HONOUR WORKERS

How will the Earth be
If there was no employee?
Bare and nihilistic will it be;
Abandoned fruitless and free.

The land we dwell
Would be parched and futile;
Either as wilds or swale
With wreckage, rubbish and swill.

There would be no habitation,
No lodging, sanitarium or shrine.
We might be living in cavern or den
Like paleolithic men.

Everybody and everything relies on manforce;
There'd be no food without farmers,
No cushy shoes without cobblers,
No transportation without drivers.

No cozy furniture without carpenters,
No household appliance without engineers,
No parturition without the help of nurses and doctors,
No education outwith noble teachers.

Technology might have been evolved,
But deprived of workforce, everything is nought.
Let the labours be celebrated,
For without them, the world will be void.

Words - the Ordnance

Long ago, there lived a man
Who'd always been a sourpuss.
For he never knew that our lifespan
Is dependent on what we confess.

He flapped his tongue
With gloomy, denial morpheme;
All morose, dark and despairing.
As he said, the outcome was a cataclysm.

Whatever he stepped in
Was a catastrophic mess.
He floundered and broke down
Unbeknownst of his Freudian slips.

One fair day, as he went out,
He purchased an offprint:
'Tongue and it's powers' it was about.
And he went over it.

He deciphered what his fault was:
Being a 'prophet of doom'
He's now got odds to change his lapse:
Cynism to optimism.

By the fruit of his lips
A man enjoys goodness.
But the foolish rips
His life by stuff he confesses.

Pleasant words are sweet to the soul
And healthy to the bones;
A man's stomach is overfull
By what he intones.

The power of the tongue
Holds endurance and inanimacy;
For it is infernal and searing
Which controls the subsistency.

What we sow, that we reap;
Let us sow happiness, faith,
Love, truth and hope,
That we harvest virtue and worth.

Joy comes to the man
With the reply of his mouth.
Let us speak nothing mean
Since our words possess strength.

Inspired from Charles Capps' Tongue - a creative force. Thanks to my uncle who lent me the book. 

MY FAIR LADY

She came as a doe
To a verdant meadow
On a bright summer day
In the month of May.

Her glorious emerald eyes
Made me swoon like rye;
The tip of her nose
Shinedst as dew on rose.

Her crimson-red lips,
From which honey dripped,
Carolled like a thrush
From a calm, clement bush.

The spritz gushed along,
As she chirped the song:
Which was sweet as lyre
And pleasant as myrrh.

I ran forth to the boonies;
Nighed the fair lass.
But she vanished in a swift,
As fast as a hunting cat.

Later I understood
When wandering in the woods,
That my fair lady was no human;
But the nymph of the terrain. 

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