About The Isle Of Tyre

Wouldst thou for me an air
upon thy tortoise lyre
play, and sing those words so fair
about the Isle of Tyre?

Within whose walls so grand,
there at bazaar would be
hangings made by weaver's hand,
and colored from the sea.

And ships of cedar made,
all crewed by seamen bold,
sailed to shores afar, to trade
for silk and spice and gold.

Consoled by sweet refrain,
I dwell in dreams of Tyre--
going home will e'er remain
my unfulfilled desire.

_______________
The ancient Phoenician city-state of Tyre, an island off the southern coast of Lebanon, was famous for its production of the prized Tyrian purple dye derived from the murex snails found in its waters. --WW

© 2018 Wayne Wysocki
Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen (@vidarnm) on Unsplash

Heavenly Pair (of Limericks)

The king of Saturn, it's said,
Has eyes in the back of his head
    To add to the brunt,
    He has none in the front
And so everywhere must be lead.

The king of Jupiter, too,
Has his head on, askew
    He says hello
    When he sees people go,
With only their backsides to view.


© 2018 Wayne Wysocki
Art by ainamartian.deviantart.com

Two Cigarettes And A Beer

by Wayne Wysocki

Two cigarettes and a beer, dear
That's how long I'll be here
If you never show
Then I'm gonna go
After two cigarettes and a beer.

You know I'm not big on forgivin’
And not much for talkin’ things through
But if you’ll swing on by
I'll give it a try
Though I don't think I'll hear nothin’ new

Baby I've heard your last reason
For standin’ me up like you do
You think it's all right
If I'm waitin’ all night
And that's why I'm just givin’ you

Two cigarettes and a beer, dear
That's how long I'll be here
If you never show
Then I'm gonna go
After two cigarettes and a beer.


Copyright © 2018 Wayne Wysocki
Photo by Alexas_Fotos-Pixabay

I'll Wait Until Tomorrow

by Wayne Wysocki

I'll wait until tomorrow

And pray it isn't so,

I'll pretend until the end

That you really didn't go;

As I sit in reverie

You are all I know--

I'll wait until tomorrow

Though you left me long ago.


Copyright © 2018 Wayne Wysocki
Photo by Opsesivna Tjeskoba

Sponge Count

Ernest went to the doctor,
who said that his spleen must come out
The day that he went for his treatment
a rumor was going about

That the doctor was seemingly careless,
and leaving some sponges behind
So Ernest confronted the surgeon,
and gave him a piece of his mind

He ranted until he was flustered,
then after a calming down pause
Told him the staff should be looking,
accounting for sponges and gauze

The doctor was most reassuring;
he said it would all be okay
And told him that he and his nurses
would be looking in earnest today.

Gloomy

Why'd you go and leave me gloomy?
Leaving like you never knew me?
Don't you know my heart can break in pieces?
How much can it take?
Each day my gloominess increases.

I play the clown, but they see through me--
The frown beneath the paint's the true me.
If I knew that you
Would someday come back to me,
Maybe then I wouldn't be so gloomy.

A Seagull Talked To Me Today

I parked my car beside the bay
The sign said please don't feed the seagulls
I enjoyed the view for a minute or two
when a large and older seagull walked, not flew,
but slowly, purposefully ambled up then stood there waiting by my window.

He patiently lingered as his white and gray feathers were ruffled and fingered
by the gusting chill wind
He looked up then away, never making eye contact,
obviously hoping for a morsel.

This expectation was indication
that the notice had been resisted,
and there had been some who had thrown a crumb
to feed the begging birds
I stayed warm in the car while the wind blew cold, and my feathery friend persisted.

I had no scrap to give him as I seldom eat in my vehicle
Had I something, would I have shared, considering the sign?
I don't know
perhaps,
but I don't know
I know that in standing and waiting, he was thus communicating,
so it's safe to say that in a way
a seagull talked to me today.