Frills and Thrills

 

Frills and Thrills are friends

And love to put on a show,

They are always bent on crowd pleasing

As you and I both know.

 

Sometimes they appear alike

But I believe this is only by design

For they are really different

And this shows most of the time.

 

Frills usually begins the act

First impressions is her aim,

Oh, she will capture your attention

When she is at the top of her game.

 

Through her the stage is set

As she displays her ornamental décor,

Her teasing attachments and jewelry

Makes the crowd beg for more.

 

She is sweet-talking too

An enchanting part of her allure

And before you even know it

She’s on the inside of your door.

 

It’s the signal to her accomplice

She has prepared you for the ride,

Now you are giddy with expectation

And your mental powers are fried.

 

Enter Thrills to do his thing:

Incredible acts you won’t believe,

He’ll have you eating out of his hand

Totally mesmerized and deceived.

 

They form the grand old circus

Of fun time and make believe,

Whether it be Hollywood or theatre

“Give us more,” is what we plead.

 

The mesmerism of Frills and Thrills

So inundates your mind

That you become a captive audience

Leaving reality far behind.

 

Some entertainment is good

But do not overdo it my friend,

Beware of the subliminal messages

That Frills and Thrills send.

 

Frills and Thrills have been around

From the beginning of time,

They are the devil’s emissaries

And they are aimed at your mind.

 

If only he can get you to lock on

To his imps, Frills and Thrills,

Then your precious life would be a diet

Filled with accidents and spills.

 

The unreal would be your real

Your moorings would be the waves,

Frills and Thrills would be happy

For you would be their slaves.

 

It’s time now for a reality check

If you have not done one yet,

Frills and Thrills is a serious threat

Gamble on them and you’ll lose the bet.

 

Stewart Russell © September 2018

 

The Art of Saying Nothing

 

 

 

There is music and dance

There is drama and art,

There is theatre and mime

All playing their part.

 

The limbs are employed

And the vocal chords,

There is comedy and tragedy

Commoners and Lords.

 

The speechified moments

Of oration and rhetoric

Combined with the musical:

Calypso and operatic.

 

They all have their values

Some high some low

And they make a statement,

That’s why we go.

 

We come away with the feeling

We got value for money,

They all said something

And we all agree.

 

 

But there is an art form

In which nothing is said,

There is much innuendo, though,

When between the lines is read.

 

It is prominent in the church

And in Parliament also,

For different reasons of course,

And that we all know.

 

He preached for an hour

But I can’t tell what he said,

It was the art of saying nothing

And I’m not that well-read.

 

Many speechify in Parliament

In a passionate flow

But Hansard will reveal

There is nothing to show.

 

The art of saying nothing

By clergymen and MPs

Would make a great title,

Don’t you agree?

 

 

I am reminded of a time

When in the House of Commons

A famous orator waited patiently

For the Speaker to beckon.

 

The presenter was boring

And his listeners fell asleep,

All except this famous orator

Who was next to speak.

 

Finally, the opportunity came

And he calmly said that day,

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker,

I too, have nothing to say.”

 

Perhaps the shortest speech

By a politician anywhere

Coming after the longest speaker

That had nothing to say.

 

It is an art form

That is so unlike the others

That many are mesmerized

And this is the bother.

 

“O that was a great speech!”

What a lovely word!

And I sit back and I wonder,

Are they absurd?

 

The art of saying nothing

And they really mean it,

This art form has been perfected 

Merely through habit.

 

Stewart Russell © October 20, 2021

 

 

Which Me

  

I woke in the middle of the night

All sleep gone from my eyes,

I started to do some thinking

And up came surprise after surprise.

I became fully alert

To a life of sham and lies

As to my horror I was stripped

Of disguise after disguise.

It can become quite amazing

When we discover who we are,

Not one or two or three persons

But sometimes more by far.

It is just like theatre

Or better still, Hollywood

Where at different times we showcase

The indifferent, the bad and the good.

Always seemingly on a stage

We are seldom being ourselves

But projecting some other person

We find on our library shelves.

Too petrified to be me

Ordinary, simplistic me,

I would rather be someone else

Like a genuine “wannabe”.

Yes, like an original counterfeit

Talented and unique,

Not an old piece of furniture

But more like a modern antique.

Not who I was yesterday

Or even the day before,

But by constantly reinventing myself

I won’t become a bore.

So that when it is required

For the real me to stand

I can draw from several personalities

That can meet your demand.

I can be “all things to all people”

To satisfy my greed,

Sorry about that little slip up

I really meant my need.

It is a Hollywood experience

And tantalizingly so,

When I can choose from so many fakes

To put the real me on show.

So from my repertoire of me

Which me do you want to see?

I have with me a great selection

Each one, a genuine “wannabe”.

Be careful the me you choose

It may not be me,

It may be someone else

Just pretending to be me.

Stewart Russell © September 2019