all your wishes are fulfilled,sometimes it rarely happen twice.The road into the city of dreams is long but short where wit is sturdy and strategy is king and short but long where preparedness is largely impugned. Procrastination Is the valley of indecision and every delay to do what you know,weary the soul and tarry destiny into its inauspicious nirvana.The battle for the nirvana will often come without further challenge and thedemotion of arts,may not secure for its parody,the best of grave train,except if it be a child of circumstance or child of destiny. Broad lanes bringeth fiasco but narrow lanes bringeth better reward,in which dividends are paid for all gigs

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-121

Behold thy sweet vision is like the bible,igniting thee still to pearl dive,beyond murky waters in yet greater sail of the ministry of action,when supplanted in the muddle bath,Unthrifty prejudice,why dost thou bevel upon thy baulky's bauble? Alupluto's betimes yearns bliss but doth restitution,And being frank in thy sweet vision,a carteblanche,And being outspoken still,it bewilders the bewitches of the bewitched and to those betided,Then bounteous freedom,why dost thy bounteous consignment ashore impugns its betoken? Why dost this bespoke but sumptious largesse not besotted but betternoir'd? Why dost thou sweet vision,with its briddlepath,freedom largely impugned?So,magnanimous,a bible of freedom,Yet canst still not cease to bewail?For having surfeit with thy gallantry,that thou of thy gallantry,thy fortitude,thy sweet vision insurance,blanched nor racketeered,then jubilant as old sleigh bells,when nature calls thee to the stardom,What fathomless blackmagic canst thou invoke and thy unused consignment ?

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-12O

Fondling on that which ambiguous trash doth ambitly ameliorates,The rabbit muddle-bath sickly animus applauds,my gallantry o thy gallantry,doth apposite dose of physics warrants,Be not apopletic when at thy early infantry,thy presumptious are not kept being atrociously bungled,O sweet vision is protracted illness but with synergy of alternating stratagem in the ministry of action,pyrhic victory could not be extinct,and that testament like epistle that sweet vision with no stratagem,is pyrhic victory,could not be farce, Penultimate balms and doses at Alupluto,basal headed,my purport thy purport,punditry and greymatter as fuguemen,Are not at loggerhead and in doldrums with pounces of these doses,For as i have shown thee and with further ado beyond bauble,which at this bazaar,the ramrod baton must have been taken and the golden feast for its gladiators shall begin,for i have proven thee spanking,not bent and baulky at this beseech,who was as plain as pikestaff,beyond bemuse,bellyful in arts and showmanship.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-118

Manumitting punks of gutter'd serfs on eternal remands not negotiable for a messianic tribune,wail o distressed arts,wail o distressed arts,This plastic arts with pussyfoot's ensign at acme,as if the pusillanimous should outlive themselves as minnows and pillion riders,So did this plastic arts'resillience excel,a vulgar strand,in transfix,in gallantry, knighthood not racket racketeering,to greedily thump on the racket,Not in the insensate rabblerousers to veer off its racehorse from the racecourses,not rabbit punch dizzy,a rabid raccoon to coy a proud rider's vilest intent,high raffishness,uncontrolled crest,bibliocractic ragtag,ramified rambunctious,ideologues to go on the razzle,in this tender bud and bristled vale,thou mightest guiltless spurned,See that sacred lines ,that apologia when intoned,shouldst not be disarmed nor abhored,whereon now thou dost lack lustre,O sweet vision beyond compare is the saviour,the anchor and the troubled ship wading the hellish storms and huricanes howling on the high seas.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-117

The bibliomaniac festivity breaks no festoon and longevity,the salvation earth with its looming tussled trigger fingerstalled,they fiddle insulated,whose shallow spectre thunders like a tonado,the floodtide crushes the fatcats and the minnows alike'twixt this cross borne at its metropolis jetsam'd by its indigent folks,mired by opaqued inquisition for a saviour,time and season,cannot deny,even starry night's memoirs cannot recall,to flush away this flummery that blinding furnace,which vapours a foretaste doth it imbues,This imbroil however the rapport doth beguilles sweet vision,slains freedom,still a fugitive gadding on a furtive clad,hibernating in an alien land,Sometimes preposterous as the absurd of hecatomb's protruberances,rampaging with immodest pride,Alupluto's imbroglio of the fair breeder's nissus mischief,being trapped as round robin meander in the flattering hoila,Behold when sweet vision will outshine the oddysey as it were in the days of the golden yore,freedom,shall speaklustrously from gaol.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-116

And thou amdst this golden folks be coronated in a regalia,regal as juno and lustrous as the impressario,Magnifying well its glory,if there be triumph in the golden battle of the bulge with thy men at arms,Why then didst they sweet vision's charm abstinence foams like detergent?Now which way shall they turn,over this exacting exalt of malignancy?Their execrate humongous,expostulates undaunting and expostfacto factitious,Freedom is fugitive their fahreinheit will not freeze,And still this fagged out of old faggots,hardly licker fag end of the impending slaughters," Pathos" they exclaimed but extrapolate did the touch with a tenth foot pole, and longing fantasia with a barge pole!When clanger erupts,do they not relish?And so mischieviously in that blister,they fauxpass with glee,fathomless! What vicarious custom whose hostile walls fenced by rays of raidingbanditry,femmefatales,dissident folks,mutineers,and the fifth columnists,refrain headlong fall,And this refrain,evidenced by its festivity's unbroken girth.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-115

See,how sweet vision keeps off pyrhic victory and time's tarry where there but kingly stratagem welded from the loins and palms of automagnetic bossom,O sweet vision plenipotentiary of freedom,thou didst bash-less plight thy troth with her and thy kinsmen endear'd to thy ploy,These limped limbos whereo we litter,never can literateur fest like a litterlout,nor lissom not what is loath'd without bruises, O Alupluto,o Alupluto,this miasma of logarythmic muddle-bath shows theemashy unripe,That thou mayest not sate to stale,unfair roses,resillientlummoxes,round leather lottery of longwinded low comedies,of ludicrous ludos that adorn the periphery,the metropolis and its seedy spring,Is it ubiquitous,this graceful steps,lurking upon the golden sands of time?This lovely caves of enchanted pits,hung over a thousand narks,hath hollows meteors lined as meteoric rise make them shallow,If itself be martyrs,sweet vision knight them,knight these roses from bleeding earth as forward violets,And this folks,history glorifies

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-114

Hail but earnestly sweet vision with those fair lips of symphonious rhapsody,Though mine not being mortal to make,yet are foundries of silvermoon that the budhist wraith being its endowment can give,Then gallantry shall be thine coat of arms and bind thy feet and girdle as well as peripatetic conquest,With what gong will thou be heard and gourd greedily drinks?What garrison seest thou in that dreamland city or the ground to muscle thy musculature,with thy men at arms,thou shouldst not abhored,Hold thy fort starry nights,stay in thy sweet vision,pin back therethy ears to turn back the horrible hands of perilous times and beholdthis modus viviendi thou shalt not ride its pillion piggyback,Then why not sweet vision given its salvation powers from obscurityand freedom,since apposite plastic arts barely defy the platinum and emerald edges, Art thou ashame to glister?Then go to brasstacks and pleach again,freedom keeps its oaks where there arebut sweet vision,and sweet vision forever keeps off its pyrhic victory

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-113

Can thy right hand with thy wit densely apposite seize the muddy-mutatis mutandis cast upon its aspersion?Then boo thyself,be of thyself an exponent of naivety ridiculed,O how narcissism of sweet vision,so narcissus,salvage thee the agony of psychotic bruises to steal thine own freedom and thy kith and kins,with great tremblings as thy men at arms forsook epicure to be birthed at its swashbuckling brook,That in this pent up open letter'd sonnets thou mayest not overruled openmindedness not fairly wanton to ochestrate this trigger ounces,Overthis alterating menace,hath it indeed hung its plunge intoto,all the mystical pantheon of this most maligned sweet vision,And not merelyonly for this purport hath oracle of time been erudite tosport alongside with its parrots wielding parotcry,but also alongside the parodists and the fatalists to jest this churlish insignia ofthe parsimonious perimeters of its coagulants,yet were pesky,to ridiculously adorn the pestiferous festoons,Of such emblem,plead thee be not proud.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-112

Not densely infringed infraction or like an improper fraction of an impropriety,with heavily protuberances and long impregnated providence,Danc'd upon by imprimaturs and yet no friction footing seen;frogmarch is a frizzle of sweet vision compendium of revolutionary imprimaturs,not gripe to hooha and hoeys but on the hoop,hook,line and sinker that will not sling one's hook,Then modulate this scam thy primrose bank and expunge whereon this monotonous hilts they lie,this concoction of impuisant bastinados,these shadowless moors,will through the motion go motheaten,From sunrise to sunset even the motley of the beguiling sport,frogmarches endear thee,Is freedom so windy a vanity,a prisoner of conscience that it cannot free,that thou shouldst greedily fathom and may it free?Then thou shouldst think it scanty to trigger sweet vision's charm and hence mollify with salvation earth?Is thine own grail feet not amply plumpy to betray this multifarious but mountainous bank of muddle-bath and muffled neurosis At Alupluto.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-111

Not contrite with its contrition,coldheaded and hardly cop a plea,yet still cop it,Not greasy,gritty to the teeth but barely grizzle,gravy,obstreperous but not to gripe with grist to the mill,grotesquely,ineluctably not the groggy infantryman at this juncture thy jumping off whereon jinks might get rid of junk thee,Then mightest thou thee this inculpate incubus infested,for then were not thee kaput,But then having this guille that wrinkles,why didst thou abhor moult?Thou still canst not thyselfbe freed from its instigated wrinkles,in thy sordid cheeks;Over whichthy insouciance defies inspectorate quotient,insurgent feet are gray chalks and barely to all intents an internecine and blatant interdict of intelligentsia,Of inverse proportion as the gimcrack spring doth inviolably grow,my velvet impalpable impale,were it mortal thy attrition felt,Would in thy implosion impious or seemingly impishly and implacably importunant importunating,Bid thyself this impinge of impiety or like an impunity trip upon imputation.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY.SONNET-110

Mortals temperate or intemperate over this altitude and ambrosia hardly ever strife and decked with the apostasy,Sangfroid archetypical argent enrobes weaklings,mortals saith it is immoderate,immodest and sometimes as it were innumerable times flee constriction of its durress,What follows this consternation,they murdered with stampede,with that blot on their copybook,cockscrewed and corrosive,Behold now how it will savethee from the crane of tangled web,so fastened to its automagnetic dew in its crenelated crescent,Pure chirpy,pure cricket,pure sand of article of faith assay'd cricketeers,pitched with theblazing fire from its crimson'd sky,Which crooned infamous infrequencies of its automotive magnetism that cruises like crystal gazers presaged misty cloud and the wits'end of a riverbank,addendum to the sea,What affront of august seasons drowned at seas,of the nebulous sky batterings,she is born with same frangibility as mortals and in the ministry of action is much slower than time itself,an logic inference

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY.SONNET- 109

Then with her consort of the winter street and its constriction,to lay the milestone and rhapsodizes the sacredmaze and golden nuggets of time,a coagulant,wherein its mutation seeks and ploughs;o how the sanctity of time,is mated with sacrilegious clutches and clutter of sweet vision,cocked to clutch at the misery of time and hence knock its cock-a-hoop into a cocked hat,at the brevity of motherwit,time cannot save thee if it be not forpounces of stratagem and if be notfor plaindealings in this plaintive plane,nothing succeeds likesuccess and something fails like failure and both on the burrowing fields of time,are timely orphans that only sweet vision beyond its gavel could sequestrate,her plainsailing cannot ignore and with this compliment compulses her oracles to the concave concatenate of sweet vision,Over this composite altar,hath it hung its lance intoto,all the pantheon of sweet vision,And not for this sake hath it been learned,to sport with parrots,brandishing parrotry to jest this churlish ensign.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY.SONNET- 108

O why chapfallen,if its purport be not slavish and clanger'd?If it be not clanger'd 'neath this claymore mine,if it be smashhit,was the tender glory, which cinched and clean-limbed in a circadian ryhmic clangour of naivety pokes,With thy classconsciousness,not to for once jest Karl Marx's class struggle,beyond clarts and claptrap,clap eyes on silvermoon,This cleft,clingy and sturdy as the cam of the camshaft,a cloister clipp'd for a walk above the plank but frosty,they the coldblooded pyrates routed,If thou wilt slay sweet vision,thy charm for glorious manhood,shall have been slammed and butchered,if thou wilt slave sweet vision and its manacles,thy gravy trains shall forever be obliterat'd,O sweet vision in thy county lays apotheosis,o sweet vision,thou borough of rhapsody at thy concert pitch,stolid vale burns with silvermoon,coarsed dampsquib with the agony of the beneath,Doth not a dint quench the constellation of its galaxy of stars ferocious burning of the bluesky with its platinum and emerald torches.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY.SONNET- 107

O how this sweet vision mated with kingly stratagem delightest me to dwell,a rod to which my cam is fastened,What a jewel of camshaft in the golden oddysey to ride above damp squip piggyback,being vociferous with the companiology of thy automagnetistic cavalry,borne me hardest a verve to wade and being jubilant with candour,above the canard of contemporary adventurers,What a capacious caparison!And this homage with which it paid reverence,do i care a damn of its carreen electromotive impulse,the cardinal fort of automotive force to which nature is capapi'd,When sweet vision endears at its conjugal bed and enters through the door enrobed in this straw of her rainment hung over this crankshaft and its cavalcades of hardihood and philology,lay the knighthood of oddysey's cauldron andthe cavalry,then Mt.everestas mt.olympus will to thee listen'd to thy oracle and the celerity of its catholicity,over this champ at the bit lay in chains the insularity of the dreamland's carteblanche,Why chapfallen,o Why Chapfallen?

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY.SONNET I06.

O sweet vision in its sweet candour beyond compare frightfully frigging home my silvermoon,Now look in thy sweet vision and frisk thy tongue twisting laser beam in thy apologia to pay homage to the oracle of time,And to thy hardihood be crowned with a garland of gallantry,of frigging boats berthing ashore its seabank,and in this esteem thou shalt thy hat earnestly doffs,O sweet vision how glorious thou are,how glorious herald in thy stunning vale,ensconce plays whose pile of funereal shadows,canst not its fringe benefits gainsay,the burning fumes at the burning metropolis,may have gone up in smokes,innumerable times beyond reminicence,And the pinnions of the backward violet may have deepened even its hollow track,salvation earth trigger might not be dismayed when sweet vision,with thy forward violets at the pallor streets sings,O sweet vision is not sweet when not mated with gallantry,tis gallantry with the bonquet of flowers be plaqued as triumphant as jubillant as the old sleigh bells,in its roll of honour

NIGH THEE - NIGH THEE. Part 2

about thy becoming's nuggets,much more about thy flying wings,and all about thy darts 'gainst the walls of hostilities,So much about thy fortitude,What magic tricks and sleight of hands do you require that nigh thee,within thee didst abhor? Wake up you shabby,sleazy sleepy head and be not slewed at the slope,beneath this slice of life. That bliss smacks above the slough of despond,when innermost within thee submerged,a spanking spew of'nigh thee's bespoke spigot,for all men will kiss their verdict by their own hands,Look not for help,in alien lands and help therein you cannot get,They jest with posterity when they these entreaties galore,they make,godforsaken they bleed and then when obscene guerdon spanks,stand in stupor googleeyed,to spot them vile,slothful sport,strengthless birds blotting the sky,Each leaning on thy innermost worth much more than a lifetime of hellish struggles, See how the friction runs wide even so alarming amidst the literatis andsomeday we might all be nihilists,martyrs of'nigh thee

NIGH THEE - NIGH THEE Part one

Nigh thee as nigh thee immutable as the morning sun,would in thy womb,eternity drunk with thy nectar,there is neither night nor morning,neither yesterday nor today to be whisked into posterity, Now is eternity and forever eternity and nigh thee not farthest plunged from thee.Nigh thee - as soon as nigh thee flows that streams as the gushing winds,across vale and hill,lakes and aridland,Down within thee as golden crest,All dainties sweet beyond compare,one pearls too many and another golden nuggets,too nigh thee,right there in thy backyard,sancrosanct within thee,not far away,There is a sacred vale,in which thou must headlong fall,And a headlong fall affords thee a headstrong pluck of thy golden nuggets,Long thereafter,thy sinuous fall amidst the siroccos on the sands of sahara,shall with thee be aprised of the sinecur'd sinequanon of thy golden nuggets' pluck,And thou shall be judged of every pluck and its use,shall now with it be distilled aboard;So palatable about golden fleece's trajectory,So auspicious

A NARCISSUS LOVER.PART 7

at the abode and utterances vile,and turning the heat on himself. Sometimes,he slept rough over her mendacity and the roughness of the roughhouse could not curtail them and hence broke the knot asunder.Deceit springs from deceit,nebula breedeth nebula,and where beauty breedeth rashness and ugliness from abuse of gaudying spring over slothful tongue,a nation perishes,and chaos as immanent racio decidendi,may not survive the broken hearted. What clue does this salient salaam portends from the empiricus of this salad days,that thou mayest rationally,a verdict pluck.What obscenity salable from this saloon of hallucination! And yet withhold her lips from this sacred knight of old! No ten mendacities abridge as one verity,nor one long as twenty to sanctify satellites of sacrilege! Being so saturnine,did smother herself with this satirical kisses,scallop'd in scalding hot to scallywag the city square,the scapegoat scalps'tenderbud upon holloipoloi spring from this tempting lips,What scarlet women,what broken homes!

A NARCISSUS LOVER.PART 6

'Waow,travelling in a single mother 's country?' 'yet just a rite for a lass!' 'A lass!' 'Yea.' stonecold he as she laughed hysterically,with risibility fallen down on canvass. 'That shouldest think me heavy for thee where narcissus so froth a salvo myself forsake,Still facial rococo earnestly rivet greedily,flung over this toasting of a roaring trade,how quickly fast apaced thou set this ball rolling and this frollic heart's adore rollick'd thee on the roll of honour and a plaque for thy bravery.Oh,i ve not been rooked.' His detest of laborious lass was instantaneous. At that blooming roseate of the evening sky,his rotund gait headed home,for the roost and muttered on his bed.His plainant was roused by erstwhile spouse's rooks who sequel to their nuptial knot,rode him down roughshod and withheld this knight of old,wherein she above belched so easily and tribulated by its memoirs,barely shown remorse.And so at noontide,this virago did make a comeback and to her consternation,there was rough and tumble

A NARCISSUS LOVER Part 5

Nor would i read thy riot act to still dance barefooted on the appalling sand of mudslinging banks,with such uncommon riparian rights that ripped along with greater ferocity than the pugilistic ring of thy penultimate twains,' ' Bid yourself upon this ringseat to be so enchanted,by divorcee or like a fairy tale heard upon thy navel of wishful thinking,or like a desperado with the rusty and long dishevelled thoughts to run amok its sturdy train.Taste is a stale of all graffitis,of the vilest knight of old,tis the gospel not so gnash,ripen and gross to pluck and reap but the ringside seat where the masculine twains are halfpenny,though ritzily broached rivened,will i not thee send down to the region to beware of roadsense and unravel this gospel?

A NARCISSUS LOVER.PART 4

Nuking this neurosis with the girth of its necromancy,ossifying battered chins with the ounces of its osmosis,sometimes it charms the sunset or the sunset or midway gallivant of the twains,And then like the mastery of a pastime,a pastel of a clopp'd psycho-pasty morphology,leaving him a prisoner of love,in that penumbra of peptalks.Not pent up pennyworth but perforce not pennypinch'd,wherein his virtuous peregrination eschewed,yet was she perforating to his performing arts of peremptory gybes.'Thou canst not see that ravaging venom in my eyes,mine feet are sparkling roadhogs,ready for highway love,whereon mine quartz of love like every twain,turns its frolics into rhapsody,My tiptoeing grandeur being its wings,doth grandly inflexible,mubh rigid like a riffleman firing his riffle,o how fast that riffle is running and doth not bicker my velvet but still burning fremescent bonemarrow,nevertheless thy slanging matches,still not impatient,in thy assymetry,would in thy riot not me rinse down nor would i read the

A NARCISSUS LOVER Part 3

' Why art thou shameless pout?''I have been booed as thou art booed me,though i have wooed and never being wooed,as beffitting of machismo winces.Even so narcissus so thy trigger,by thou thy virago,of a thousand direful goddess of narks,canst not placate,whose sinew,lord of filthy lucres,in its lutarious sands never did absolve,who flirts in every guille,where she quids in every naivety of an epicurean lucre nail biting escapades,Yet hath she been that captive never freed from its wretched blanket of guillotine. And implored her for that which she cannot give,Over this frosty bank,she barely fret and then hardly as navelgazers pleads her ass.He for a morous bank and she a lucre-glot,quivers for lucre,wherein his vouchsaf'd spectre flounders,to once again hung in aloft of a resillient rose.And being flung above this whisk of nambypambi'd necropolis,hath learned to flex at the eleveth hour,over this hanging neurosis and and nerd of amorous necromancy.To sport,to jocose,to funfare andjocund of this amorous bank

A NARCISSUS LOVER Part two

making her cheeks a jocose voluptuary in every jar;And with a rollicking of a teasing fondle,momentously plays this rapturous chess.Upon this mollycoddle,did he her morose cheeks morph like a motley'd morphology.Who being mucky-mucous ducks beyond gripes,as affable rubbicon trigger'd her gravity.So offers he love her,what she herself as weaker sex cannot offer nor fret; But when his intemperate crest and buffers were brisky for commodious wittiness,nor apt to throw in the towel;But his mucillage of the pleadings and statuette of moreish adhesives,cavorting before her,turns his otherwise bungle into mulch.Never did a mudslinging in a lover's dishevelled muddy abbyss plunge,more muff for stale than she flexes for this cirumference of amorous fondle;Her love she cannot see but wrath she can get.He loiters in these muffles,yet her boggy swamp of muddlingings,perpetually mug.'O shameless he-goat' gan he muckily nambypambi'd,she did volley,murks! Tis but a mudslinging stigmatises,still she slaughters contumacity.

A NARCISSUS LOVER. Part one

Mascotly,he pounces on a rudder like a callow.Capitulatedly,would perambulate to overflow the Orchard with green apples.And then being exasperated,retreat to the summerhouse.There,he blissfully switched on the ignition of a ruffle on a laborious lass,with herself at recess,wheezing like a grampus.Still,he masquerades masochism as mere machismo and prettily still a martinet-truant;for to a tensed masonry,she hardly marshals the intemperate with her bogus martial arts.Still is he masculine,still is he mercurial wanton,to merit her mercantile mete.Twixt a middlebrow,still a middened midget,yet better still a middleoftheroad middling.Being milchcow,she loves him milched and sometimes he two steps before her flattery.Starry morn grippled their varicose veins with vista durress and by that misbegotten miscreance,she salivates from his bossom of soft endear,never to drown the misalliance,till he takes miscible with herself,being her missiled mint.Which placid and lutarious frequencies,have modcon'd,making hercheeks

A NARCISSUS LOVER Part One

Mascotly,he pounces on a rudder like a callow.Capitulatedly,will perambulate to overflow the orchard with the green apples.And being exasperated,retreat from the excruciating toil,to the summerhouse.There he switched on his ignition of a ruffle on a laborious lass,with herself at recess,wheezing like a grampus.Still being knackered in her relief,he masquerades his machismo,and prettily still his martinet steel noosed,for to a mashy stonework,she hardly marshals her martial arts,at this mashy pelt.Twixt a middlebrow,still a middened midget,yet better still a middle-of-the-road middling.Being milchcow,she loves him milched and sometimes he before her rig.Starry how mimesis can minion thee,she that mimesis she cannot abhor.And by that scalpel of misbegotten miscreance,she salivates from his soft endear,never to drown this misalliance,till he takes miscible with her missiled mint.Which placid have modcon'd,making her cheeks a jocose epicure in every jar;And with a teasing fondle momentously plays this rapturous

BREATHTAKING-MOTHERWIT

Breathtaking-unbowed chins,supporific flames,a passing streams,A spot gangrened grey tumour,from the seasons' engrossed crucifix,batterring through the darkest clouds, Pensive have i not motheaten,pensive have i not motheaten, Thoughts that outgrow days,days that outgrow thoughts and the gulf like eternity,my pensive mind breathtaking.

THE BALLAD OF ABRAHAM'S SONNET-PART THREE

I aggree."thus with gallantry smilling,he alluded to get rich quick syndrome and the oracle was sealed. His bravado,threw up his fellow friend a Yoruba,who took him down to the herbalist,off his balance,and at some point,interrogated him," Emeka,you were so rash to exchange your life for vanishing wealth.That was too harsh.Dont you think so?"he bombarded him in suspense," My friend,that misery or penury exceed,what i could bear.Let money come,i will find my way and my children would enjoy."he noted with satisfaction.Almost three years Emeka was so rich and had erected eight two stories buildings. He was bounteous with him and showered him with eleemasynery including medicineman.He was fond of countingthe time and seasons,even prior to the death.Intergrity dies,when misery or penury batters the living dead jonesses,Oh we were so lucky when we neplusulstra dances at our ensconce,my brother regains its intergrity,abstemious wight no more sunken,though my sister's frequent adamantine,abide still the darkest hours

THE BALLAD OF ABRAHAM'S SONNET.Part 2

He eats like a gourmet in this darkest hours and with stinking fondle of this art,he did fondle,none stale in his mouth and tummy,Then heypresto,with this juxtaposition,if we contrast,i marvelled at the fallacies of intergrity,in a trying times,By the hood that howling wilderness,without gallantry hurts hence greedily,How come a benign personage looses it and then availeth much less,an etiquette wight,Were this rot in him not exhumed a pussillanimous winces to his pouted misery?Not unlike my brother's clownish sameness pigeonholed and embittered,kicked his hoofs intandem,Intergrity vanishes for those disgruntled elements who have it but battered in times of misery,My elder-sage,my prime racconteur,Baba kwara narrated so touching a tale that i was emboldened to enthuse same about vanity of intergrity,Misery let him down into the world of rituals,at the expense of his,for want of riches,for his progenies,"You will be rich but you live three years and death shall come. Do we aggree?"says the medicine " Yes Sir,

SOUND WAVES Part two

eternity wine presses.See,how we work and we sweat,how we sweat,when we are tired,and how we rest when we are tired,And how tired are we,when we fail to rest, when the waves'tender curls,my intricate hewn carresses,exhaustion flies out of the door,Refreshing,reinvigorating,an art but nature's dose and benediction,wouldnt have been possible without its surgical or caesarean section,recuperating mortal gaunt,What a beautiful dose that nature freely gives with no condition whatsoever,Blowing in reason of the season of the season and out of the season,rampagingthe cosmos,alongside the nature's spirit,waves,blast ofthe wind,sole energy of ontologytitivates them all,The windstorm will not unleash its arts,be itwindswept,windstorm,windward,windtunnel or windiness flexes,without itswinnow of the seasons and battering of windy winepresses agogat the winsome windy-yard,all presses,tilt at its windmills,be it windfall or windgauges,orwindbreak winching at the windy yard,See,sole energy of ontologyflexes at the windyyard

SOUND WAVES- Part one

The sound of the waves was sacred and apalled me on my bed at my low tide,when it began,My intricate hewn carressed by its breeze,fleeting through the windowpane could not alight to evacuate rainwaters fallen from the roofs,for domestic cores,The waves were sacred much more sacred than our gospels and mysticism are,The spring of the ocean resting at the seashore,symphony of the waves like the music of a minstrel and soundwaves of a jazz band,Never heard such a thing before?The soundwaves blast from the serenity of the night,from the serenity of the gulf,The waves blowing at my ensconce,so soft a tender curls,carressing my trembling pawn,i tried in vain to alight and unravel its byzanthinous root,O root of the waves,so sacred,the breath of nature,sole charm of mothernature,strenuous as i tried,i could not decipher,yet mystique blanketing waves of the mind and spirit exceedeth and much mysterious,And lo,blown away my intricate hewn,somnabulist of the night,walking in his sleep,This stronger waves licked........

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-105

Each gauchy cloud cleared in its time,yet for a greater sail supplanted when the clarity is beamed aforth,And nothing i repeat nothing ever changes providence like time,time and patience my greatest warlords,Will thy image not my heavy eyelids battering rams of burden not feel me in?In hope that we might scale distant hills not aversed when even home far away from the forest is safer either,and all entreaties for halcyon days faraway from the marauders'nest fall on deaf ears and hazy feet not derided and ashamed to prowl the misty but forlorn roads,For like thee the watchman watches not,i whilst thou dost repel elsewhere scatterbrains too numb still and be it faraway and nigh all sapiens by etiquette and semblance immutable,To play nightwatchman gladiators,clumped in misty cloud intoto stampede,Yet distant land's silvermoon greedily and vacuously,they in vile fret in vain as if wishes were horses,that beggars might ride.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY: SONNET-104

Will the pebbled shores make wand towards waves or in reverse? Otherwise,so do the birds of passage frisk away livery rapturous to the end,And every tacit transit doth inscrutable fret illimitable,Still In the clamour of toil,doth a vacuous bone contend,The vanishing shadows that ere generation in chaos and infecundity ambiguously contest,regiment once in the briddle of lightning,fiends to distand lands unknown,canst not salve,Where with being silvermoon appogee's boon doth not this contend,Etchinated feet,a glory of transfix'd gaiety,time cannot deny, And still that gave him glamour doth providence barely contend them,time doth silvermoon contest not when flourish is set,to spring it forth,to jewels on laborious soil,worth its salts,Fructiferous heels feed on the rarities of such curios,And nothing ever abide forever,except if it be a ficlkle or a mere fragrance of its old change, And yet to times ever changing prowess,that distand lands,distilled by heavenly moistures,are despatched .

THE BALLAD OF ABRAHAM's SONNET.PART ONE

Abraham was sunken delight,His family was sunken delight too.And his tripple siblings and he not left behind were ravens,excluding his trencherman's little horses,an abstemious sister and brother,"I am not greedy for food,i am not thirsty for water,"so she says but well kept,so he says too but not well kept, Make hovers hear the gouges in his stomach fly,As if contented,may not be satisfied,inconspicuous,ruinate this gesture broadly,but his brisk i kept vigil,Pretense like a coat now drenched with mist barely abscond,Here is a paradox where trenchermen and gourmands flex for brawns,blinking through the furnace,avarice thrives,with grins entrapped beneath a corrosive,Oh my brother may have made this pretence like the good trencherman that he was,an aloft of a day's hunger,not forsaken rebound threw up the avarice in his coat,And back to gourmet like we threesome,fret his tummy,Neither sated Abraham's gripe nor the acerbic binges and ravenous guttural heaves him a sigh of relief from this trademark addiction.

TRANSITION

Brethren,transition,discipleship,husbandry,peripatetic. Your perpetual horse,perspiration clockwise and trojan horses above the jugular.From the golden pearls of youth,epic of the golden morn rises. In that dim style,have i grasped the nettle with the ambiguous shadows. And awry balls not paused but forever nethered. Now turns to no stale as to revert back into the dim.Of obverse of the fiendish obviate and dead throe seabank.And in this obstrusion averted,memory keeps your hope,for nothing like success without mental alertness and preparedness.

HEIRLOOM

"Why are those heirlooms in your vet,o my legatees?How obscene and fine kettle of nemcon to thee obscure this golden nuggets for utter chaos?"O mortgaged posterity balloons the face in the blue sky,Is that why this patchwork so condescending calls thee a goon because it pillaged what smears with sears?O hone!what virtus would elope with the winds because they irretrievably,lost in memoirs?Take not your heirloom through the ragged cloud to elope,my beloved guttersnipes,O hone!what then would you have done when your patrimony by glory thrust upon them who love misty eyes?O hone thy aloft above the caisson and be profiteth greatly from the heirloom of your spirit to avert this fritter banks.

DARKEST HOURS - BRIGHTEST RAYS. PART TWO

And the brightest rays of this golden bough were lifted from the gathering clouds and darkest hours vanished,And saith he out of the ordinary"Golden bough's transit now silvermoon dantiest plucks!"To whom,the folks contrariwise barely objects"We clamour beyond St.blue Queer Street,and now this stolid earth,this blue sky beneath us"But then he says to the pinkiest,"who are you now?"Then this jejuned,oldfoggy oldmaid irrefutably and propitiously juxtaposed himself,"the sordid waves too behind me as we roll and roll for the mutation of the grandest dreams,blinking away darkest hours and bountiful showers avalanche,o brightest ray this stupendious allure,ages implore to decipher thee."

DARKEST HOURS - BRIGHTEST RAYS. PART ONE

Guttersnipes,street urchins who live the despondent hapless moths by the sloughs of the trough,call for a noose,a placebo and a thrust from the edge of the precipice, What a succour from being beaten blue all day and weary by the sun, "With no gazebo and no summerhouse appealing in sight to hide and ease this stress of distress,"a brokenhearted lamented"brightest rays might soon abscond forever from these darkest hours."We crave for silvermoon from this bickering strands of golden bough",Then i observed how come tarnishing troughs were tergivesated and mutated into golden trough.if not for proactive engross of the bald pate,sunken delights may have in this treacherous numb,downright infeasible without pragmatic foolproof of the golden bough's glacebo.This comics amidst a gathering,then the flocks enthused"But how shall we abscond the tarnishing trough without the gazebos of the golden bough.We in this bedevil,flex the last bout of the tarnishing bough to exit the treachery of this howling wilderness."

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-SONNET:103

To every glory not all able spirit can afford,Where victors in silence belch the more for silence boast of temperate beyond this obscurity, When your countenance lack'd matter that enfeebled myth,What farewell art thou too obsessed and disposessed of entitlement,The charter of adophobia gives thee a banished lent,an unrelenting servitude and with a brassy claws indeterminate,So thy silvermoon upon being a state misconstrued gavest its growth,On verdict transplanted on lugubrious earth,at pebbled shores,not fairly acquinted with double vantage,let alone a vantage and a vantage press,such is enticement and a briddle to which briddle,i briddle for long,Saith that thou didst forsake these golden verses in years to comn as to abhor them,And i will speak foul of thy vain trips and erosion of gallantry,over the beloved with no nomenclature whatsoever,And every chant hath its downwind extant humour,whereon it findeth an inquisition,above the gregarious summation for an evidence,But this metrics hardly easy findeth.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-SONNET:102

To clues within thine euphoria of undying and nnwhack'd gusto,Were all cannibalistic cadavers and assymetrical noose,How much more karma's convened thy breach's penalty,If thou couldst brazenly muse' this golden petals of golden roses shall speedily sombre my gnash and arraigns silvermoon,Bewailing its asseverating otherwise by its beguile!This were to be betternoire when thou at thy branded apologia summons,And witness thy irascible perspiration,when thou by ignoble restraint of time fool'st groove at thybabblest cheeks beneath,Where unruly chins in their funnyhaha,hanker brawn,in it be bloodi'd,Findingthy retreat of ample resortwhere you did valliantly,And thereforedreadful art not pacify butmomentum aggression seeks anew,And do so not defying the strained torches when deus'd can unwind,In gross painting through braziered brawn,tender guile not unset,in this poetic brasstacks,inthose impairs doth impute being dumb,That eulogy be sopoured when epochal stones of golden roses so dignifies checkered antecedence.MAYA ANGELOU

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-SONNET:102

To clues within thine euphoria of undying and nnwhack'd gusto,Were all cannibalistic cadavers and assymetrical noose,How much more karma's convened thy breach's penalty,If thou couldst brazenly muse' this golden petals of golden roses shall speedily sombre my gnash and arraigns silvermoon,Bewailing its asseverating otherwise by its beguile!This were to be betternoire when thou at thy branded apologia summons,And witness thy irascible perspiration,when thou by ignoble restraint of time fool'st groove at thy babblest cheeks beneath,Where unruly chins in their funnyhaha,hanker brawn,in it be bloodi'd,Findingthy retreat of ample resortwhere you did valliantly,And therefore dreadful art not pacify butmomentum aggression seeks anew,And do so not defying the strained torches when deus'd can unwind,In gross painting through braziered brawn,tender guile not unset,in this poetic brasstacks,inthose impairs doth not being dumb,That eulogy be so poured when epochal stones of golden roses so dignifies checkered antecedence

Proffessor Abraham Sonnets' Diary- Sonnet-101

If from the fairest creatures we desire increase and heavenly moistures,shall we not also from the vilest creatures desire retrogression and hell?Still did we not desire hell awry spurn machiavell never to die,that thereby maledictive vices might never frolic die to play,But as the sheep at the abbattoir butcher'd his haggard frame might never vaunt this renminiscencs;but thou retribution to thine own hazy eyes,feedest now thy lilliputian but languid frame,with self esteem not leadean'd thy bough,making a blunt and a blandest ogre where the blandest amplitude lies'When all seasons shall beneath besiege thy clumsy steps,And wrestle limbo,trenchwarfare or a dunghill in thy plot,what limbo's gravity,in this field 's amplitude acrimoniuous acuity so sterned now,will be thy allegoried heels of thy piffled cloven hoofs confered,than being famished where all thy beggarly dotes,where all the billly os of thy brazen feet chok'd .

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY -SONNET 30

O hardihood,may my silos and vats overflow with thy treasure troves and wine,Why would they nag in their wilderness,another adonis own soiddissant fleece,whose bossom is not endear'd to them by heart?And sometime weep foul of the long lost fortune since forlorn palter,for palmy days abode to paper over the cracks.Now, adophobia by its prejudicial panorama,panopli'd at hazy storm their panjandrum,Moan not empiricism when thou embark thy plangent plantation,on tortuous journey,so plaguey still canst not brawn,Tis thougrievances,presences of absences grieve greedily fornlorn sail as forgone raid,Is hardihood so priceless,a plaything that thou mayest not itch at its yonder hills' opalescence and glory?Of the nearest and dearest gladiators,not say a dicky bird,even with voice like a foghorn,at the riverbank,relish assays to yonder shores,The posture of ladylike behind their ladyship,languour and lacuna,not for once lament'd,But behold with pedagogue,trumping minnows,hardihood can salivate and leapfrog thee.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-SONNETS 29

My latch shall not me flex to jettisson,So long as bibliocrazy and those its kindred in my bossom lay and date,Butthen in thee sevile,time's frivolities i abhor,Then gaze i in quietus,its lusty vertex should deplete,For all that aesthetics,that dost thee huggermugger,hue and cry,Is but a huffily huff of adophobia,overtly and covertly pronounc'd,Which in thy fathom,doth abide as mine erstwhilegroove;How can i then be overzealous,than these howls of howling wilderness,like that mammoththat throngs on hungermarch,I therefore admonish, adophobiac be of thyself,thy hovel so wary,Gliding in windy sail which i willbedesecrable nor in my bossom lies,As atender bud,my hollow bearing from overbearing mirth,far'd not headlong,Presume not on thy howlings,when mine fowling piece unlike thy blunderbuss andbarneys,tearjerker'd,whereas preys galore,migratory birds shot i they beneath,She gavest her whole bag of tricks at their apotheosis,O hardihood thou gavest thyself to that appoged my vertex,and all treasures trove mine

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- SONNET-28

That mug's game,fully known too well to be antiquat'd,And lo! the muddlehead'd mugwump in that trailblazer of lifelong trenches hibernates,O sinecure thou art no good o sinecure,They palpitate,still throng still palpitate,In detest of flying colours whereon the wobbling feet by sinecure plies,But since they prickly with windy verdict,That stampede,that for a force majeure,as an fait accompli,a tenthfoot pole pingpong plays,Mine own keystone beyond this masquerade flagellates,To kibbosh this vulgar trudge of valeditudinarians,and of misfire,And the kidgloves'ranting of the loung lizards,So is it that heaven's moisture flees,Who laser itself for emboss and bespokes doth latch, And every unfair roses,who trods landmines,with its foulplays,doth this lassitude and rehearse still bickers,To what thou art given thyself as slave,to that prissy,lay a squandarer,thy heirloom sticks greedily.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- SONNET 27

Winces.A wight's winces with naturewit's own cleavages of pendulous pleas,Mine being incongruous with that wit's end,And loop with the sinecure,whereon to shun the streets,where the lion trods,Hast thouthe lucky dip mastery of my malinger,o that adophobiac wraith!A shrinking violets'sheepish clothing,Who lives in the fig of imagination,Rather than the headlong saddle prowl plunges,To bring home the bacon right the lion's den,With the unsteadi'd pendulum worn as robe as is falsity of a filial-like-piety,Basking infalse pretences,with adophobia much more bloody than its rolling moss,Will that riffl'd barrel be shot,with its machinegun nest?Oh no,a riffle varnish'd by adophobia,canst no go beyond its rifflerange and trigger naive of riffleshot,let alone a trajectory above the rift valley,Be in dexterity or in ropey plain,that mortifying rosebud of an adophobiac,cannot by transmogrify endears,And then mountainbank,muggins take solace beneath rift valley,To loop for a relief to the golden fleece,that mug's game...

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- SONNET-26

O that you were briskier,not to sow on badlands,to kick up a shindy,with mushrooming dividend, A babel in backwaters,that barely reproof to bring home the bacon,Beyond sweet compare shouldst not like a bagatelle flimsy badger nor its bailliwick ballyhoo'd, And your barracks,barage and barney's subconscious bask,baubl'd with bated breath,So should that thy beachcomber,which you fret in vain,Belicose under siege that you werebestir'd alongside its vulgar path of the vulgarians,Yourself betide bickers,billious binges,with blackmagic that dost theblackguards as the dickens,blanch'd,When blighters' pout,your blimey's expectant shouldst crease,Who let so much pang of mischiefs in the air,Which stormy winds beyond consort,not bleeding that maketh a mockery of its ballyhoos,In castrate of this blindspot,that so greedily cringest, O nothing but the thrifts from this blindfold of blindman's buff,be told and not blithe,What bogstandard and that meanness can not persuade a bolthole to him salvage,O you had not a moult.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 25

As fast as thou shalt go,sofast thou growest esquely plow,When i do lustre the blue funk that hoodoos the bounties of time,And melts and erodes the palmy days projectile instinct,mir'd in starry night engravure,When in i behold the shrinking violets'holocaust of hoohas and bilous hoopla,not past its sullen prime,And tender'st churls all sinew'd over mirth of mortal heels;When lofty trees,in the forest of blue funk,i benign not,hoop'd and hoodd'd withdeciduous trees, Which ersatz fromappalling did its tentacle,canopy suffuse,And summer's greenand evergreen fields defi'd,in theirturgid colours of rainbow,went up in smoke,Borne on a caisson and oasis hanging with pulsating hilly beans,and briskier escapade so naive to sofrosty in the jungleof vicious eremite of escutcheon'd ergs,Then of thy moult do i froward lather,That thou among the prodigals of time,might tentatively persist, Since vices upon vicesmusculatur'd by vices in bucaneerof farago of vices do themselves not forsaken,then contend'st speak nothingness

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS DIARY-SONNET 24

Not A Valedictory To Moult.Unlock'd the diet,unlessthou at a tangled knot tangential,get a moult,For Funkyfrith thou bear'st saliva and marrowto douse its storm,Who for thyselfpays greedily art so string'd to boomtown,not amply leverag'd,Unleash thy art,if thou wilt,for thou art more ambidextrous than the throng's headlong saddle crumple to condescence tis folly of this tarnishing stigma,But that thou so alabaster purblind,that none moult is necessity,Having been purloined by this byzanthinous monster, That'gainst thyself moult as moult bold'st ride and ridicul'd,Valeditory bode that contemptuous roof thatch'd,still bash'd to crumble,Which to blushing sands of renege,shouldst be the emblem of lutarious lusty vertex,O funky frith,no blue funk thy blue funk,that in the flight of rash ego,i may fortune still my blinding kismet,Shalt beingunfairer,ramshakled with bad graces,than a good sailor,Maketh thee halt in disrepute,for the time's impetuous blue funk rigmarole is no excuse,to fortune,for crave of hardihood

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 23

Apocalypse.To be blue funk,cock crow's conquest,that maketh a norm of the living earnmorning sail and triumphant hills far away refrain,Lo! in the cosmopolitan junkets,when gracious palms alight with its booverboots,Burning under wiseacr'd physiogonomy,not creas'd,Doth homage paysto the seer of the apocalypse,Notgrand amputee of the apocalypse,that karma bone's infection canst not salve,O timely apocalypse saveth thee adophobia,the cleft of time's fury and the intergrity of time, Of the fainthearted simpletons,servile in their inglorious majesty,Melifluous cymbals dainty tohear and harmony to dance its tympanum balls,And owlish eyes withits goblet,not motheaten,clamouring triumphant hills,Plays the apalling chess into thy salvation trottle,Let it be shown thee its shovels with the wreckages of times in its adorn, Like contagious eyes,they frittered away,tentacles of glorious herald,Its hideous pilgrimage the fainthearted loungelizard,indifferent to vanishing point plows,Let in apocalypse of the old greybeard

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 22

Moult Thy Cross.Then let not contagion's rugged but pennorth gangrene,deflower'd even its hilly beans,In thee thy windy storm,ere thou be distill'd,Make thee beyond sweet compare;whose treasure some bibliocractic throng flocking,With ken's treasure;ere it be still self-sequestrat'd,That inferential inference for the fatuous infantrymen and the lay is a profound treasure trove,Not forlorn usury,which amortis'd usury with which darts forth fire of shrinking violet's wraith is dous'd;That's for thy hood to infiltrate its itsybitsy,Or a worse hit wieldier,be it itchy feet in trenches, If brash tide of an aggravated case scenario reconfigure thee,Then what could that apparition do,if thou shouldst not moult,draining thee pinkish and thee bland and stolid in karma?Be now,self distilled from fractional to acatalectic,for thou an art as ass,far too unfair,To be foible's damnable relics and maketh thee a noxious jetty for a jettison,Then moult thy cross,let not advantage slip.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 21

Sacred Homiletics.Those homiletics that with genteel work of art,did by time sculpture,The abiding forest where every adherent doth adhere,Will play moult to this burning gales of achilleels heels browbeated censure,And that unfair roses,in the unfairest wedge of rudderless shore,which unfairly doth primrose bank,For never a wasting venom,so leads to its gangrene,To vicious dusk and confines infections there,Sag checker'd with undrawn pedagogue and pebbles of its pedantic cobwebs gone quite vacuous,Viles overshadow'd brink and inestinguishable ubiquitous:Then were not every artistic distillery gone vapid,facile and factitious,A contagious element,inextricable,in the metropolis of gregarious flocks, Contagion's impulse,with effect as embankment were encumbered,Nor it quarrantined,nor it sequestrate its presumptious volleys what they were,But a handful of gather'd flowers,distilled though with winds blow,Lease but their arts: still blands beyond compare.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-SONNET-20

Dread For Dread.Is it for dread to dread the windy dread,that dread for dread,mightest thyself dread dread for dreadin a pouted dread verily dread?In boloneys,if thou be clueless,shalt harp to slave and then die,The cosmos then will they their passion clamourtrigger'd,O how vile is time o howtime is vile,where as guille theplanet will thy detest joyous sings,That which none boon melody and her filthy lucre,mightest they sing thee to titivate public ovation;when compared to the arbiter's lyrics of gilded league and gnomes'purple birthrendition?When every dread flight,widow'd thy jingo frame,May salivate nescient ego,even without its concord,Be not waned with this medley of homiletics andepistle,even on the eve of thy long moth eaten sullen transmogrify,Be as thy presence be,know thyself and dread for dread by lease of arts,shall no flight be,thou mayest as a bibliomaniac,with bibliocrazy feedeth thy blank psycho,when thou from this folly greedily convertest,If all were so steel minded,then time's fury ceases

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 19

Of mischief,of mischance,of karma and of machiavellian primrose,Of that bromide,which doth barely by oft a prognosticate,toconjecture vain winds in hell unknown and heavenward farthest shore find,If from thyself thyself marrooned writ thou wouldst not covet to convert,Otherwise thee in purblind perpetually shorn,Yet callus'd hands intemperate,in this grail benight'd refrain avaunt,Tis gaunts and crocks in their beguilling sap,at hellish dunghill blustery crispy,To gavel palmy days with a Abel's pot of porridge,for a lifelong wheelchair of casuistry,of wobblingfeet astrayed in trenches with its captive audience,Muchfrostier than a surfeit counterfeit of arts,its twin brother,Who will then be versifi'd in its poetry lines and lo,sequestrate its huts from this vast hordes of shrinking violets?If the sickos,an anthropomorphic city square,were made bland with the nebulous dreamland of yonderhills,tarnish'd with most dread'd memoirs in sight,then six of the best strokes bevelling its predated shall dunghills be

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 18

That so much glistening bravura and gallivanting hoofs of treacherous traipses ahead,Which ushers in a gemstoned procession,a truest colours of time's rainbows,That ambly ambit of palmy days in the brew,be not hideous night that brassmonkey'd starry morn,Then of brawny gallivants and brevity of birds of passage,do i not witha bargepole interrogates?O thatyou were time's slavish ado,but bristly you are pugnacious of itsflurry and fang of fugacious fugacity,Not bat an factious eyelids,being so facile to fritter flurry whereon all mortals beneath time's paroxysm calf,creases,and thereafter quietus impounds,Trumped with this ignition of ignition key,so sound shall the lease of time's use, optimal reckons and beckons of every passing wind,Who lets so forth in fairness its bridgehead and not rot to decay with time,O not you had a chaste,let not your winces say otherwise,And not from the morsels of time,do i my instinct pluck,But from the mishance it grooves,it is this misshap its riotous bestows in its windy sails

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- SONNET-17

As fast as thou shalt dread,so fast in the pits,thou cringest,In weariness,weary tides thineself weari'd from that which thou squeaky clean pulses,And that whole bag of tricks,that necklaced bah,which so cuddingly bestowest,Thou mayest not wield the bigsticks with brassy bowls of bigotry,when thou thy transmogrify earnestly craves,Herein hibernates to unleash willpower of benign naturewit,Without this stupor of blockheadedness and ill-wind blustery,not a rot of a bolshi'd bloke endears,Let thosewhose naturewit hath not roses rapin'd,for bollocks and booverboots,Brash tide but brassy,notof intemperate bravado,rashness and a feckless decrepit sedulous palms, Which bounteous bravura with eleemosyneries,thou shouldst not bounty reap,let alone sow,guerdon of a priceless hardihood,Andthen impromptu cadence,carve thee a niche that thou mayest to it stuck be,But still counts as the clock,not to let down avaunt tothine girdle clicks, Even still in the stable,endanger'd species,birth and breeding blushes not its brawns

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 16

Look in thy dread and utter thou censure to its visage slander'st, Now is the desideratum that time to the froward not mend;Whose salient hardcore if now thou not knowest hardihood plays its chess, Thou dost then renewest smartness unless some smother perpetuates,For where is hardihood so unfairest trudge,whose heathen'd womb,perseverance desecrates,Pointless the pofaced of the wranglings,Or is he bereft of hardihood,will he barndoor hit,hardcurrency buys,Of pastyfaced pat and reviles,where violet repudiates to numb thy barndoor?That thou art thy subservient slave cringes and slaves'wraith in thee succumb,So thou through saga of salad days thine senile shall see,Time is no time,when not reviled,tis time is no time's fool when beneath it be not ridiculed and plaudits poured, Within sphere of unthrifty holliness abound,where hardihood is a damn deadweight fugitive and saddlesore like an alumni on the rusticate,So vilous art palmydays vamoosed its esplanade of hideous winter as all seasons,So Vilous awindysail

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-SONNET 15.

When shrinking violets'locusts and holocaust thereafter shall besiege this plow, And horror-dunghill entrapped in thy burrowing fields, Thy speculative's spineless embankment,so gauchi'd on its spindle,Will be a traduc'd spiral of perambulating tintinabulation spirit'd,Then being speculated where all thy puntings and sweapstakes lie,Where all the curios of thy slanging matches,To spin within thy own achilless-frosty trods,Were an odyssey of tearjerker and derail of sunny times,How much traduce poureth on thy beauty by time's nebula,if thou couldst refrain'this biles of unfair shrinking violets'cluster, Shall squemish my jingo frame and my nethermost machinegun nest, That dost guille nimbus for my blushing scorn,These frangibilies were to be odorous odyssey when thou art senile,gravely karma cringest,And seeth a slander of a haunting violet,where thou art far away from golden fleece,If thou couldst not sequestrate thyself from its happygolucky hangovers,barndoor hit afar stareth thee foul in the face.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-SONNET 14

From the fairest foul,the meanest trite to the most unfairest plunge,Funky frith-blue funk's St.blues pillories,each mortal's hanker,sleets from its fury,That naturewit's rivet whereon ascent might never weary be,But as the reaper did by time recompense,Its tender but ferocious sledgehammer might reminiscence slanging match bears,But thatsleight,not slapdashed slander'd sleeky slather to thy hazy eyes impuissant,Slammer'st thy slacken'st heels,with self-libation slingshot,Slumbering a soldiery where solecism,soidissant solicits,Thyself thy sonorous gaunt tothy lethargic scold,thyself too greenhorn,Thou that art now planet's smirchiest shrub,only to be smitten by its gauchy cloud,That thine own shallowest bud,within thygaudy sprout,busiest contents, And fritterest churl that makest tender'st churl be now reproof fromits banging reproach,To ply gluttonous spasm of the grav'st time,that entreaty beseech spangled cobwebs to be exploited, Be thattender bud,that thou mightest a shrinking violet molasis fret not

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- PART 13

When i have seen that that my thatched roof against the storms that fadeth not defaced,The shrimp shrewish hurled in smithereens,and interred in forlorn ground,And unflagging and unfixed,and noble but novel raiment,my grandiose passion wears,That in this sickbay and on this sickbed,of a sickielike loungelizard, When sometime shun towers and illbred esplanade tis benefice i see, And brass sinuous slavish to shrinking violet simulates, When i have seen a mere hilly beans,verily,verily transmogrify, Or nesciency itself confine a mammoth into sickos of a lifelong wheelchair,O thraldom why art thou cruelty cruel and impenitent atrocious,that singleton of a decay,rot and rapine,O that time will not save,but slavish when volition in obsession willeth rot,This blasphemous vile,shrinking violet muddy shrouds and earthpit,it cannot abscond,Shall live in rumble and jungle,that disjointthunder and thunderstruck,Whereon rapines of mincious eschatology immanent,Yea but rambunctitious though to quell o let violet depart.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-PART 12

Is it in thy wraith that thou friskiest kindle enkindle, Like a St. Elmo's fire,kindled in a stormy seas, So shall the glorious herald and triumphant hills ' benign graces be, Of winces of golden heart wherein shadows at his feet flees,chant salaam to cheerful earth, This shear shorn,keeps fortune and gilden boon away, But to the nightwatchman,audacity did his frenzied temple condescend,That fastens that which keeps buoyed at length with midnight oil perspicacious burning in noctunal regalia,Within shoreline protuberances,sleeky shockwaves bonemarrow threatens,Mine eye awake,when automagnetic waves aplomb,my brassy mettle felt, To neuter my automagnetic thrust,though not been impuissant;for that which i am,i shall be, That that unbriddled nerves,that kismet canst not castrate,to garrisson that which i have,i shall be, Against that automagnetic nerves,that that which has been,shall be, Against my automagnetic trudge that which shall be,am i not bound to be?

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- PART 11

O that kismet forbideth thee to dubiety's circumvent, Not to hang limpidly to its atrophy but unearth thee of poltroon purgatory encrust, That frothy,ungraceful limbo of arts,that made thee its first slave, Still in purblind,a purloin of one's own grandest gemstone for a lopsided modus viviendi, That gem at your consort cannot control, O time art he thee imprisoned and mayest not free thee,That it be in your rainment,of rains and sun, And charter groans against drowning shores, O that rancour that ransacks in a rankle , O time thy gem ,art fled thee lustre ,when thou art imprisoned in thy willpower,The price of liberty o poltroon,thraldom which impounds behind gaol,afford thee not,to pay, O time's a sagacious sailor,ride thee rot a sainthood a good sailor,That thou mayest not bat a heavy eyelids tis the weary wight unwelcomed, But now maketh a harlot of verity a mischievious who sails the winds,the unsteady ship in nefarious oceans.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-PART 10

If there be poltroon polychromatic in thy sinew,But that which thou hath stumbled,thou shalt again stumble,The pricey prestidigitation of a prickly gorse,O that that thraldom could with a prig primly defied, Even as witness of proselytes,propitious of its thraldom freedom,Adore not the puppet,the puppeteers in his puppetry,Since punctilio at punk,in booboos was done , That i might punt,what the hysterical punter could,To this puppylove of your haggard passion whether we are punctillious punctured or whether pungent they or whether resorgimento,punchdrunk be the same, O surety lies,that i am the quest,the queer of the springtide, To context mean,has quilled pungent quibble, Into the farthest seas,wherein skepticism and skeptics abide,Wherein they barely cast aboard dubiety, as impending consignment,yet still the ship capsized.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-PART 9

Then Time is not time tis its inveigled be not ridiculed,Time is not time's fool,that it be ripped off by its mortal trickster,Though thraldom by procrastinates and cheeks of rosy lips endear,Within deadluck fathomed,that deadhand postulate of jetsam's mirth frenetic games,Within this deadloss,barndoor hit compass canst not rouse and grovels,Then this claustrophobia as agoraphobia ,debouch! o debouch! o debouch! That thou mayest debug achilles in thy tendentious intumescence,Time is not time's fool that thou mayest a deadluck be,bluebeaten to impinge its arts,Of the art of paroxysm,of the paroxysm of fury,of the fury of karma, that thou its debonair wreath sing, If this desultory be not writ,then this wit be not loved, And if this deskill be desolate,upon this numb, Be it reproof,be it paradigm's shift,then desicate,O desicate,thou desicate,then desicate,o desicate.

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM DIARY'S SONNETS-Part 8

That thou mayest ravest within and feedeth with wind aboard like a raven,that doth bucket and buckle to survive,those procrastinates i prior have wit,writ to quietus,doth frond,let me not to the barricade of bolshie,bolster my tacky chin,Betide a betternoire betook my girth and assemblage,bestiality beneath but bestir a lion's spirit not its den but farthest afield,Stress is not stress as tide is not tide as salvo is not salvo,when not fired,Which cajoles byzathine and its immanent aspersions,not abscond askance and aftermath,O no it is no affable wield,to countersink procrastinate, That gazes on tacky feet and is not pang groaned,Starlets in trenchwarfare,starlets in trenches sunk,in a wanderlust gripe,Whose worth of time ridicules eclat of effect,apriori to posteriori.

SELFLESSNESS- PART 3

Selflessness is an uncommon virtue and history cannot be forgotten without memoirs about Madiba's contribution to live and breathe life,into this virtue.This is strange ethos in the continent where most leaders would have changed the constitution to enable them run for second and if possible unlimited terms.In lowliness and meekness,esteem others better than yourself and in the words of Lao Tzu,we must endeavour to erase our ignorance.He wrote:Be gentle and you can be bold;be frugal and you can be liberal;avoid putting yourself before others and you can become a leader among men'Can you see that?So,the act of selflessness is bred in the act of denial and sacrifice and requires empathy,compassion,humanism,selfdiscipline,self control and patience which take time to breed.Selfless encourages you to fight against greed and abuse of power,fight aggainst institutional injustice and brutal oppression.Little wonder,he was reported to have repeated many times that courage was not absence of fear but triumph over it.

SELFLESSNESS-PART 2

of pressure on him to take the challenge.He said and i quote: My installation as the first democratically president of the Republic Of South Africa was imposed on me much against my own advice.' The book was compiled by Nelson Mandela Foundation from his personal letters,interviews etc,contains a foreword by Barack Obama. That is selflessness at its peak and can onlybe found in a selfless person like that. He said he would have prefered to serve in that govt.or ANC without taking any position and that was why he served one term five years.The question is;how can a man who served his people wholeheartedly and was imprisoned for 27yrs unjustly,some served at the Robben Island,could stoop so low to allow another man to share his own glory.Even God as they say,will not share his glory with any man,but mandela did that until he was forced to take his glory.What a ridiculous statement but it was true because,he said it himself.The world is full of evil and manifold atrocities today just because selflessness is dead

SELFLESSNESS-PART 2

of pressure on him to take the challenge.He said and i quote: My installation as the first democratically president of the Republic Of South Africa was imposed on me much against my own advice.' The book was compiled by Nelson Mandela Foundation from his personal letters,interviews etc,contains a foreword by Barack Obama. That is selflessness at its peak and can onlybe found in a selfless person like that. He said he would have prefered to serve in that govt.or ANC without taking any position and that was why he served one term five years.The question is;how can a man who served his people wholeheartedly and was imprisoned for 27yrs unjustly,some served at the Robben Island,could stoop so low to allow another man to share his own glory.Even God as they say,will not share his glory with any man,but mandela did that until he was forced to take his glory.What a ridiculous statement but it was true because,he said it himself.The world is full of evil and manifold atrocities today just because selflessness is dead

SELFLESSNESS-part 1

Selflessness is an uncommon expertise of the heart,mind and spirit and it is beyond what the body language can speak.When selflessness is grossly lacking in a mordern society,it will be a hell of a place to live and compassion like love is dead where selfishness as a moral virtue is exalted.Life is unfair and unequal where compassion is dead and rather than pays the true price of freedom,man is enslaved by its own undoings of moral decadence.He who is determined to clean the augean stable,this excreta must he scavenge and then the path of freedom,he attained by sacrificing his life and energy for his freedom. In one of the books,published before his death,Nelson Mandela the great antiapartheid campaigner noted he never wanted to become the president of his country.But rather preffered a younger person to mount the saddle as the first postapartheid blackruler.In the book;'Conversations With Myself',that he wasforced to accept the mantle of leadership by African National Congress( A.N.C.) leaders who put a lot

HOLLOWNESS-Part one

The hollow space of the mind,the coefficient of the jungle,being its conscientious codex codified as the cockcrows,cockahooped regardless of its cockadoodledoo,from sunrise tis sunset,Will not solace dampsquib as howling wilderness in its coefficient ofexpansion nor warm the cocklesof the heart,at the cock of the walk,to trickle down purple passage,gilded trump of stardom nor this cockleshell onboard they paddle if not capsized to live in clover,that it may live like fighting cock,Does the centrifugal choplogic,ever touch the right cords,to chuckle with contemptuous contentment,out of chromatic cholera,choosypalms not a chorus girl sings?Simpleton's catharsis,burst out of this codswallop,cannot be browbeated of its jungle's coefficience,And when thrust its coldsteel,coldstorage stuck,this blemished carthasis shall speak,at the harvest of time.Conscience smitten and its impenitent clowns,a hollow psychotic connive,cannot the deep contratile burns and contrition unearth,Burning viccisitude of fortified calories