Princess just wants a new car.
I have told her that hers will go far.
'Oh, it's really not cool
driving this crap to school.'
'Do I need that emotional scar? '
'The kids will all laugh at the rust.
When we race, I'll be left in the dust!
I will save up some cash
then we'll make a mad dash
to the car dealer surely you trust'.
'He will make us a wonderful deal
and I'm sure you will know how I feel.
I will love you so much,
My siblings... I won't touch.
Just get me behind a new wheel'!
Now she'll be cruisin in style.
She'll be happy for only awhile.
There will always be better
and we'll try hard to get her
a car that will make princess smile.
You call this poetry
I'm sorry I must confess
Your recent work
Why, it's a complete mess
Your rhymes aren't good
The story's not compelling
Where's this going
There's really no telling
You think it's clever
I don't mean to criticize
But your latest poem
Put a hurting on my eyes
Are you embarrassed
You didn't print your name
But this looks familiar
So I'll guess just the same
What's that you say..
Oh my, can that be true
No wonder I recognized it
The poet's me and not you
Contest: Linda's "A Poem Not Entered Into A Contest #13"
Poet: Lyric Man
Wearing clothes to bed simply makes no sense
I must float freely on my waterbed
But when I wake in the morning, I’m tense
Wrinkles from the sheets on my skin imbed
Rolling out of bed, I lower my head
All of my windows and blinds are open
Crawling, I fear neighbors might see butt skin
A snake, I slither in my birthday suit
Trying to avoid boob sighting again
And the tattoo that sits on my “patoot”
I made a mistake reaching for my robe
The rack fell down hard, landing on me
Here I lay thinking my world’s out of whack
I struggle but there’s no way to get free
My Life Alert bracelet rang out quickly
No success grabbing a sheet from the bed
The rescuers arrived in warp-speed time
To find a nude lady well past her prime
Face down, the tattoo was now in full view
Explaining what happened, I’d quite a time
*Entry for Cyndi’s “Birthday Suit” contest
April 24, 2012
My hero is Henry David Thoreau
Rather than pay taxes, to jail he’d go
With Uncle Sam’s hand out
Thoreau turned up his snout
Refused the poll tax, voting he’d forego
An elderly woman across the street
High property taxes she could not meet
Her house went to foreclosure
Homeless, died of exposure
While the politicians live on High Street
Jonah dwelt in the belly of a whale
No taxes on such a home did prevail
But as soon as he got out
Jonah faced taxes no doubt
Moby Dick's "inner condo" is for sale
Entry for the Taxing Times contest
You call me insensitive,
But I don't believe that's true;
Because, you see,
It's all about me.
It's not about you.
You say your opinion doesn’t matter,
That I’ve no respect for your point of view;
But I do if we agree,
Because it’s all about me.
It’s not about you.
You say I’ve no compassion,
No feelings for your troubles or your blues;
But none of us is issue free,
And mine are all about me;
But…not about you.
A time old adage,
“To thine own self be true.”,
Is all about choices you see.
My choices are all about me,
And, certainly, not about you.
So, when free or forced to make your choices
You’ll understand and know it’s true
To decide what will or will not be,
Won’t be at all about me;
It will be all about you
But special moments confront each of us,
When what matters isn’t “Me”.
And while these moments are few,
They’re not about me, not about you.
For a time, it’s all about “We.”
Yes, “…no man is an island.”
Is a valid point of view;
But if it’s not about “We”,
Then it’s all about me.
Sorry. It’s not about you.
What will their eternity win?
Greed, as a vice makes some men grin.
Money is their God.
Poor folks bear guffawed.
Then games bring a different kingpin!
© June 1, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
I had a dream
Where all my clothes
Were in my toilet bowl
Apparently this means that
I am drenched in emotions
Which need to be released
So I wrote
At the risk of being called “rabble-rouser,”
I think poor old Barky Von Schnauzer,
should practice his aim,
his master to maim,
in the back end of his very best trousers!
My hero I would call dear old Barky,
if he could just muster the stealth of a sharky,
and covertly steer,
right straight for the rear,
of that great big old bag of malarkey!
I think I should send Barky a big four leaf clover,
so his bad luck would finally be over,
he could retire his fame,
move away, change his name,
to Bowser maybe Lassie or Rover!
Obviously I have been driven completely insane by that stupid t.v. commercial!
Happy St. Paddy's Day!
Another day and the dishes have piled up yet again
So back I end up in front of the window
I do not glance up, but concentrate
On the dull, dirtied objects before me
I do not hear the voices from yesterday
I still wallow in the grime of gray
I smile in malcontent
As I lather the dishes with soap
Against my will, I look up
To see a lone, fat man opening a refrigerator
He is shirtless, bulgy, and he looks pregnant
My first supposition is to laugh
But I only look back down at the dishes
Not wanting to stare at the fat man
Not wanting to think he looks pregnant
For sure not wanting him to be my neighbor
Across the way
Against my will again, I look up
The fat, pregnant man is gone
I see ornaments on the refrigerator
Some pictures, some magnets
Family; not so different from my life
But yet, there is a transparent fancy of mystery
A flashy rage of difference in the silence
Oh, so quiet
The blazing sun sprays its light upon the hour
Not only are my hands wet from the soapy water
The deafening tone of quietude
Revels in me a mixture of loneliness and physical heat
A burning desire for something not seen
A desire for utter disgust of my newly found neighbors
But I find myself not disgusted at all
Until I look up again and see a fully naked man at the window
Across the way
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
Nurse: Briefly describe your pain
Nurse: On a scale from 1 to 10, how would you rate your pain?
Me: I dunno...where's your scale?
Nurse: No, no sir, on a scale...
Me: Okay!...180 butt-naked
Nurse: When was the last time you had a physical exam?
Me: Well, me and this lady went out the other night...
Nurse: We'll need a stool sample
Me: YOUR stool or my stool? I'll need a saw...
Nurse: We'll need to do some lab work
Me: I understand, it's hard to keep good help isn't it?
Nurse: Do you have a history of suicide?
Nurse: Are you having trouble urinating?
Me: Just a sec...nope, no problem here
Me: Just a sec...nope, no problem here
Nurse: Son of a...How many fingers am I holding up??
Me: Aha!...One in the middle and four bent ones, right?
Nurse: I swear to G... Sign this freekin' admittance form!
Me: Uh uh!...I deny the whole thing...
Nurse: (Sigh) Are you allergic to anything?
not sure how she got here
only know she needs to leave
underneath the stranger
my arm numb; asleep,
mouth a desert.
a hundred dead cigarettes dance my tongue dry
princess of night
exposed by light.
get me out of this;
another dreaded morning mess.
along with my will.
I swore never again;
the lie is half the thrill.
I do not recall
The bravado with which I spoke
The titillating prose
Seduction’s prelude to a poke
You spoke of love
with a lust that I understand
your heart a bloom
your derriere met my hand
I pulled you closed
my eyes nearly met yours
your bosom winked
thank God I wore drawers
Do you not see
that my passions are pure
a burning in my loins
for which water has no cure
We gazed upon the heavens
I wrapped her in the moonlight
I looked at the time
my prayers faded into night
We danced till dawn
I had answered her romantic call
I whispered sweet somethings
Before her foot procured my fall
I needed some time, some space to think
And it was either take a walk or drink
And since I knew drinking would solve nothing
I put on my shoes and I started walking
The wind blew the chilly air
Through my unkempt locks of hair,
But I hardly felt the biting cold,
Walking with memories warm in my soul
The street was dark, cold and silent
It was funny the places where my mind went
While I slowly walked across the blacktop road
No destination in mind where I would go
It's funny the things you will remember
I recall a day in mid-December
And how suddenly, nothing seemed the same
After that man at the door called my name
I followed him into a secluded office
Where he would tell me his diagnosis
And suddenly I felt my beating heart
But the rest of the world had just stopped
I felt a hand in mine get tighter
I don't think the room could have been quieter
I shook my head in total disbelief
Too numb to feel anything, even grief
The question asked, "What does this mean?"
But the answer didn't mean anything
My head too fuzzy, my thoughts too jumbled
I turned to my love to speak, but mumbled
I don't remember what else he said
Because of the swirling thoughts in my head
It took three days before I could even think
Which led me to tonight: walk or drink
So I walked and I thought and I truly remembered
Dreams of the past, love treasured forever
Friendship and laughter, sorrow and pain
As though I was reliving my life over again
Little things that I'd sorely taken for granted
Things that didn't happen the way that I planned it
Promises made and ones that were broken
Love that was shared, love still unspoken
The frosty air filled me with a sense of renewal
Inside my soul was fighting a duel
The angel, the devil, both battling demons
Inside of myself I fought to redeem them
I don't know who won the ethereal battle
And I'm not sure right now it even matters
Where once I believed everything for a reason
I'm finding that harder and harder to believe in
I do not know?
Hello my friend,
Hope all is well
This is your bud,
'Ol tom bell
You might wish
To read this poem
"Bad Day at the Eyedoctors"
A true tom tale
And shows what a fool I be
So check it out,
And you'll see!
Here’s what I’m thinking now
at the end of the world:
There are no atheists in foxholes—
no theists in politics.
If knowledge is power,
and power corrupts,
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero?
Does it matter that I didn't’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
There’s a poetry reading tonight
whence I’I'll chide other poets
who don’t sit alone.
I won’t bring up death
but I might have to breathe,
even into a mike
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo
maybe even a wince or two.
Just maybe I’I'll talk about love
and how following your heart is like following a dog—
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs).
But how many times have I used that line
since the story I wrote about you,
a witty and sexy and fictional you?
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you.
I won’t recite it from memory
because I don’t think about you that much anymore,
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me,
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes?
I don’t remember your eyes
except they are blue.
And I don’t remember you,
not even when I smell cucumber and apple,
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed
or when you walk through the door
happy to see me;
even then I don’t remember you.
Does it matter that I don’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
How about a few one-liners
for the end of days?—
Depression is self-awareness,
which you’d know if you were;
I need Ritalin to listen to you,
Lithium to hug you,
Viagra to feel you,
and Valium to sleep.
All you need
is me standing there, waiting at home
with turns of phrase and word plays
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand
but want to buy as much as I can
and how I love celebrity gossip
and detest poetry slams
and find rhyming trite
except when I am.
Hypocrites can still be right,
which you do understand
because you nod at my nonsense
about fighting the man.
But now, at the end of all things—
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read,
and you’re just sitting there, smiling
asking me to pass the bread.
Either from constricted throat or hesitated poise,
I find that creepy silence a deafening noise!
Like bees it buzzes in the core of my frazzled mind
Speak up, my dear, if you can be so kind!
See, like a red red rose withering to gray,
I find myself fading day after day
Left out to wonder what your mind may do,
I blush like a virgin nun, but tingle blue
If eyes only had a big, fat mouth
We’d be married with children and a fine, nice house
But love, eyes can only do so much!
If I feel mine water, I will hide it with a punch!
For cat’s sake—snap out of this frustrating state!
Look alive, help us both feel great!
I promise if I wither like that tearful rose
I will spray you with my not-so-silent hose!
I down poison and sleep for days
trying to take the heart ache away
I swallow rasorblades to take the headaches away
but nothing matters its always the same
what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger
liar liar pants on fire!!!!
Overdosed and dieing
survived it and now paying with liver damage and internal bleeding
The car crash of the drunk driver
nail biting aftermath
and another reason to go out and party
for the celebration
of the alcoholic
who just took the life of his best friend
I'm the victom
I'm the victom
I'm the victom he says
but low and behold the survivors in the other vehicle
stronger than ever
all crippled and in wheel chairs
they should really thank the drunk driver and condemn
all the hippocrits who know nothing of survival
so here i am
wishing to be more strong
why bother to exercise
they surely have it all wrong
why pay attention to science any way
all those cliches can tell you about apples and sunshine
but we know what doesn't kill you makes you stronger
so i think I'll cut off my leg
go play in traffic
or fight the wars by doing too much drugs
the place inside the fire can tell you
what doesn't kill you will only make you strong
A second lease on life
a new found reason to get up and go
and find god and praise life
and all the things i should have done
and all the newfound glorious reasons to cry
why oh why oh why oh why
thank you lord thank you Jesus
thank you wars thank you liars thank you lies
thank you doctors thank you poets
thank you psychologists
thank you preachers for truly understanding an age old cliche
I'll peel off this apple to keep the doctor away throw out the core
if it doesn't kill me
I'm probably just weak
and after all the rehabilitation and speach therapy i still don't feel like me
Oh, I am so angered, outraged and appalled
I think that I’m going bald
My dad had great hair
So I never really cared
But, to the hair club for men I am called
From my butt, they could extract some hair
Because I think I have so much to spare
But I cannot tell
Do you think it would smell?
Oh well I think, I’ll just leave it there
I do not know?
(This is a fictional poem)
A 94 year old woman kicked my ###.
She beat the crap out of me and left me bleeding on the grass.
Every time I got up, she knocked me down again.
She beat me really hard and I sure as hell didn't win.
The fight started when she asked me to put out my cigar.
I told her that I'd shove it up her vagina and I guess I went too far.
When she got through beating me, I had lost most of my teeth.
Now people laugh at me and all I feel is grief.
I do not know?
Your voice reminds me why going deaf aint so bad.
And why the old men down at the park
slowley go mad.
It's filled with regret over what what never will be.
That house in the hills.
The fancy cars the side little pets and poolboys.
Fake plastic faces to match the the fake personality's
So now your voice fills with anger and a touch of
I here the rejection even in my sleep.
It stabs me in my spine.
Doing that which your own hatred does for you.
You look to me as a inmate and as paycheck
Were cellmates not lovers we torture
for weve forgot to love.
Your voice echos
to my grave.
saying you could at least taken out the trash befor you kicked the bucket
you lazy bum.
(and long brown stockings)
I detest these stockings,
they're coarse, brown and ugly.
I hate the garters more;
elastic circles that cut off
circulation and fail to halt
the laddering down my skinny legs.
If only . . . I picture myself
in warm jeans and no teasing
from Tommy Rogers.
I put the garters to better use,
roll the repulsive stockings
down around my ankles.
"Who gave you
jointed toothpicks for legs?"
I lost it.
Now, Tommy has a black eye
and my nose is in the corner.
I JUST CAN’T HELP IT, YA KNOW?
Elderly Lady: Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!
First Alert: Duly noted, will there be anything else?
Elderly Lady: Are you going to call an ambulance?
First Alert: Ambulance? Heck no! Call one yourself
Elderly Lady: But I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!
First Alert: (Sigh) Can’t you just kind of roll around or something?
Elderly Lady: What the…What did you say?
First Alert: Lord! Deaf as a doornail too
Elderly Lady: Please! Can you at least give me some advice?
First Alert: Now she thinks we’re Dear Abbey….
NOT AS ‘PROGRESSIVE’ AS ONE MIGHT THINK
Customer: How’s it flowin’ Flo?
Flo: Just rollin’ with the flow ya’ know?
Customer: I love the way your words flow, Flo…You put them together so well
Flo: What’s THAT supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m well put together?
Customer: No Flo, I-I meant…Y-you’re a real flower, Flo
Flo: Ain’t NOBODY messin’ with MY flower
Flo: And I SURE ain’t no flower child either
Flo: Stop interrupting me! You wanna’ buy some insurance or what?
THE MAJORITY RULES
Nine out of ten doctors recommend taking Tylenol:
(The tenth doctor lost his license for recommending street-drugs)
Nine out of ten doctors recommend smoking Camel cigarettes:
(The tenth doctor unfortunately couldn’t recommend a doggone thing because he died of lung cancer)
Four out of five dentists recommend chewing sugarless gum for those patients who chew gum:
(For those patients who do not chew gum the fifth dentist recommended chewing tobacco and got his ass chewed out by the national association of dentists hooked on tobacco laughing gas and pain pills and they took his license away too they said here’s something for you to chew on sucker the fifth dentist said chew on this you mother you know what at least I’m just hooked on tobacco y’all are hooked on laughing gas and pain pills too they said don’t tell on us the fifth dentist said I won’t tell only if you give my license back but I’m still gonna tell your mommies on you and they’ll chew all your sorry asses out for sure they said ok whew that was close the fifth dentist said I’m in a bad mood now give me some of that laughing gas they did and he started giggling then the rest of them took some too and they all started giggling and partying somebody called the cops and they were thrown in jail at the trial the prosecutor drilled them mercilessly they gave up and pled no dentist but got off on a technicality when they bribed the judge and the prosecutor with some laughing gas they started giggling and said aw you guys are okay then the judge accidentally pled guilty and sentenced both himself and the prosecutor who are now both currently serving two count em two consecutive life sentences for god knows what…)
They called it school
I called it hell
From the huge imposing prison like doors
To the doom like toll of the bell
Everyday the same
Running for the school bus
Full of uncivilized Wild kids
Being pushed and shoved
Countless kids in uniform
Fearing the teachers and the day they were born
Satchel bags and lucky bags
Late for lessons again
Going to the headmasters office
For the cane ooh how my bum was in pain
Teacher at the blackboard
Pupils getting bored thinking about girls
Motorbikes and cars
Playing football in the yard
Playing sports in skirts and shorts
The one too big that moma bought
School desks fountain pens and ink
Boy how some of my classmates did stink
Trying to blow up the science lab
Bubbly gum and sherbert dabs
Giggling girls and bashful boys
Girls jutting out everywhere
Pigtails and ribbon on their hair
Always getting into a fight
Going home with a torn blazer and black eye every night
Lots of kisses on my homework
Rolling about in the dirt
Pouring ink into the headmasters aquarium
Holes in your trouser bum
Crafty cigarette hidden behind a wall
Morning assembly in the hall
School dinners you couldn't pick
Forced down your throat and made you sick
Being punished and kept behind doing lines
I must have wrote 'I must be good' a million times
Frog spawn put into teachers bag
Gas taps left on in the lab
The school nurse giving you a jab
Riot breaks out in class Running a race on sports day and coming last
Pea shooter and catapult Pulling your tongue out and being rude to adults
First love and nervous thumbled kiss
Girls with new sticky out bits
Hair growing in places it didn't before
Limbs aching and so sore
Always in trouble up to no good playing truant in the wood
Letting the tiers down on the headmasters car
Girls wearing training bra's
Exams were such a sham but wrote the answers under the bandage on my
hand Teachers talking about things I didn't understand
What a waste of time I was going to be a pop star and soon a man
Those daydreams of youth that still remain aloof
Hiding in the bushes watching girls playing hockey and net ball on the field
I still recall how that used to feel
Long school summer holidays away from hell
School books thrown down the well
Then back to school again to days of terror
And pain up early facing hell.
Peter Dome,copyright.2014. July.
Today's true tom tale;
Today was Dr. day at the clinic
I ended up the day quite a cynic
I'd been awake three days,
With a toothache and pain that slays
My jagged teeth cutting up my tongue
And the promise of help to which I clung
For no more of this pain could I endure,
I desperately did seek some kind of cure
Appointment at 2:15- told the taxi 1:30
I knew the fib was a tad dirty...
"Hedge the bet" one might say,
Sad to think one must be that way,
Of course in this case he showed up at 1PM
And I was in the waiting room at 1:15
Fastest response I'd ever seen.
So I sat in the waiting room as
Clerical shifts came and went
My patience seemed nearly spent
At last I was escorted to an examining room,
To sit and ponder my future doom...
For over an hour I sat there,
Reading all the posters on the wall,
About various diseases,
Soon I had them all!
Fibroid tumors in my uterus,
A glumaceous gluteus,
All these for me!
I hoped he didn't keep me
waiting too much longer,
Surely I wasn't getting stronger....
I'd be dead in ten more afflictions
If he could not cure all these conditions.
I felt my life force start to fade
Look at what these posters made!
Surely life was slipping away,
I couldn't stand,
I began to sway.
In he finally came,
Suddenly I did not feel
I might survive the day after all,
My approaching death grew
Next time, bring a book,
For in terms of time,
It hardly took,
Much time to catch
All these ills,
Or at least come in,
With made out wills.
Written 7 March 2014
Bruce and Jennie, both were 10,
Had been playmates all their lives.
One day, Bruce proclaimed,
“Jennie… most good men have wives.”
He professed his love for her.
Jennie said she loved him too.
They decided that getting married
Was ‘the right thing’ to do.
So, Bruce went to speak to her father,
Who was doing yard work at the time.
“May I speak to you, Mr. Johnson?”
“Sure, Bruce. What’s on your mind?”
“Sir, I love your Jennie;
And Jennie, she loves me;
But we need your permission
To be married… to be “We.”
Impressed by Bruce’s courage,
He knew this confrontation must be tough.
He smiled and asked, “Bruce, are you sure
You love my daughter enough?”
Bruce’s face became stern, he said,
“Mr. Johnson, let me tell you…
I love Jennie so much…and she loves me.
We’re both sure it’s the right thing to do.”
He was moved by Bruce’s ardor,
But permission was not his to give.
So, quick as flash, he responded,
“But Bruce…where will you live?”
“Sir, I measured her room;
Then I measured mine.
Hers is 40 percent bigger.
We’ll live there. We’ll be fine.
If we have extra stuff,
We’ll keep that in my room.
We’ll keep our places neat and tidy.
You won’t even need a broom.
And both our parents can save money
On babysitters too.
Even if you do things on the same night,
You’ll only need one sitter, not two.”
Mr. Johnson was impressed with his logic,
But this marriage idea was no longer funny.
He smiled and said, “That’s good thinking, Bruce;
But what are you gonna do for money?
“Why, Mr. Johnson, I get twelve-fifty a week allowance;
And let me remind you, Jennie also gets ten.
Throw in our birthdays and Christmas cash….
Why, we might even have money to lend.”
Desperate now, he thought,
“Next, I guess they’ll want a car.”
Then he asked, “But Bruce, what if you have kids?”
"Aawww," blushed Bruce... “We’ve been lucky so far.”
Mother Superior faced a daunting task,
Like no other in her forty years.
She had prayed it simply wasn’t so,
That Godly intervention might belie her fears.
But sadly, there was no such intervention,
No relief from the duty she did rue.
Despite her hopes and all her prayers,
It had been confirmed. What she feared was true.
So, she gathered all the Sisters after Vespers.
The impromptu meeting caused quite a stir.
There was murmuring as they filed into the chapel.
She hesitated for a moment... but no, she was sure.
“Sisters, I asked you all here to share some news.
It’s something I never thought I’d have to say.
We have a case of gonorrhea in the convent.”
Mary Catherine, a Sister for sixty years, said,
“Oh, thank God. I’m so tired of Chardonnay.”
I found a job at last
Well, I worked hard for twenty year
For a greedy type of bloke
I pushed and pulled until me legs went weak
Then one day I felt this twinge
It ran right down me spine
So I went out, some doctors help to seek
Now I can’t sit, and I can’t walk
Can’t even wash me feet
So off I goes to see this medico
He looked me over knowingly
As if he understood!
Then said “You’re doing fine, now off you go”
So off I goes to get a job
I gave some boss a call
But when he saw the way it was for me
He said “I can’t give you a job!
You’re stuffed my boy, that’s all
Oh, don’t tell me about your misery”.
I tried for an insurance claim
They said “we know you’re kind!!
You say you’re hurt, but is this really true?
To get some money out of us
You’ll have to test our might
We deem you fit to get a job, we do”
Well now I’ve got myself a job
It’s a breeze, I must confess
I lie her licking postage stamps all day
When I said I couldn’t work
I forgot about me tongue
So now I’ve got a job, and it’s okay.
Written in 1990
Like sick allergies,
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE
Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!
Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination !
It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.
So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked? Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.
You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.
It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”
“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.
So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.
She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”
ALTERNATE LAST VERSE
“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.