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Poems

A Wildebeest Named Gnu

Wildebeests, or gnus, are the deerlike animals in the background of the photo below.  As you can see, they love to eat.  They are types of antelopes, and they are frequently seen on the Mara (a protected area of grasslands) in southern Kenya.

This poem is about a very lazy wildebeest whose name is Gnu.

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November 11th, 2014. Crescent Island, Naivasha, Kenya.

There once was a wildebeest named Gnu
The laziest beast that the veldt ever knew
One day a lion poked him and said,
Now either you run or you’re dead
But Gnu couldn’t be bothered to move.
Then the lion scratched the young gnu,
Said, From you I’ll make a gnu stew!
For I have claws that can shred
And I can bite off your head!
But Gnu couldn’t be bothered to move.
Then the lion jumped on Gnu’s back
Saying, I’m going to attack!
You’d better start running my friend!
Now I’ll give you some steps out in front
’Fore I start the hunt,
Then we’ll see what takes place in the end!
But Gnu couldn’t be bothered to move.
So the lion shook his head
He walked away and he said,
Such a riddle the world never knew:
For though the gnu just seems lazy
To be so idle is crazy
He must be some kind of statue!
And Gnu would have smiled
For he thought it worthwhile
But he couldn’t be bothered to move.

Categories
Limericks Poems

Sunday Limericks

Kneeling Nun
Martin van Meytens – Kneeling Nun, c. 1731.

Fred the Sailor
There once was a sailor named Fred
Who convinced a young nun to wed
She said all this kissin
Was what I was missin
Now I have found Heaven in bed!

The Nun and the Priest
When the sun once rose in the east
It shone over a nun and a priest
They had spent the whole night
In ecstasies of delight
Now he’s defrocked, and he cares not the least.

The Young Man with the Lisp
A young man once developed a lisp
That made his speech a bit less than crisp
Still, when he asked for some wrenches
And they brought him some wenches,
He thought, Now I could get accustomed to this!

The Contagious Stutter
A man had a contagious stutter
Which spread with each word that he’d utter
And when he kissed a girl
It’d make her head whirl
And he’d smile when she’d ask for an-an-another.

Categories
Limericks Poems

Sunday Limericks

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Giuseppe Arcimboldo – Vertumnus, c. 1590 – 1591.

The Man Made of Fruits
There once was a man made of fruits
And his feet were bananas in boots
He had a raspberry nose
And blackberry toes
And his hair was an apple tree’s roots!

The Blinking Boulder
There once was a stone that could blink
It was a boulder that was as sable as ink
It had a white eye
As white as the clouds in the sky
And if you watched it closely it’d wink.

The Walking Dune
There once was a desert dune
That was shaped by the searing simoom
It took on the shape of a Sphinx
When by day it lay like a lynx
Then by night it walked by the light of the moon.

Categories
Limericks Poems

Sunday Limericks

Today’s edition of Sunday Limericks features three lewd limericks: An Orgy in Perth, A Woman Named Bunny, and Anchors Aweigh!

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Hieronymus Bosch – The Garden of Earthly Delights (detail, center panel), 1490 – 1510.

An Orgy in Perth
There once was a huge orgy in Perth
That befell with cavorting and mirth
There were hot tubs and steam
There were bananas and cream
And after nine months there were a ton of new births!

A Woman Named Bunny
There once was a woman named Bunny
Who covered her ass with honey
She said, I’ll take my boyfriend who’s blind
And have him lick my behind
And if he asks I’ll just laugh cause it’s funny.

Anchors Aweigh!
There once was a woman named May
Who loved to screw night and day
So she found a strong sailor
To rattle and rail her
Now when she dreams she cries, Anchors aweigh!

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Poems

Aphorism Poem

My Oxford New American Dictionary defines an aphorism as, “A pithy observation that contains a general truth, such as, ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’” This is a poem comprised of aphorisms, some of which already exist but have been reworded, and others which are of my own invention.

St Jerome
Caravaggio – Saint Jerome, 1605-1606

There’s truth in every aphorism
And poetry in those gnomic things:
Like, Time may mend the greatest schism.
And, Chaotic are the ways of kings.

In every mishap, there’s blame to share.
In each home, there’s room to care.
Knowledge is an unquenchable flame.
And, Sarcasm is the crutch of the lame.

Anything can go from bad to worse.
Addiction leaves a lightweight purse.
Every age is made of strange times.
Some men aren’t guilty of their crimes.

Unproveable is faith in the divine.
We oil the wheel that does whine.
All men go inevitably unto death.
Sweetest is the liberated breath.

All those who are poets must be true.
Politicians are wont to misconstrue.
Though in severalty we unite in league.
The true spy makes his own intrigue.

Each maxim among these and many more
Help comprise man’s expressive score.
And although often spoken like a catechism
There’s yet some truth in the aphorism.

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Poems

February 29th, the Leap Year Poem

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Here it comes, there it goes, then sleeps for four years: the leap year doze!
That’s the spirit, that’s the way, it’s February twenty-ninth today!
Hidden and swaddled between the twenty-eighth and first,
Seen at once as blessing at times as a curse, as the best birthday and also the worst.

Seasons come and seasons go, and every year brings spring,
But careless of what the groundhog sees (and deaf to notes the robin sings)
Is that uncommon leap year, whose date is uncommon and quite rare,
But also necessary to keep our calendars out of error!

Now to think of strange consequences of this very fleeting day,
I’ll give a quaint example of two twin girls, Cher and May.
Now Cher was born just minutes before midnight on the 28th,
While May was born the 29th, that transient day, that wraith.
It was a mere ten minutes between the times that they were alive,
But because of February 29th, Cher was turning twenty, while May was turning five!

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Poems

The Cigarettes Play Farmington

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The Cigarettes were a hard core band full of righteous punks and rage,
The singer supported anarchy and sang it out on stage;
Lily was the drummer girl, a saucy lass in black,
She wore a fishnet pair of slacks, her thong rose out the back.
Jimmy was the trumpeter, always barefoot when he played,
Smoking reefers in the club and forever getting laid.
Molly was the bassist, she was a poet in her soul,
Writing chords and lyrics about Hell and money and control.

The city board of Farmington, a town conservative and straight
Booked The Cigarettes unwittingly for their Annual Harvest Fête,
When October came around the leaves turned orange and black,
The pumpkins ripened on their vines, the hay was heaped in stacks
Mrs. Trot put on a dress, her corset, stockings, and her hat,
And toodled out with Mr. Trot who was wearing his cravat.
On the way they met the Smiths who ran the local mill,
They were dressed in modest best, as humble as a hill.

The evening started very fair, with meats and fruits and pie,
There was cider in the goblets and a pretty autumn sky,
And then the band began to play, you could hear them from a mile:
A pounding drum, an ominous hum, the locals lost their smiles,
Then on the stage a screaming rage, as the singer yowled and croaked,
The sun went down, the lights came on, the fires flared and smoked!
The locals of Farmington were first transformed by fear,
And then they caught the wind of it and began to lend an ear!
“This band is fuckin rockin!” shrieked Mrs. Trot and threw the horns,
“Yeah, this is how we celebrate the reaper and the corn!”
And soon enough the town of Farmington said to Hell with our respect!
And threw themselves into a night of drink and dance and sex!
And every year thereafter… the townsfolk booked The Cigarettes!

Categories
Poems

The Funky Pizza

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Two skateboarders ate a pizza pie
While switch smithing at Hollywood High.
They got switch feebles; they got nollie tres;
They got onions and tomatoes and peppers for days…

Chris was wearing black, and Lux was wearing pink,
Chris he had the piercings, and Lux he had the ink…
Chris he frontside flipped it, laid down a Muska hammer,
The cops showed up, and they hauled them to the slammer.

Well, the pizza it got lonely, it was chillin in the box,
It stood up on its crust, said, “I feel as burly as an ox!”
The pizza looked around through its pepperoni eyes,
And the folks who saw it standing up were taken by surprise!

The pizza took a handful of melted mozzarella
And styled it like the haircut of one very sick fella—
At the tip of its slice was a cheese mohawk,
And the pizza swaggered and it staggered down the L.A. block.!

The pizza gave a knuckle bump of crushed red pepper
To the homeys and the players, the pimps and high steppers!
The girls smelled its fine aroma on the September breeze,
Said, “I want all of that, without the calories!”

Well the slice kept on walkin Highland Avenue
Said, “I’ll stop and Dave and Buster’s, and there I’ll grab a brew.”
So he waltzed on in to the restaurant,
And a fellow looking down said, “This is what I want!”

Then he picked up and ate the slice of funky pizza.

Categories
Limericks Poems

Sunday Limericks

Here are three limericks–dark, grim, and surprising–to enrich your Sunday.

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The Bright Butterfly
There once was a bright butterfly,
Who made cheerful the air of the sky,
Three wicked children of kings,
Tore off its fair wings,
Though not even they could ever say why.

The Pennsylvanian-Era Pig
There once was an archaeological dig
On which they found a Pennsylvanian pig
They said How bizarre!
This pig is too early by far!
So they baked it and ate it with figs!

The Violent Boy

There once was a violent boy
Who thought the world was only his toy
He began every fight,
And made girls weep from his spite,
And he grew into an old man with no joy.

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Poems

The Ghastly but True Secret of Madame Tussauds Wax Museum

This poem tells of the repellent (but true) origins of the wax that Madame Tussauds uses in its wax museum’s sculptures.

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Madame Tussauds has kept a revolting secret for years—
They harvest their wax from children’s ears!
Now, I’m sorry if the truth has jellied your knees.
It’s disgusting, I know.
But that is why Madame Tussaud’s must go
To such lengths to say their wax comes from bees!

Now, the waxman will sneak into a child’s room,
With a silver speculum and a small spoon,
While the child lies deep in sweet dreams.
This waxman will creep very near,
Insert the instrument deep in the ear,
Then spoon the wax out as if it were cream!

When Tussauds first get the wax,
It is as gold-brown as flax,
And they must store it well out of the light.
So they hide it deep in dark caves,
And far underground in fake graves,
So the wax stays in endless night!

And by the time Tussauds brings the wax out,
It has become as treacly as grout,
And they must pour it into enormous glass jars.
Here the stuff sits,
As wax sculptors spoon out small bits
To make their models of stars!

Categories
Poems

And Tim Was Left All Orange

This is a poem about Tim, a baby tiger at the zoo, whose stripes all fall off when he rubs against his water trough.

Baby Tiger Cub

Tim the Tiger was born at the zoo,
With a trait that caused a hullabaloo:
When the cat rubbed against his water trough,
Every one of his stripes fell off!
And the baby tiger was left all orange.

The stripes lay like leaves on the ground,
Fluttering in the wind, with rustling sounds.
So the zoo director said to glue the stripes back on,
In the depths of night, before the dawn,
So the baby tiger wouldn’t be all orange.

Well the night that night was a deep, dark black,
When the keepers re-adhered the stripes to Tim’s back.
And the baby cub thought it a very fine game,
Because they petted and stroked him and said his name.
For the baby tiger never knew that he was all orange.

So the keepers worked by Orion’s dull shine,
And, finishing, found they’d made an odd design!
For without the aid of their trusted sight,
They’d glued the stripes from left to right!
And they’d left Tim’s tail completely orange.

Well the people came to the zoo next day,
And they admired the very stylish way,
Tim the Tiger seemed to stand
With his stripes in a horizontal band,
And a tail that was entirely orange.

And although the zoo director was raging mad,
The keepers they were not too sad,
For they said, “Well, if he thinks that Tim has caused a stink—
Just wait till he discovers that our penguin’s pink!”
And over time the stripes fell off, and Tim was left all orange.

Categories
Limericks Poems

Sunday Limericks

Here are three strange and funny limericks. One about two young lovers, another about a group of “Pizzanistas,” and a third about a green iguana who smokes marijuana.

Puerto Vallarta Iguana

Two Young Lovers
There once were two young lovers
Who disappeared each night under covers
They’d reappear at the dawn
With all the night gone
And wonder whether she’d be a mother.

Rebel Pizzanistas
There once were some rebel Pizzanistas
Who were as zealous as the Sandinistas
These rebels put their pepperoni instead
On the underside of the bread,
And called themselves pizza artistas!

The Green Iguana
There once was a green iguana
Who loved to smoke marijuana
When he smiled his lips curled,
When he smoked the smoke furled,
And he lived in a state of nirvana.

Categories
Poems

The Color Yellow Hosts a Picnic

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Yellow was feeling sunny,
Blue was feeling blue,
And although Red was being quarrelsome,
Yellow told him to come too,
To a midday picnic party
In a field beside a wood,
One day when the sun was shining
And the temperature felt good.

Well, Blue asked his two neighbors,
The colors Purple and Green,
If they would like to come too,
To the pleasant picnic on the green.
Although Purple felt too aristocratic
To make an appearance there,
Green accepted quickly,
Because she loves the clean, fresh air.

Orange was feeling warm,
Toasting his feet before the fire,
When the invitation came to him,
To join the other colors on the shire.
But he was feeling too contented
In his old, ancestral home,
Wearing his pumpkin-colored robe,
And reading from a pleasant tome.

So Orange and Purple, they stayed in,
But the others joined Yellow that day,
On an afternoon when the warm wind
Carried the fragrances of dirt and hay.
They spread out a checkered blanket,
Which was checked with red and white,
And Yellow said the blanket made her think
Of her friend who reflected beams of light.

At that, impetuous Red nodded and said,
How he and White had once had a drink,
And Red said that his passion had led
Them to produce the color known as Pink!
Well, the other colors blushed to hear this,
But Red was well known for his lack of tact,
So they each continued in their way on that sunny day,
And let every color be as is their nature to act.

Categories
Poems

Jake Attempts to Put a Santa Claus Hat on a Nineteen Hundred Pound Bucking Bull

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It was the night before Christmas
And way out in the field
Jake had an idea
Which held marvelous appeal!

Jake said, “Come to the next pasture—
I’ve got an idea for a dare!
We’ll visit Farmer Bixby’s old stable;
He keeps his bucking bull there!”

So the four friends marched over,
Through the snow and the fog,
Past barbed wire fences
And over iced logs.

With each step they crunched
The cold, glittering snow
And steam rose from their mouths
With each breath they did blow.

There in the distance
With not a light from within
Stood the old battered structure
Which kept the bucking bull penned.

At first there was no sign
Of the great bucking bull
Then they smelled on the clear air
The scent of that huge animal.

Then at last they saw it!
It lay curled in deep sleep,
Like a monstrous black boulder
On the far side of the keep.

Jake rubbed his hands happily
And said, “This will be a neat trick—
I’ll put my Santa Claus hat on the bull,
And he’ll be a bovine Saint Nick!”

His friend Chris was the calm one,
And he said, “Well, for my part,
I think that bull is a mean one—
He gored my old dog through her heart!”

But Jake’s other friends shushed Chris,
And they cheered for Jake’s plan,
Saying that this Christmas spirit,
Was the best one for a man!

You needed no bells or whistles
Nor flouncy decorative halls!
You just needed good buddies,
And a big pair of balls!

So Jake slipped over the railing
And into the pen,
As his friends they grew quiet
And looked on with great grins.

Jake slowly crossed over
The ground of the sty,
And he was quite near the bull
When it opened one eye!

Jake froze on his tiptoes,
With the Santa hat in his hand
And he murmured some calm words
That the bull did not understand.

The bull sprang to its feet,
And it started to run—
Moving quite quickly
For something weighing a ton!

Now Jake started to run
Like a sprinter, world class,
When the bull lowered his head
And put his horns up Jake’s ass!

Jake’s friends looked on in horror
And they grimaced in fright
When, with a flick of its head,
The bull made Jake take flight!

Jake went sailing and screaming
Through the dark sky
And landed in cow pies
On the far side of the sty.

His friends they raced to him,
For he moved not at all.
They were sick to their stomachs
From witnessing his fall.

The bucking bull watched them,
Snorted, and pawed the cold ground,
Then it turned in a circle,
And plopped right back down.

It lay on its haunches,
Relaxed in its pen,
Nearly completely assured
That he wouldn’t be bothered again.

Jake’s four friends they reached him,
And found him hurt but not dead,
He grinned up at them weakly, saying,
“The best place for that hat is my head!”

Categories
Poems

Three Sunday Limericks

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The Maniacal Maid
There once was a maniacal maid
Who prepared a cyanide marmalade
She spread it on toast,
On the ham, and the roast,
Then set them on the table she’d laid.

The Incredible Prude
There once was an incredible prude
Who was too shy to even bathe nude
She’d bathe in her clothes,
And she’d cover her nose,
For she thought that her nostrils were lewd.

A Grim Slaughterhouse
There was once a grim slaughterhouse
That would kill anything from a cow to a mouse
One day a woman went there and said,
I’m very miserably wed,
Do you think you could butcher my spouse?

Happy Sunday!  Share these poems and this site with your friends!

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Poems

A Whale with a Handlebar Mustache

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Wilbur the whale had a distinguishing feature
That made seem nobler than his fellow sea creatures:
For on his grey face, the good Lord elected to place
A handlebar mustache that made Wilbur look ace!

In all other respects,
Wilbur met the strict specs
That govern how a baleen whale should be built…
But in this one critical facet
He’d been given an asset
Claimed by no other whale of his ilk!

Wilbur became the pod’s greatest star
And lady whales swam in from quite far
To view and admire his whale whiskers.
For it must be admitted,
Amongst even the most jaded of blisters,
That big blonde mustaches don’t often grow on a whale!
Yet Wilbur he had one, and it was a gem,
Bushy in the middle and curled at both ends!
It required no maintenance,
Nor had it ever.
All that it did was make its wearer look clever!

So Wilbur he swam on through the deep seas,
Year after year, as fine as you please.
He grew old, and he wrinkled,
But that mustache never crinkled,
And he stole a thousand lady-whale hearts.
They just couldn’t resist
The chance to be kissed
By a debonair whale with a mustache so fine!
He’d lift up his eyebrows, and he’d kiss their whale cheeks,
And they’d coo, “Oh, that Wilbur’s divine!”

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Poems

Scotland Vs. Ireland in the Finals of the World’s Sunburning Championship

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It was noon in the tropics when Lily and Mary squared off
Each on the beach with all their clothes off!
Mary from Dublin, Lily from Perth,
To see who could be the most burnt person on Earth!
The winner would be the one who turned brightest red
From the tips of her toes to the top of her head!
They were the two whitest people that the Isles could find
They’d advanced to The Finals ahead of their kind—
They’d beaten out raven-haired girls with melanin-tinged skin,
And broad shouldered blond men with too much chest hair to win.
Mary had beat out a Russian who was as white as the moon,
But who forfeited as soon as her feet turned maroon!
While Lily had won a very close race,
With a Norweigan who lost due to her freckled face.

Now the Sunburning Championship is followed worldwide
With a million dollar prize purse and the accompanying pride.
The Sunburning Championship has been vied for for years
And its motto for the past hundred has been, “Sun, sweat, and sears.”
The two contestants, Lily and Mary, were not entirely unique
With light hair and blue eyes upon each pasty physique.
Both peeled and both blistered, neither’d ever browned.
But what set them apart was how UV treated them like a ground.
Sunlight seemed to channel right to them, like power through wire,
Then heat their skins inordinately, till you’d swear they’d catch fire.
While Lily was as white as her pretty namesake,
Mary was born like a girl bred to be baked:
She had albinos on each limb of her family tree:
So oddsmakers disfavored Lily at one to three.

Their corners each oiled the girls head to toe,
Slathered them with palm oil and pounds of Crisco.
Now the sun looked down like an unblinking eye
As the girls lay on the Saint Lucian sand and started to fry!
Within the first hour they turned as pink as a shell
Then started to heat up till they became hot as hell.
Soon Mary and Lily each turned vermillion
As they sweated and fried and dreamt of that million.
The fans of the Irish were waving their flags,
Till the Scottish supporters called the Irish, “Scumbags!”
Fights broke out and pints of beer they were spilled
And word spread that a Scotsman had been inadvertently killed.

Yet still the girls sweated and still the girls fried
Burning in misery till they wished they had died.
The sun burnt their foreheads; the sun burnt their eyes;
It burnt up their armpits, and it burnt up their thighs!
The girls started screaming and writhing in pain
While their coaches all shouted, “Don’t give up, or give in to the strain!”
An hour then passed, and then did another.
And in her sunstroke, Mary began to plead for her mother.
The judges looked closely and called a doctor in,
He said, “Can you finish?” Mary murmured, “I think I can win.”
So the doc nodded at the judges for the match to go on
While the girls kept on burning like badly barbequed prawns.
Time kept on passing, and the girls dreamed of the shade
While their skin slowly turned to raspberry marmalade.
When at last the sun set, both girls were burnt raw,
So the judges who checked them declared the contest a draw!
The Scottish fans rioted; the Irish threw stones;
While the girls they just lay there, burnt to the bone.

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Poems

Dill and Cole Roll the World’s Biggest Joint and Blow Themselves Up with Dynamite

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One day,
Dill and Cole decided to roll
The biggest joint in all of the world.

They thought it’d be funny
To pool all their money
And spend it on all the weed they could buy.
And they thought it’d be a fine joke
To watch their savings go up in smoke
As they blew puffy rings at the sky.

So they bought cartons of papers
For this magnificent caper
And a blowtorch to light the huge thing.
They invited their friends
Who invited their friends
And everyone brought all they could bring.

The people marched in quite happily,
Although not very snappily,
Because punctuality’s never been quite their suit.
But the folk were all smiles
And of a great many styles
And they brought everything from gummies to fruit!

Lily and Mary
Brought flowers and berries
Because they were two cool hippie girls.
They each wore their sandals
And they lit up some candles
And they prayed for peace throughout the whole world.

A guy who called himself, “King,”
And who could use a washing,
Began to build a low hut.
He said, “We’ll have here our prayers and our rituals,
Our moon-tithes and orbituals,
We’ll need peyote and blood from a cut.”

Wild Tom the Contractor
Showed up with his tractor
To help with lifting the weed.
Bright Jim “The Mad Scorch”
Showed up with an oxy acetylene torch
And dynamite in case of a need.

Well when they laid the weed out
It stretched ten yards just about,
And was as wide as an elephant’s ass!
They laid the weed on the prairie
And all comers felt merry
Contemplating the mass of the grass.

Well ole Dill and ole Cole
As they started to roll
Thought Jim’s dynamite should be a part of a plan.
For what if the joint’s lit
But then suddenly quit?
They’d need it to combust from within!

So ole Dill and ole Cole
Put dynamite in the roll
To be sure that the joint would stay fired.
Then Tom the Contractor
Rolled the joint with his tractor
Till it was as tight as the smokers required.

Then a teen named Colleen
Banged a tambourine
While a drummer, “Dragon,” joined in on some drums.
Tim the firebreather breathed fire,
Brit the slackrope walker walked wire,
And Jake the juggler juggled kiwis and plums.

Then Jim the Mad Scorch
Lit the joint up with his torch
As the festivities reached their climax.
And Dill and ole Cole who’d bought the green stuff
Let all of their friends have the first puff
And watched them all laugh and relax.

When the joint was half smoked
Dill and Cole approached it to toke
And they leaned down together, the two, that great pair.
And just at that moment the dynamite blew
Sending a fireball into the blue
And scorching the guys’ eyebrows and hair!

The blast rocked the whole place
And put surprise on each face
With a concussion each smoker felt to the core!
Then Dill said to Cole, as Cole looked at Dill,
“My man, my man! you look, my man, like a carbonized grill—
Let’s roll another, but next time with more!”

Categories
Poems

There Needs to be a Word for Laughing at Horror

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There needs to be a word for laughing at horror
When something’s so awful that you laugh in surprise
And you say, “I know it’s not funny…”
But there’s still a laughing look in your eyes.
Like when you hear of the man who was a quadriplegic for life
Falling down in the kitchen to land on a knife.
He would scream out in pain, but he can’t move his lips!
He’d get off the knife, but he can’t move his hips!
Still he’s not quite dead yet, the very poor dear—
Though he may wish he were, as he’s overtaken with fear—
For in the thin walls of his house, a bad electrical wire
Has found inflammable ground and started a fire!
And as the flames rise up, our victim’s consumed
By smoke and fire that blaze him to his doom.
Whoever it was that said Nature’s so sweet
Has never been chaff, has been only wheat.
But for a man like me who is often the chaff
When cruel tragedy happens, I have to weep as I laugh!
And I know it’s not funny to laugh at these things,
When the blades of life are cutting one’s wings,
And the depths of horror are so profound that you cry
Yet an inapt smile appears near the tear from your eye!
So what can you call it when you are laughing at horror?
It’s not quite “schadenfreude,” and not quite “sadistic;”
It’s certainly not “tasteless,” because that’s too simplistic.
I really believe that we must make a word
For a feeling that each of us has sometimes incurred.
I have no proposals, nor have I quaint dictum,
So, like all of you, I’ll just try to not be a victim.

Categories
Poems

Clean Dean the Mighty Marine

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“Clean” Dean the mighty Marine
Couldn’t tell whom
He’d killed or he’d seen.
He was classified to be in many Black Ops
And his superiors referred to him as one of their “mops,”
Because Dean Ian the Cleaning Machine
Was able to leave no trace at a scene.
A contractor is working?
Now he’s working no more.
Disappeared forever to even a score.
Clean Dean the Careful Marine
Left the place looking like
His hit had never been.
One day Clean Dean left the Marines.
He stopped lifting weights;
He became long and lean.
He got into the horses;
He got into the tracks;
He read books about gardening
And espionage paperbacks.
Clean Dean the mighty Marine
Met a lady one day whose name was Colleen.
They got along smoothly,
And he bought her a ring.
He proposed in the fall,
And they were married in spring.
Clean Dean bought a car for the baby
A safe car with four doors
Because Collen was expecting.
The years passed by,
These Dean could not sweep away.
He lived through the seasons;
He lived through the days.
Clean Dean grew old and found God.
His babies had babies,
And he once thought how odd
It was to grow old,
When he’d been convinced he’d die young.
Clean Dean, however, lived till he was ninety-one,
And before he died, his doctor marveled at him
Said, “It must be good living that has kept you so trim.”
And Clean Dean the Ruthless Marine
Gave not a thought to the horrors that he had seen
To the corpses he’d made or the dark places he’d been,
But said with a smile,
“Doc, what’s fascinating,
Is how the world keeps on turning,
Without taking notice of you
It’s a sphere of green and of white and of blue,
And taken at a distance, like from the nearest star,
We folk are so very tiny, that no one knows who we are.”
And so Clean Dean the Mighty Marine
Died one day and Earth kept revolving,
Persisting in its course as it does for all men,
Going and going as if we’d never been.

Categories
Poems

Shooting Beer Bottles Off the Tops of People’s Heads

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I met a fellow in the bar last night
Who thought he was William Tell
Wanted to shoot a beer can off my head
I told him to go to Hell.
But he gave me a look like the last buffalo
Dying out on the plains
So sad and lonely it made me act
Like I had forgotten all of my brains…
The barman told us to take it outside
But I told him that I liked where I was
Sitting in front of that big saloon mirror,
Listening to the neon lights buzz.
I took up a bottle of cold Miller Lite
And I set it on top of my head
But when the fellow stumbled ten paces off
I figured I’d soon end up dead.
He cocked back the hammer on his Colt three fifty-seven
And as I watched the cylinder turn
I froze up with my brain full of spiders,
And my stomach crawling with worms.
He closed one eye, and I saw the gun waving
Not a few inches upwards and down
And I cautiously asked him whether he meant
to shoot up the ceiling or into the ground?
The fellow slurred, “I used to do this when I’d hunt antelope
I’d calculate the angle, the distance, and slope.
I’d never miss then,
I’d put bullets through hearts,
For gunmanship is nothing but poise and practice and smarts,
And I possess each in equal parts!”
He stuck his tongue between his lips
And told me to stand very still
And as the barrel waved before my face
I turned a snake green, and I felt very ill.
The fellow slurred, “Whatcher eyes wide for?
I won’t do you no harm!”
Then he licked his lips and drooled a little spittle,
And then the fucker shot me—right in the arm!
The bullet knocked me back against the bar
And the patrons all screamed and ran
A tequila bottle shattered, my stool fell and clattered,
And I heard a shout of “Goddamn!”
Well I clutched my arm, and I started to stand
When I saw the fellow aiming again
I started a prayer, and I leapt out of there,
Talking fast on my way to, “Amen!”
He fired the gun, and the mirror blew out,
Shards of glass flew all over the place.
I poked my head up over a table
And found him aiming the gun at my face.
So I made myself scarce as the gun fired again
And destroyed a bottle of gin.
“Ceasefire, truce!” I shouted to him,
“The bottle’s broken—you win!
If you want me to tell folks you shot it first try,
By heaven, I’ll put it in song!”
“Can I count on you?” he slurred in a shout,
“I want ’em to know I don’t shoot wrong!”
“You can count on me till the end of your days,
From now until the end of all this!
By the time I’m done talking
The people will say, There goes the man who never once missed!”
“Well, I suppose that’s allright,” the drunk fellow said,
“My friend I’ll take up your word.”
Then he looked all around and he put the gun down,
And he said, “I’m sorry I shot up the bar.
But to see the mirror blow out
And hear folks scream and shout
Well that’s enough to make a man’s day.
And after all no one got hurt, just men being men,
Let me buy you a drink, my new friend.
This’ll all turn out right, the world’ll keep turning,
And we’ll all end the same in the end.”
I said I could use a beer and cigarette,
As I picked myself up off the floor.
“A cig?” he said, “I could shoot the cherry off it, I bet.”
And I took off running—right out the door!

Categories
Poems

Dr. Proctor

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Bill “The Butcher” Proctor was the town’s local doctor
And he had had much more than a nip.
When a woman came in with a broken hand,
He took off her leg at the hip.
When the woman woke up she just looked down and sobbed.
“Why, oh why, do you cry?” asked Doctor Proctor,
“It may be true that you’re left with one thigh,
But you’ll get used to that by and by.”
“You fool, you bastard!” the woman screamed at the man,
“I came in to your clinic with a pain in my hand!”
“Hm,” said the doctor, looking down at her leg.
“Well. Yes. Hm. I see.
“In my condition I thought I saw something wrong with the knee.”
And he thought, “Left uncorrected, this could spell serious trouble for me!”
“I’ll sue your quack practice for all that it’s worth!”
Screamed his patient in fury as she wept and she cursed.
Dr. Proctor scratched at his chin, then he put her under again.
He murmured, “I’ll fix this wreck right up in a sec!”
And with the sound of a snick and the sound of a sneck
He cut off his patient’s head at the neck!
“There,” he said, holding her head up by the hair,
“There, there, there! Now, now, she can’t complain to anyone anywhere!”

Categories
Limericks Poems

Limericks

Limericks were popularized by the artist Edward Lear (1812 – 1888).  Most of mine are grim and funny.

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Rome, Italy, September 17th, 2015

An Ant in a Shoe
There once was an ant in a shoe
Who said I’ve got nothing to do
Then a man came along
And he put his shoes on
Now that ant’s nothing more than a goo.

Assange
A man lived in Ecuador’s Embassy
In London by the Thames and the sea
Now no one’s sure where he’ll go
But there’s one thing we all know
Where ever he’s next is rent free.
April 11th, 2019 Julian Assange is arrested.

The Beaver
There once was a beaver named Weaver
Who met a young furrier named Cheever
He said your tail’s like a paddle
But it would make a nice saddle
So he chopped off his tail with a cleaver.

The Big Crocodile
There once was a big crocodile
Who lived on the banks of the Nile
He said I love to munch and to crunch
And eat children for lunch
It’s the youth that make living worthwhile.

The Black Hole, Messier 87
There once were supermassive black holes
Whose hearts were darker than coal
Some folk found them odd
And tied them to God
Hoping they’d shine light on the soul.
April 10th, 2019 The first image of a black hole is published.

The Boll Weevil
There once was a cotton boll weevil
Whom all the farmers called evil
When it ate all their cotton
They called the bug rotten
And sprayed Aldrin until it weren’t legal.

Bordeaux
There once was a place called Bordeaux
With lamplighters who set streets aglow
Every dark night
They’d bring on the light
And in so doing they’d cast a shadow.

Boxing and Dance
There once was a very fine marriage
Made from man’s footwork and carriage
The marriage wed boxing and dance
In a beauty-and-beast type romance
And spanned the two fields with its fair bridge.
May 4th, 2019 (Cinco de Mayo weekend) Canelo fights Jacobs

Caster Semenya
There once was a woman who ran
Til a board implied she was half a man
They told her to decrease her hormone
By limiting testosterone
Or she would get permanently banned.
May 1st, 2019 The IAAF rules that South African runner Caster Semenya must medically decrease her natural levels of testosterone to run the 800 and 1500 meter races.  Semenya subsequently refuses.

The Children
There once were a sister and brother
Whose antics annoyed their poor mother
She said Now you had better behave
Or I’ll send you both to your grave
A phrase she recalled from her mother.

The Chilean
There once was a Chilean named Bean
Whom a cook tried to force through a screen
She said You’ll make a fine hash
Once you’re smashed and you’re mashed
But her words were drowned out by his scream.

The Covetous Queen
There once was a covetous queen
Who wanted everything that she’d seen
She hounded the court
Until they gave their support
To render her blind as a bean.

The Dead Shot
There once was a corpse on a cot
Whose body did nothing but rot
One day a distiller moved in
He added yeast like for gin
And said I’ll name my new drink the Dead Shot.

A Doctor Named Chris
There once was a doctor named Chris
Whose surgeries went always amiss.
He said with a shake of his head
I’ve left another one dead
The families will have to get used to this.

An Enormous Snake
There once was an enormous snake
Who ate children who passed by the lake
He said if they weren’t so good raw
I’d still fill my craw
I’d just have to learn how to bake!

The Fisherman’s Wife
There once was a fisherman’s wife
Who caught a fish in the prime of its life
She said with a grin
I’ll not see you again
And she cut off its head with a knife.

The Germ
There once was a deadly disease
Who traveled far and wide on a sneeze
It said Don’t wash your hands
For there are many fine lands
That I am still very anxious to see.

A Grim Slaughterhouse
There was once a grim slaughterhouse
That would kill anything from a cow to a mouse
One day a woman went there and said,
I’m very miserably wed,
Do you think you could butcher my spouse?

The Incredible Prude
There once was an incredible prude
Who was too shy to even bathe nude
She’d bathe in her clothes,
And she’d cover her nose,
For she thought that her nostrils were lewd.

The Lumberjack and the Trees
There once was a grove of old trees
Who grew tall living life by the seas
Along came a strong lumberjack
Who took them down with a whack
And left stumps as tall as your knees.

The Mad Man
There once was a mad man named Jim
Who hurt everyone close to him
After he found a wife
He took her life
You can’t trust a mad man my friend.

A Man Named Ajmal
There once was a man named Ajmal
Who couldn’t be trusted at all
He said to a girl who was near
Won’t you come here my dear?
Then he bashed in her head with a maul.

A Man With No Legs
There once was a man with no legs
Who dearly loved to eat eggs
He said Give me ten hens
And I’ll never be hungry again
But they gave him no hens now he begs.

The Maniacal Maid
There once was a maniacal maid
Who prepared a cyanide marmalade
She spread it on toast,
On the ham, and the roast,
Then set them on the table she’d laid.

Notre-Dame de Paris
There once was a cathedral in France
Recognized by all at a glance
One day it was consumed by a fire
And down fell its spire
It shall be rebuilt and elegantly enhanced.
April 15th, 2019 The Cathedral of Notre Dame Catches Fire

The Orange Cantaloupe
There once was an orange cantaloupe
Who said in a voice full of hope
Oh please do not pare me
Oh please will you spare me?
To which the fine family said Nope.

Planet Earth
There once was a planet called Earth
The only on which there’d been birth
Its residents there
Breathed water and air
And never understood what life’s worth.

Prince Charming
There once was a king’s wicked son
Who thought cruelty was nothing but fun
One day a thing made him sad,
And he felt so confused and so mad,
That he torched a convent of nuns.

Princess Mary
There once was a princess named Mary
Who was frightened of anything scary
One day a lion came by
And he made the girl cry
And then he left nothing to bury.

Royalty
There once was a cruel queen and king
Who forced a man to dance and to sing
Once the man was too sick to leave bed
So the royalty cut off his head
There’s always a reason to sing.

A Sarcastic Girl
There once was a sarcastic girl
Who refused to give sincerity a whirl
She said, I’m sure sincerity’s great,
Just so clear, open, and straight
For it I’d trade diamonds and pearls.

The Scorpion in the Shower
A scorpion once lived in a shower
Lying still there for many an hour
When along came a bare-ankled girl
Who turned the tap with a twirl
Now she beds in a grave with white flowers.

The Sheep Herder’s Daughter
There once was a sheep herder’s daughter
Who hated to see the sheep slaughtered
She said Oh please spare the ewe
But her father sliced it in two
So she drowned herself deep in dark water.

A Sleepless Night
One night a girl couldn’t sleep
She tossed and she turned in her sheets
She lay awake in her bed
Her hands by her head
And heard her ancient house creak.

The Teacher
There once was a bad educator
Whose style made the students all hate her
She was vulgar and mean
And very often obscene
She thought her harsh words made her greater.

The Termagant Wife
There once was a termagant wife
Who jabbed her husband with a dull knife
She said I must have been crazy
To have married someone so lazy
To which he agreed, You have been all of your life.

Tiger
A golfer once won at the Masters
Then met with private disasters
He hurt his wife and his spine
He lost his luster and shine
Then returned to please the forecasters.
April 14th, 2019 Tiger Woods wins the Masters after not winning a major for 11 years.

Trump
There once was a blonde president
Who always seemed unsoundly bent
His comments on Twitter
Felt sniveling and bitter
And his words too vulgar for print.

An Unusual Fellow
A man with two hearts and two heads
Said to the other If I die are you dead?
The other said Well probably
But maybe just wobbly
Though I’d rather you live longer instead.

The Violinist
There once was a violinist named May
Who practiced her songs night and day
One day a thief stole her violin
And she said, Lord above that’s a sin,
Why is it that You’re hindering my way?

The Voiceless Owl
There once was a voiceless owl
Who thought it made him less of a fowl
He said Oh if I were not mute
Then I would do nothing but hoot
I’d give my wings to utter a vowel.

The Young Mallard
There once was a young mallard duck
Who couldn’t say quack so said cluck
The chickens just loved him
The ducks all just snubbed him
And the woodsman took him home to be plucked.