Sun glints off ripples
Play of light in sheltered cove
Backyard full of stars
Footsteps crack on frozen grass
Forested mountain side
Above twisting single track
Over arid land
Falling rain evaporates
Hot Aussie dunny
Sandy beach stretches
Tropical coral waters
Beneath St. Paul’s dome
Lies manicured garden
giving endless supply . . .
bright sun, blue sky
beauties for the eye
bird and butterfly
fields of wild rye
in soft winds sigh
and foxes sly
preying hawk's wild cry
on eye and ear sweetly lie
all of nature's works comply
until I hear you sigh
our whole walk gone awry
feet covered in cow pie
October 9, 2014
Twelve tree frogs sing in loud chorus
on this damp, foggy morn
Their vocal would break the sound barrier
By it nature is torn
Fog caresses the valley
Settles loosely on trees
Exaggerates the silhouettes
Moistens all the leaves
The frogs have removed the silence
Their din walks on nerves
They need another residence
Where they won't be heard
Ship them to another planet
Box them up in damp wrap
Let them start a new settlement
Send them, get them trapped
My prayer for rain was answered
This morn is nice and cool
The frogs loved it also, singing
To God their thanks refueled
For a moment I was ungrateful
The constant din distrubed
Now I am accepting of the sound
Let them sing unpreturbed
The tree frogs or rain frogs came out
in wild excitement last night following the rain..
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Contest: A Positive Poem
Written: Tuesday, June 24, 2014
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Once was a gal who felt so alone
Tornato came up rooted farms home
Landed on wicked witch
Munchkins came out of ditch
Gave dog lollypops instead of bone
The fox he bounced up to the toad
As everything around him glowed
He took her hand so tenderly
And said "hey sing this song with me"
The elephant told the kangaroo
“No matter what you say or do
You've got to have this dance with me”
And hummed a little melody.
They danced and danced
The whole night through
And really had a great to do
As their time they filled so merrily
All crazy, wild, and fancy free
The chimpanzee said to the clown
As he tapped his toes upon the ground
“Come laugh with me and have some fun
Let's dance and sing, hey everyone”.
The bear he laughed to see them all
As he drank some juice to keep him cool
Then he joined in all the carry on
As they played and danced the whole day long.
Peace, Socrares 1996
Turtle Tom and Turtle Tony were walking across a grassy field
knowing that their hard shells would protect them from most harm.
Their natural enemies in rural Arkansas number only three.
The mighty cougar and its cousin the wily bobcat
have the jaw strength to crush a turtle’s shell.
The only other critter that presents an ever present danger
is a very determined and extremely hungry raccoon.
Rocco Raccoon with his sharp teeth and dexterous front paws
can, if really famished, eventually crack a turtle’s harden shell.
The greatest of the turtles’ enemies is a careless human being,
whether it be from a swiftly moving vehicle or a nut with a gun.
With the off road vehicles getting larger as time goes by,
a turtle’s life expectancy gets shorter as the decades pass.
Turtle Tom and Turtle Tony slowly caught up with Turtle Tim
and the trio of tiny smack talking tortoises told one another
tall tales of great conquests from their long lived pasts.
Big-eyed hoot owl perched in a tree,
hunting for prey while eyeing me.
He swooped down swiftly and caught a mouse,
flew up and landed on the eave of my house.
Old hooty owl quickly ate the vile little beast,
burped once loudly, then glided off slowly due east.
Wise Mr. Owl will return late tomorrow evening,
perch up high in the same darn tree and give me a warning
by turning his swiveling head 180 degrees all of the way backwards,
giving me a wild-eyed wink and dropping on my sidewalk a couple of turds.
Looking out the barn door in our back yard
I watched a deer run through our cow field,
acting like cow pies were mine fields.
He appeared not to like cows
and seemed to plug his nose
by lifting fat lips
to block nostrils
for this fine beast.
He kept on running
lips flapping in the air
making funny bubbly sounds,
purposely or not, I'm not sure
But one thing I do know for certain.
This was the strangest deer I've ever seen.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest
Double Reverse Etheree
One hand on my britches keeps them from falling down
One hand on my cane, which keeps me off the ground
I know a solution must be found, I can’t decide just what kind
I’ve been analyzing the situation; but it rather puzzles my mind
Could be gravity tugging on them that has them in such a rush
Or is it my belly hanging out there that has given them a push
Now I know I was looking for something; I guess I’ll just look around
I am hoping that I will know it whenever it is found
I believe that I was headed out for somewhere
But must find my jacket; nothing else fit to wear
I certainly have my hands full, as anyone can see
I know that I have to get going; but damn, now I have to pee
Wrinkle, wrinkle on my face…
Couldn't you have found some other place ?
What made you furrow between my eyes ?
And all those creams, they are nothing but lies….
When I look in the mirror, all I can see…
Is a silver haired person staring back at me….
Then there are the lines , which run down the sides of my nose…
Running in circles, round my lips, down my neck and into my clothes….
Speaking of clothes , isn’t that where the wrinkles should be ?
Is nature playing a trick on me ?
Or is this a sign “ old “ is sneaking up on me ?
It seems only yesterday I was a young girl .. and had my whole life ahead of me…
So simple..so free……
Which don’t take me wrong I have enjoyed my life’s ride…
And there isn’t much in my life, I haven’t tried….
But it should would be nice if I could just see…
Myself with one less wrinkle…when I looked back at me…..
If yer one and only wish is to catch one really big fish,
Then ya need ta stop bait'n fer minners.
If you'd read my first book you'd use a big hook,
An'a bait big n'uf fer yer dinners.
It might take ye' awhile, but if fishin's yer style,
Ya might catch 'im with one week 'o fishin'.
It's well worth the wait when a hawg takes yer bait,
An' th' catch is as big as yer wishin'!
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
*ai: 3-toed sloth (slow moving animal) from South America (pronounce: "ah'-I")
sloth: slow/lazy person; etc
[Also: "A. I." = Artificial Intelligence is the intelligence of machines and robots and the branch of computer science that aims to create it.]
queue: people (for eg) standing in line; etc
"I. Q.": Intelligence Quotient
KEY: I Q
Oh lonely Inevitable Bear,
Padding claws, death in white
Sorrow in recurring nightmare
Instinct’s test; fight or flight?
Camouflage against the fence,
A challenge; my subconscious fear
Ominous slowly moving silence,
“Let me in, there’s a bear out here!”
Mother Nature, her bounty abounds
Spreading seed all across the ground
Through animals and ingenious ways
Through birds and even people at play.
As man his seed he also determines to spread
Be it is in a field, up an alley, in a warm bed.
Spreading his seed over here and over there
Spreading his seed almost everywhere.
In competition with the mother of birth
His seed he scatters all over the earth
Mother Nature the giver and taker of life
Man the giver of children and giver of strife.
Seeds of different shapes and sizes
Seeds that germinate and give us surprises
Man the giver or surprises and seed
He learnt how to spread it when he felt a need.
To spread his seed like the proverbial waterfall
Man thinks it’s his duty to spread it with all
But bless all the men that spread their seed all around
Just be careful where you spread it and where it is found.
Found in the wrong bed
it may cause a fuss
So keep your seed in a packet
lets say-just because...
© ~GG~ 16/02/2013
When I’m in my garden
I’m a King, I have a throne
I sit here very solitary
I am happy on my own
All my subjects gather round
The birds, the flowers, the trees
And all those noisy Sand gropers
The frogs, and all the bees.
Canaries have a special place
They play music for my court
Often wild birds join along
As I sit wrapped in thought.
My courtyards are not tidy
All the bushes cling together
But hey, they give me so much shade
In our hot sticky weather.
So I sit and write my memoirs down
Like a good King really should
As I sit here in my kingdom
And I really feel so good.
28 August 2013 @ 1419hrs.
De Andy Lee (part one)
Talks about the little Lady Lee and me,
It all started at the first flight
Our adventure had an origin---
From Off-ego was where we met
So dazzling was her beauty that
Caught my eyes at first sight
And unresisting, my passion wooed along
Believe me, my eyes contended and my heart clamored
Though my lips stuttered
Deep down inside me was stamina within
Whispering “You can do it, yes, you can”
As I opened my eyes, unknowingly, I’d reached for Lee’s hands
“Hi pretty damsel… as anyone ever told… you…‘re charming”
Perhaps this was a poor pick up line
But she smiled anyway and then freed herself away
Like a butterfly hovered from my hands.
Not so long, Terry, a neighbor from Long-town
Knocked at my door, walked himself in as I consented
And handed me a postal, “thank you Terry”, I said
While I thought through who might mail me this
Piece on my palm which I was about to cut exposed
Alas a nightmare-like knocks from the dark
I (already) left my door ajar
“You help yourself in please” I utter’d as expected
“Good day sir, I’m Dandy. There is a lady waiting for you outside
She said are name is Lee De Lee”
Agape! “It must have been that lady from Off-ego,
Yes she’d seized my throat already. I think, my previous
Chat with her there was not bad after all”
Walked myself out with one of my finest attires
Dandy took me to that spot she picked him for me and left
Me, only me wandering and wallowing nervously in the chilly clouds
“Hail Mary, hope I guess right… and where is little Lee De Lee?”
I soliloquized… and as Heaven helped me,
She appeared and approached
“My apology for keeping you waiting Mr Handsome,
May be you did wow me like you did other ladies or not
But my question is this… Will you love me like
You never have loved any other lady in this city?”
Though puzzled me but “I must top this chat” I assured
“Not only love will I give, but all for our short courtship
And the thereafter long and everlasting wedlock”
I could see from her face, expressions said to say
‘Another clever words from your sweet mouth’
But lo she opted for most sensitive part of me,
Which could be very vulnerable sometimes
“What did you say that your sweet name is… Handsome?”
There I unveiled my name, which is Agape-
“A-G-A-P-E, yes, pronounced Aa-gaa-pey from On-town” I said….
I'm in a crowded place.
Others brush my limbs.
We look so much the same.
I easily fit in.
No one knows my name.
I am one of them.
Firry and firm.
A little junk in the trunk.
Wispy and thin,
I blow with the breeze.
I'm a little shady,
but stay if you please
as long as you'd like.
I've no teeth to bite.
If you come closer I won't walk away.
I've no legs to go.
I'm here every day.
The great outdoors is where I sleep.
They're all I've known.
My roots are deep.
This crowded forest is my home.
By: Juliet Ligon
The wild berries of the Northwest
it seems every path you walk on , they are there for you to sample ,
Almost as The city of Portland itself is welcoming you with astonishing beauty, the view of a snow tipped Volcano , as if greeting you with a basket full of fresh wild Marion berries
The beauty, just picked plump , the color of dark purple
a fragrance to savor , what will I do ?
will I make a pie or preserves ?
Oh the pancakes and waffles , the Tillamook ice cream is a must ~
After rinsing the fresh picked Berries with water and dusting them with fine Sugar , a hint of cinnamon , if pie , waffle , or cake . maybe just plain ,
serve with whipped cream made from scratch and a leaf of mint .
The Salmon , the berries , roses and apples all in the Great Northwest ,
You may visit however be warned , for many have come this way
Many have travelled a far ,
For the great Spirit of This Northwest will encompass and astound you .
Begging your soul to stay and live the way of a Portlander .
Give me rain I say , for the green here will blind you, it is
like walking off the black and white set of Wizard of Oz,
and opening the amazing door to Colors .
Burying dead bodies usually takes place
In fancy holes dug on some land space.
Most people dig those holes somewhere nice
But sometimes they don’t have a choice.
Some people burn dead bodies to ashes
And this really saves on available land spaces.
Sometimes dead bodies are buried at sea
And slowly sink into muck for eternity.
Other fancy holes are dug large enough,
For the removal of some valuable stuff.
Sometimes these holes are dug somewhere nice
And most times people don’t have a choice.
When all the valuable stuff’s gone offshore
The hole is back-filled and land space restored.
Today we can dig holes in the seafloor
Right through the eternal muck and more.
Holes should be dug to bury the dead
And to remove valuable stuff instead.
listens to Rachmaninoff
once in a great while.
© 14-10-2013, G. Venetopoulos
The day the loo flew.
Way back in the nineteen eighties
I was half way through my life.
When my feet grew loose and restless
And boredom caused some strife
And so we two discussed it
And decided what we’d do
We’d go and live in a little shed
With a nice old country view
We started out in a caravan
Lived there for a month or two
Then we bought a roller door shed
And rigged it up nice too
Then put a little shed outside
With a dunny for our use
Hoping that no wind would come
And blast that poor shed lose
Then one day, it happened
It was five past twelve at night
The moon was full and filled the sky
It was a pretty sight
With rain a pouring from the sky
Then I felt a need there grow
And when that need does show it’s face
One really has to go
So I rushed into that tiny shed
And pulled my trousers down
I wasn’t happy about the rain
And my face it wore a frown
But When that blast of wind occurred
And the shed began to move
The mood that I was in right then
It sure did not improve.
That wind did clutch it in it’s arms
And tossed it in the air
That shed it sailed upon the breeze
As rain fell everywhere
And I’m sitting there in all my glory
That rain just drenching me
And all that I could do was laugh
So I did, I laughed like crazy.
8 July 2013 @ 2024hrs.
The English weather:
Rainclouds follow us from home
There is no escape.
We are truly blessed with splendid scenery in this great nation,
Overwhelmin' our senses with awe and inspiration!
Visitors to such places may view them with differin' perception,
And the spectacular Grand Canyon is certainly no exception!
A preacher, for example, might fall upon his knees in exaltation,
Praisin' and glorifyin' The Lord for His magnificent Creation!
He'll be inspired to concoct a sermon for his languid congregation,
That'll bring them leapin' from their pews in rousin' exultation!
The artist, no doubt, will view it with a practiced eye and gush,
About the masterpiece he'll create with his paint and brush .
As he critically eyeballs the colorful vista so breathtakin',
He'll exclaim, "Tis a marvelous canvas in the makin'!"
The contemplative poet will ponder the scene and then,
Create volumes of flowin' verse from his prolific pen!
The musician becomes emotional standin' on the high plateau,
Hearin' a symphony as the waters flow on the watercourse below!
An old cowpoke might marvel at the scene and scratch his brow,
Sayin' to no one in particular, "One helluva place to lose a cow!"
From the rocky coast of Maine to the San Diego Bay,
Ain't no two people gonna see things in the very same way!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Entry for PD's "7 Wonders of the Ancient or New World"
‘Do you like Pigeons Dad’
“They’re scummy things
They’re Rats with wings
They’re vermin of the sky”
‘That can’t be right Dad’
“They pilfer seed
They breed at speed
And harbour disease you know”
‘Are you sure dad’
“Since the Rock Pigeon flew
And ended up in a stew
Since their domestication by men”
‘But I like Pigeons Dad’
‘I like how they sing
I like the shape of their wing
So you should like them too’
“But I don’t like Pigeons Son.
Their walk is bizarre,
They crap on my car
And they’re really not that clever”
...they wake me in the morning,
With their delightful coo,
Their plumage is wonderful - an iridescent blue.
They look good in the garden Dad
They don’t make such a mess
Do you like Pigeons Dad?’
[This poem was the result of being asked this question many, many, many times by my son. My son is on the autistic spectrum - he has Asperger's Syndrome to give the official diagnosis. He is a lovely human being & I love him dearly. But one of his most irritating traits, is the fact that he asks the same questions continuously all day every day. No matter how you respond, the same question will be posed minutes later. Currently and for at least the last 2 to 3 years: 'Do you like pigeons daddy?' is his favourite/most frequently asked question. Now that you know that, perhaps you can really feel the exasperation in that final ..."Yes"]
Many of time have
I sat upon earthy ground,
amongst Huckle Berry patches
gorging in Huckle Berry heaven
with glutton lips painted purple.
Now there’s a sound I’ve heard before,
The quietest knock on plastic door,
The squirrel on the other side,
Boldly stands, no need to hide,
He knows that there’s nothing to fear,
From the people within here,
But if he can just look so sweet,
He might just earn himself a treat,
And so he stands with widening eyes,
Hoping for a small surprise,
He waits patiently for bread,
With his tail so bushy and red,
Give him it dry and he might just utter,
“Thank you Miss, but where’s the butter?”
hungry falcon dives
eyeing easy meal in nest
angry blackbirds rise
showering him with fierce pecks
leaving him stunned in surprise
" O' Whale ... A Fish Story ... "
The Biggest, Exclamatory Interjection, Used In The Ocean
The Phrase That Holds Many A Gigantic Wave's Commotion
It's Often Spoken In: Hurricanes, Monsoons or Tsunamis
But Its Not: Oh My! Look Out! or See! or Ooou-Weee!
It's " Well! " - Says Every Little Fish of The Sea ...
(Just Ask: Finding Nemo - he he he)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/18/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
So thoughtfully planted, these treats for your sight
Long awaited blooms rising up to the light
Under your care as they thrive poised in the sun
Gorgeous petals admired one-by-one
Beckoning those who should happen upon them
As the slow and sly grasp roots for ascension
In expectation of the coming reward for their hikes
Thanks left in slime for the delectable bites.
Written on 03/21/2013 for Garden Contest
What I Would Like to Forget
The stench of me was putrid and gagging
For the black white varmint had made its marking
As I realized the volatile sensations erupting with in
Stupid I was having spooked the skunk at my garbage can
Odor no other equates to such pungency and frustration
For throughout my taste buds its musk engulfed my aggravation
Having permeated seven layers saturated deep- I did scrub
My bath I did linger five days in the tub
Damn the experience which I would like to forget
I’ve learned at night to stay put in front of my TV set
crowded with the familiar facial form:
chalked on concrete
crayoned by children,
squirted on birthday cakes,
in camera with teeth all whitened,
portraited, imitated, formulated.
We don't wake up
until we see it.
We plaster it on
birds or cats or pigs.
We laugh and laugh.
How much these creatures
imitate. want to be us,
replace us, take part with us.
We don't honor the fishes,
except maybe the friendliest kind.
Resent the arthropod, lobster,
that appear to spite us.
! Gathering clouds, then;
rain. a pool! a puddle! a torrent!
then, an almighty splash
It is hard to foul air
in a sleeping bear's lair.
Shuffling sandstone, infinite shimmering coloured pots,
TV remotes lie in tandem with jeans, shiny toy robots
Act as magnets to the unwary tourist, conspicuous in
Their presence, shorts and cameras, humid hair in knots.
Spices of hues in their hundreds to make you salivate,
Groaning shack tables of suspicious sunglasses sate
Your appetite for purchases, the sun beats down on
The market, Medina bursting with life which cannot wait.
Eyes flicker over unsuspecting strangers, enticing you
To buy, trapped by the lure of a carpet woven new
By sweating men grasping, chasing any chance to sell
The future. Will you ever use this carved snooker cue?
While wandering alone, with not anything to do
My mind became packed, with selfless feelings of you
Photographs scattered on the floor, eyes well up
Stuffs I could have said, stuffs I should have done
The language of words that make two as one
Twinkling little elephant toes
Prancing through the Garden Of Woes,
With his long dainty nose.
"Good morning to you",
says a cute butterfly.
With cheeks glowing pink
The mammoth creature whispers, "Hi".
Turning from pink
To bright crimson red,
He bats his lashes
And hides his head.
As the butterfly turns
And flutters away,
The prancing little elephant
Continues to play.
I realize then
That it's time for bed.
Cuz, the dancing pink elephant
Is all in my head!
As I watched the rain pouring into the drain
I reflected on just how perverse
Was the Summer we had, with the weather so bad,
And the future can only get worse.
Now that Autumn is here, bringing with it some fear
Since the drains are blocked up with leaves
Which are crimson and yellow, so pretty, so mellow,
And they're also blocking the eaves.
As the weather gets colder, the leaves get older,
Black and dirty, and now..here's the thing!
The council won't clear it and therefore I fear it
Will leaf us at risk till the Spring.
'Tis twilight, the shadow of lake
turning light- peachy and pink.
And all the forest around wake
in the light- life too groggy to think.
When all the light cast God's love
of the sun, bursting brightly,
it shines on something- a hidden trove,
and I take the hiker's first step, lightly,
and I see in front of me old things!
I dust the dirt off skeletal caps,
I smile and the forest begins to sing.
Soon, though, excitement begins to collapse,
For my skips and my kicks and my chants
drop the artifacts on a rock, and they shatter!
Anthropology smites me for my careless dance
for now I have tiny skeletal pieces of matter.
The birds now sing, the monkeys now ooh,
the winds now shake, the sun hides
behind a pile of clouds, as though they all knew.
I collect my findings- crying a little inside.
Walking through the woods early in the day...
Haven’t seen a single soul passing my way...
All set to hunt as, I bought the latest gear....
On this the first hunting day of the year.....
It isn’t too cold but there’s a bit of snow...
So footprints will tell me where to go...
I can track by smell....
And I’ve been told pray tell....
That Man is getting smarter every single year..
Which means a lot... to my friends in here...
But now here’s the twist of this little ditty...
I’ve never lived or been to the city....
But trust me.. cause when I’m done..
And this is all in fun...by the end of Fall....
I’ll have a gorgeous blonde six footer ... a hanging on MY wall....
*** Just a thought...NRA = Natural Roaming Animal....
or Nasty Reindeer Association.......hmmmm
Why are only birds blessed with wings,
Those itchy, twitchy, mindless things,
While humans are stuck on the ground
And in machines to fly around?
Perhaps there is a reason for
Our legs (NOT wings) being so sore...
Perhaps there is a reason why
We can not freely roam the sky...
Maybe it's 'cause we drink so much!
Drunken drivers are bad enough.
We'd fly in constant fear and fright
Of drunkards hitting us mid-flight!
With this, I worry of the most
An inconvenience vile and gross.
Imagine if we lived if fright
Of vomit rain on weekend nights!
Maybe it is our flatulence.
So near the ozone, there's a chance
The fast food gases we secrete
Cause global warming to increase!
Maybe it's 'cause we fear great heights,
Or 'cause we'd tangle strings of kites!
Maybe wings would be cumbersome
And block the usage of our arms!
Maybe it's for the sake of birds...
Mankind with wings does seem absurd.
For even birds need their own space,
And everything must have its place.
sporadic chimes -
an invisible man
knocks at my door
September has come
and the ripe orchards
abundantly display their delicious fruits:
peaches of delicate rose,
and cherries of deep red!
Teens, with their empty baskets,
anxiously run to pull them
off the drooping branches;
and one of them yells,
" I have gotten the first one! "
What a gleeful celebration for youngsters
about to return to loved-and-hated school
with their band-new and heavy backpacks;
and they will write about these harvest's moments,
and wait with exciting eyes how their writings
will be scored by their teacher, and if someone
should cheat, points will be taken away...so kids,
squash your curiosity and kindly behave!
All of them did their best in writing poems without rhyme,
poems of a harvest with an aroma so fine!
The hot afternoon reddens the faces
of all the experienced fruit-pickers,
and these struggling young ones
can't speed up to their pace!
" Hurry, Jack...let Susan help
you with your over-loaded basket...
everyone has finished picking and gone! "
What a humorous remark that
even makes the sullen and tired sun
smile...when his duty is coming to a sudden end!
Happily they trot out of the orchards, singing nursery' rhymes,
sustaining the heaviest load they have ever felt ,
not to let their baskets drop and give the watchful squirrels
a chance to snatch some of the tempting fruits away!
And as they look up, dusk makes its appearance to scare them away!
And as if they were chased by unleashed dogs,
some fall, some run for their lives...an useless drama started by fancy!
Much fun they had, but unhappy about the bruises on their knees,
at least, they had one consolation: all the peaches and cherries they could eat!
And they laughed at each other, no one could ever forget about their fright!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I’ve got a couple of juicy melons
They are dangling so temptingly
Round with plump firm flesh
Shame they aren’t ready for picking yet!
Now now what were you thinking guys …
It’s the first year I’ve grown them in my greenhouse!
14th August 2014
The jackdaw is a curious bird
He hops and runs along,
His genial “tchak, tchak” can be heard –
Alas, he has no song.
Why look these corvine birds so old ?
Jet black and hooded grey,
With beady eye and black beak, bold,
They chase small birds away.
Corvus Monedula is his name,
It’s from the Latin took,
With habits very much the same
Some take him for a rook.
Poor old Jack, has no collective
For meeting with his friends,
He shouts “Tchak ! Tchak!” and this invective
‘Gainst all mankind he sends.
Most creatures have collective nouns,
It really is an oddity –
No way to name this gang of clowns ?
I’ll christen them JOCUNDITY !
There once was a gigantic mountain
That used to cave out on its molten
The last time Heir visits
Mountain Nock got digits
And walked on fauna’s realm to sustain
A Spider, beside her; combed her antennas and started to speak,
'A fly, Oh my; became entangled and started to shriek,
so I hurried and scurried; down my line to try to calm him down,
he really was in a bind; entwined and acting such a clown!'
'Then he fussed and cussed; calling me such foul and terrible things,
that I suppose, I chose; to let him spin and continue to swing,
there he hung, well strung; caught in the silver threads of my trap,
I wasn't in the mood, for rude; insects and climbed up to take a nap!'
'I returned, to learn; that something had broken my ultra thin line,
sticky glue, stuck to; the strands of my once pretty silk twine,
it was a blow, to know; that a bat had spirited away the tiresome pest,
for you see, and agree; that it is so hard to find entertaining dinner quests!'
An innocent looking fungus,
With a wonderful psychedelic purpose.
What are we to see?
Fictional reality in cinematic 3-D.
A four hour journey,
Which creates a compelling story.
Can it really be?
Life's purpose visioned beneath a single tree.
What a strange sculpture,
Until one looks brutally closer.
Are you staring at me?
The condemned mirrored look, lusting to be free.
On closing my eyes,
I can see clearly the complex function of the skies.
A lucid dream?
Where illusions that hallucinate can be seen.
With no more fear limits,
After time-stopping regular love visits.
What does this mean?
The transformation into a beautiful human being.
You're on my doorstep
You want a family pic?
Got any mice—rats?
I was walking in the countryside with my two best friends
We didn't see the tractor that was coming round the bend
The farmer was spreading liquid manure and it sure did stink
He meant to turn the spreader off but he did not think.
The solution had a stench of ammonia mixed with poo
It absolutely coated me but it missed the other two
They are crying with laughing at my misfortune
But when I drive them home they will change their tune.
Darren wants to drive us home, oh boy there is a smell
Shame the car has leather seats, to clean them will be hell
I get Jenny to sit in the front next to my handsome man
She’s lucky the car has air con and is sitting next to the fan
I sit on the back seat with my hand covering my nose
Wish I was in Darren's garden I’d prefer to smell a purple rose
Jenny is quite happy she’s got her hand on Darren’s knee
I tell her to remove it - he’s MY man and I can see
We drop Jenny home so it’s now just Darren and me
He’s off to have a shower or share a bath tee hee hee
6th July 2014-07-06
Written by JADAZZLE ~ Jan Allison & Darren Watson
As I sense the daylight strut through my mind,
I open my Squint's just enough to find,
one more day on this circle called Earth.
only 20,125 since the day of my birth.
I pull myself up with creaks and groans,
not stopping once until I've reached my thrown.
Start, Stop, Start, Stop life has played a trick it seems,
making this function that should be simple,
most difficult for me.
My friends all tell me age is just a number,
and I couldn't agree more.
20,126 and counting as my feet hit the floor.
Start, Stop, Start, Stop prostate exam on the 5th,
why, this growing old isn't all that hard as I take one more barium sip.
The hair is diminishing on the top of my head,
but growing in my ears someone once said.
The wrinkles on my for head that once never showed,
20,127 just a roadmap to go.
It use to be my youth was free, careless, casual, and wild.
now in my old age I'm sorry to say; I 'm out dated, out witted and out styled.
so to be apart of the elderly,
you have to be a bit bold.
just get use to the fact for the rest of your life,
you'll always be getting old.
Wake up 3 in the morning
walk over to the window
Look at the moon, wonder what it is thinking
thinking its the best?
shining so bright only one out there in the sky
thinks to it self
I am better than the sun?
at least people can look at me without there eyes burning
and when they see me all alone in the sky that's when they being to write poetry
write songs, books, and speak great thing about me?
all about my beauty and loneliness
I brighten the dark cold nights?
the sun, what do you do?
You make people sweat and bring heat to this world
your beauty comes only when you rise and fall
The moons beauty stays with it from when it rises and when go to sleep
Have you ever watch the moon set?
“Ya got the horse race
Ya got the dog race
Ya got the human race —
But this is a ratrace”
~ Bob Marley and the Wailers, “Ratrace” from the album Rastaman Vibration (1976)
Across Boynton Beach ran a popular road known as Gateway Boulevard.
Commuting to work on it each weekday morning the traffic moved like lard
Cruising past Motorola, eastbound vehicles mostly went single-file
In the right lane starting at Congress Avenue, dragging through all the half-mile
Along Quantum Boulevard and High Ridge Road, where long stoplights delayed the dull drive
Until the right turn to the onramp that dropped to the highway called I-95.
We’re getting on I-95, in line, we’re getting on I-95
The road never ends but as long as we’re friends we’re all getting on I-95.
Florida drivers were cool and unhurried; some surely could be terribly slow.
Old codgers wearing old hats had no clue they impeded the old traffic flow.
I’d blow past all of them, taking the left lane; I most every day made the pole
Up at the High Ridge Road light. Once it turned, I’d just kick it in and quickly roll
Forward, ahead of the slouch to my right, so that at the onramp I’d arrive
Long past the long line of travelers waiting to turn onto I-95.
We’re getting on I-95, my friends, we’re getting on I-95
It makes us feel proud to be part of the crowd all for getting on I-95.
In the South Bay there’s no waste of a chance to exploit the available lanes.
Drivers move quickly to block one another from realizing possible gains
That may have been realized, had lane-changing tactics let somebody else take the lead,
Yet for all that I have nothing to say of this crowd in its ruthless stampede
Than that it’s just like that past Florida crowd in the sense that it’s no more alive
In any real way, whether faster or meaner, than those back on I-95.
You’re getting on I-95, old crew, you’re getting on I-95
All throughout life, in each gladness and strife, you’re just getting on I-95.
~ Thanks Always Returns
squish your toes, squish your tush,
sit down in it and squish your bush
squish your thumb with great aplomb
smear what's dear, rather, slather your rear
smear your nose, smear your face
smudge dirty wet all over the place!
slather your thighs, slather your chest
cover both arms, cover the rest!
smear your knees if you please
and let it slip o'er your hips!
feel the dirt, oh, feel the wet
feel the slide, the better it gets
to point it out, seems patiently absurd
oh, mud is - such a dirty word!
© Goode Guy 2013-07-11
This is dedicated to my brother Toby
A happy poem just for jou.
The sun is shining and the sky is pale blue
Birds are singing and having thought s of you
As I walk down the flowered path of delight.
Skipping and singing happy songs in the sun light.
There are rabbits and squirrels and baby deer all around
I come upon a green meadow and lay a blanket on the ground
As I sit there enjoying the scenery and thanking God for his creation
A majestic buck appears with huge antlers and stoic expression.
Slowly I reach for my rifle and look in the scope to take aim
If I bag this bad boy I will surely get the glory and fame.
My heart is racing and I can barely breath I’m so excited
But as I was ready to put him down the buck was frightened.
The strangest thing happened he did not run away but towards me.
So I started running as fast as I could climb up the nearest tree
Now I have a question have you ever heard a buck laugh till he cried?
And if that wasn’t bad enough he called his friends would you look at this guy?
He looked up at me and with a smirk on his face turned and walked away
I will never forget what happened in the meadow on that sun shiny day.
I do not know?
Yes, indeed, Mr. John Heck is the winner with his answer-"Tulips"; His reasoning
is as follows...Keyboard humor; a somewhat off color joke I've heard, and
apparently, so has John, which goes: What's better than roses on your piano?
Tulips on your organ. I hope no one is offended, none intended. If so, please
accept my apolology. (And, I would believe, John's, should anyone feel that
necessary...which they should not.) The next clue; Namesakes come in pairs;
Two Lips. Third; "I sound like a part of you"; Lips. Fourth; Sweet to the senses;
Tulips...(I would add, they are visually, as well as aromatically.) Fifth;
Sometimes I stretch out, and make others howl; John's answer here; Tulip
pedals stretch out. (actually, in this clue, I was alluding to when a person yawns
and their lips spread out, and how it makes other people yawn somehow.
(Another Mystery of Nature!) Sixth; Thumbs in Dikes; His comment; Tulips are
flowers that are in abundance in Holland (Netherlands). This is on target, yet I
would add, think of the children's story about the little boy who stuck his thumb in
the leak in the dike, to save the village.
In any event, Mr. John Heck is our Winner!!!! Congratulations!!! Please, everyone
note, henchforth, Mr. Heck shall be referred to as, "His Majesty, King John the
Well, Your Majesty, Good Sir King John the First, you may request a custom
poem based on any one word.
Recap to date; Contest Quiz Part No. One- Make a six line poem incorporating
the following 6 words, or phrases;"Waffle", "Roller Skate", "Latex Paint", "Bench
Press", "Coal Bin", "Police Siren". Opening day worth-10 Points, less 1 each day
after, and humorous poems from above can earn up to 10 Bonus Points max.
"The Ballad Of Tom Bell" (Sung to the tune of Rogers and Hammerstein's "My
"A bench press, a coal bin, a Six Story Waffle???
Structures that Tom made with glue and falafel!
Rollerskates dipped in Latex semi-gloss paints?
A police siren was heard to place him in restaints!
Baked beans and burgers, drank with something that fizzes,
Frantically typing his weekly pop quizzes!
His Mother Goose characters "ARE" tied up with strings,
The fun anecdotes Tom Bell's poetry sings.
Tom has dog bites!
Suffered bee stings!
He is going mad!
(And seeing things!)?
So look at this bloke
and think of yourself,
and I'm sure you won't feel
Other Side of the Moon
There was a wasp who had become a slob
Ended up being dumber than a door knob
And I hate to really sound so sarcastic
Tried finding food from flowers which were plastic.
I found this to be highly entertaining
Which to plastic all of this was pertaining
Wasp left after he had to look and look
And on an airplane a trip he tried to book.
Some air tactics are not necessarily fair;
They found one recently which was called scare
Which wasps always will use on us everyday
And end result is it scares everyone away.
Was it a wobbly wasp which by would wisp?
Who later turned into a lunar ellipse or eclipse
And can you imagine a wasp who built a cocoon
Which ended up being on other side of the moon. (Brrr!!!)
i'm down to the lowest happily
soaring a wonder of doom
scooping the arse of ecstasy
from a comely infusion of gloom
skipping the stones of depression
falling the staircase of love
blooming my way to regression
while handing meself with a glove
to orgasm an organic madness
a minefield magnified in sun
shining the light on this sadness
this morbid masturbation of fun
A VIP while making pee
looks like a not-quite VIP.
I am a party animal, my heritage is mixed
quite content to lounge about when conditions remain fixed.
Suppose that’s the nobility which Krypton must provide,
maintaining stiff upper lip when I’m all buzzed inside.
Then too, I’m mostly nitrogen, which is very stable,
tamping volatility of oxygen: it’s able
to combine with hydrogen (that’s also in my make up).
Uncontrolled? Oh that would lead to an explosive break up.
Carbon Dioxide? Its percentage varies night and day:
vegetative respiration, or so the boffins say.
I wonder why I don’t glow multicoloured in a storm:
my neon, argon, radon being Vegas lighting norm.
If I had more Helium the humans would sound squeaky.
I imagine the attraction of that chap Enrique
Would suffer greatly from affliction. He’d become mundane,
and prove downright offensive if I gave him more methane.
I’ve also Nitrogen Oxide, not Nitrous NO2,
and a soupçon of ozone which had once protected you
from harmful rays from Out There much more than now is measured.
It seems that humans cannot see what really should be treasured.
I’m moved by friction of the Earth and pressure off the bat
while Coriolis effect pushes me this way and that:
north and south of the equator, the opposite I spin.
Any other speculations, my friends, are simply wind.