Mork calling Orson, NanU, NanU! Bus poetique!

EVEN AMIDST FIERCE FLAMES THE GOLDEN LOTUS CAN BE PLANTED.

Lovely scientist/inventor Nancy NanUhammertime, you can't touch this is drivelo le bus cette semaine und I have respondo with this quickler write off rapido fire respondo sansrewrito ou edit. Voila mon poemme et ici pour tout le monde et ses uncles de lire and rire , ou non as le case may be. Mais either which way, ici est mon attempt at le prompt.

Merci beaucoup ( indeedy muchlo muchio) and aussi que votre dieu/totem/facsimile/nothing de la poésiesoit may party avec vous pronto.Et in ,les words de la petite Oiseaux Edam Peeoff, 'No I regret nothing, except the things I regret. I have beaten Dylan Thomas's record and the curates egg.'

Poetry is.

Is poetry.

A confusion a contemplation a question an explanation

A profusion of colour a cloudburst of double rainbows

A jet of light a volcano of thought

Bidding bridling boastful bashful brilliant

In yellows and greens and blues all hues

Read and dead and crimson leaking

Seeking sapping tapping unwrapping

Mental mettle a singing kettle

A dream of joy that never fades

Never goes to grey

Never too high a price to pay though

every shade of black burgeoning and malign

But kept in line by the buzz the adrenalin rush the heartfelt crush

Of the crazy days of summer yellow iris sunshine

Bright white light headed

The ending of the days dreaded

The ejaculation of joy

The pleasure in the pain

Resistence futile

Fuse lit missile

The insistence constant nagging

C’mon c’mon c’mon yawill ya willya will

Dragging beguiling invigorating liberating

The urge to write write write write write!

Can flowers scream?

(Lotus= Lots Of Trouble, Usually Serious.)

But wait on the bus,don't get some sleep, no need to wait, your ship can come in.