Perfidious

Perfidious 

Who ever liked perfect rhymes

Nether melted at belle’s charm

Tethers on the edge of jigsaws

Preponderous perfidious 

Could not leave a vacuum

At the centre of his game 

Would never put an orange  

Where it might feel strange 

Slither mouth’d

His words are worms 

Simply there to aerate 

Whilst for some, they-line-them-up, as bait. 

Like goblets made of silver 

Housed in the strong-room of Lady Cadiver

Just waiting to get out

Stumbling together like trash sounds 

Like at the start of London’s marathon

Heaps of sheep, askance, chased by python

A hungry chappy

Set there to fill-a-gap. 

Is it not the forked tongue that whispers idiocies 

Then paints them all up by powers to indices. 

Powdering over those fine cracks 

As eatable as soft white flour’d baps. 

But I prefer the imperfect tones

Slim of volume, though heavily bound 

Charming better than many a hocus pocus

But in the meantime this will never be my opus. 

Shafees

20th December 2017, South London