God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…
who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again
The March madness ends
I am just an April fool
looking for sunshine
Must make haste
Time for "waste"
Look around,embrace life,smile,
Even if it's only once in a while,
Gods' world,acres of entertainment,
Learn to laugh,enjoy your environment,
Umbrellas out,the birds are soaring,
Two parrots pecking,so adoring,
The king of water,angry river roaring,
Water racing each other,raindrops pouring,
Snake shaking his rattler,rumba girls luring,
Woodpecker sharing knock,knock jokes,ohh so boring,
Visa-card in his poach,kangaroo touring,
Owl seeking more wisdom,bird brain storing,
More hay over here,horses neighing,
Green,green pastures,the donkeys are braying,
Twenty four-sevens,happy hens are laying,
Do you catch the drift,of what I'm saying,
Now open your eyes,see what I'm talking about,
Hope it put a smile on your face,
Or pulled a laugh from your mouth....
Gladly would I die
for your love, my dear...No! Wait!
Just kidding! Just kid...
For Andrea's 'Show me the funny' contest
< Cascading lakes and streams
The loon stands out it seems
Minnesota's state bird
I know it must sound absurd
Adopted in nineteen sixty one
Wails and yodels heard under the sun
Black and white bearing red eyes
Wingspans five feet can make one cry
Body lengths up to three feet
Yet clumsy on lands and moss peat
They are high speed flyers
And great underwater divers
They can dive up to ninety feet
In pursuit of fish they want to eat
They are even on our license plates
An critical habitat drawn on metal slates
Twelve thousand of these unique birds
God that has to be a lot of turds
But for now I'll enjoy it's captured views
Of this beautiful loon and it's most colorful hues
Written By Katherine Stella
Entry For Mini - Blog Beautiful Bird Contest
By Constance ~ A Rambling Poet
'Tis strange where we should get the notion
That poetry expressed in motion
Should within the human form reside.
When nature gives us many chances
Unpractised and ephemeral dances
Like in a muddy field when sheep collide
Truth is, that nature's not so humble
And doesn't mind the dancer's stumble
There's nothing that it ever seeks to hide
Uncaring it leaves all revealed
And is not shamed if one small field
Has crazy sheep and one long muddy slide
They're mad, they're bad, they're having fun
Those naughty sheep and every one
Is doing what convention has denied
The hillside's muddy, wet and slick
With crazy sheepies sliding quick
Down to the bottom, down where sheep collide.
Many count good nature's fare
The birdsong and the country air
Among the wonders of the countryside
But strange delight can yet be found
In woolly bodies sliding round
A simple muddy field where sheep collide.
While nature guides celestial spheres
In cosmic dances, it appears,
With majesty the earthborn are denied
Down far beneath in mud and grass
A sheep slides on its woolly a***:
A sense of fun, though not a sense of pride.
O' possum O' possum
Sleep the day away
Await the setting of the sun
before you go and play
As the dusk arrives at last
Awake and stretch your paws
Don't clamber from your tree too fast
Hang tightly with your claws
The brown team 'v' the greys
Its football night you see
they'll use a melon for a ball
with a ring tailed referee
The match is quite a tussle
both teams are very strong
The crowd sit up in the trees
And Hisses them along
A possum breaks loose from the pack
Towards the goal he's bound
The goalie take a single look
Then plays dead upon the ground
The melon bounces of the post
A dustbin crashes to the ground
The crowd invades with fever pitch
To look in and see what's found
Give a man a sea-kitten,
And you feed him for a day.
Teach a man how to sea-kitten,
And PETA will make him pay.
I guess there isn’t much to say,
We’re gonna eat them either way,
Because the message here being conveyed
Does not have to do with fish per se.
Instead we feel the need to build
A foundation where we can rest our guilt.
Or where we can sway, or push, or tilt
The basis of sanity. And watch it wilt.
Humans are actually land-dodos.
A tree is also a green-giraffe.
But no name we will ever sow
Will ever cease to make me laugh.
I mean, how bored do you have to be
In a world with war and disease uprising
To stop what you’re doing and decide: “Here see,
Fish are in trouble. Start compromising.”?
Man is the measure of these extents.
The apex of idiocy slips his mind,
And thus he chooses to invent
Another means to thwart mankind.
We’re defending the rights of things we need.
Things we need for survival, like skin.
And in our greed we fail to read
The paradox lying herein and within.
Among all the things that humans bleed for,
Nothing more imbecilic has ever been,
Than renaming the fish of which we feed
Into something like sea-kitten.
“And then Jesus blessed the sea-kittens,
He broke the bread and divided it amongst 5000 people.”
Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear
And mad old Abraham
That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire
And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity
So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in
For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar
But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?
Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me
Do not visit places where you know you should not be
The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods