02-16-2015, 01:11 AM
Long time no write - any crit welcome.
Goldilocks’ enigma
Whilst the faultless furry family were strolling in the garden,
discussing their bear faith issues and naming everything;
Goldilocks reduced the perfidious Pie of perfection,
using multiples of division. She looped all the portions together
to adorn the extra six, special dimensions she kept in her bag.
No one cared; there was nothing much to see.
The chair was too small to stand upon, there was too much
evidence – it broke into conveniently sized atoms;
more fuel for the fire. Nobody observed the newly improved
heads of state, formed under millennia of mutualism and blind symbiosis.
Midway through the DNA dance; she changed the tune
and crushed them under the heel of her serpent skin boots.
Pitiless, indifferent to the selfish memes of indoctrination.
Next came the pottage – the red lentil porridge;
her soup loop reduction was inconveniently
too sweet, too salty. It had meaning and value.
She tried again.
Consulting, beyond the conventional zone,
a new theory of cooking by numbers was in.
A unique, sub structure of calculable mechanics,
with infinite carbon based copies, expanding
into a smorgasbord of infinite options.
Ignoring the number of dishes and chairs, Goldie
was disappointed that the last dish was “just right”.
A state of perfection for purpose was not on the cheat sheet
of allowable answers. The observation was not there.
It was too much to bare; in a philosophical rage,
she turned her attentions upstairs.
Three beds met her angry stare;
a suggestion of something purposive and planed was in the air.
Her humiliation was complete; what’s more, she was rhyming
with clichés, in the home of three overly opinionated bears!
Goldilocks’ enigma
Whilst the faultless furry family were strolling in the garden,
discussing their bear faith issues and naming everything;
Goldilocks reduced the perfidious Pie of perfection,
using multiples of division. She looped all the portions together
to adorn the extra six, special dimensions she kept in her bag.
No one cared; there was nothing much to see.
The chair was too small to stand upon, there was too much
evidence – it broke into conveniently sized atoms;
more fuel for the fire. Nobody observed the newly improved
heads of state, formed under millennia of mutualism and blind symbiosis.
Midway through the DNA dance; she changed the tune
and crushed them under the heel of her serpent skin boots.
Pitiless, indifferent to the selfish memes of indoctrination.
Next came the pottage – the red lentil porridge;
her soup loop reduction was inconveniently
too sweet, too salty. It had meaning and value.
She tried again.
Consulting, beyond the conventional zone,
a new theory of cooking by numbers was in.
A unique, sub structure of calculable mechanics,
with infinite carbon based copies, expanding
into a smorgasbord of infinite options.
Ignoring the number of dishes and chairs, Goldie
was disappointed that the last dish was “just right”.
A state of perfection for purpose was not on the cheat sheet
of allowable answers. The observation was not there.
It was too much to bare; in a philosophical rage,
she turned her attentions upstairs.
Three beds met her angry stare;
a suggestion of something purposive and planed was in the air.
Her humiliation was complete; what’s more, she was rhyming
with clichés, in the home of three overly opinionated bears!
