My bandit mask is on.
The dusk is now upon us.
Time to go exploring.
I scamper along the fence posts,
as my ringlet tail
dances to and fro.
I scurry up the backyard tree
when I spy the garbage can.
It makes me think of lunch.
I'm hopeful for something good to eat—
perhaps a greasy pizza crust
that’s only a day old.
Graffiti flourished underground
works by young artists
who found their voices
by sharing visions
in tunnels and on trains
commuters took to work.
They painted flowers
purple monsters
and people dancing
on the street
a celebration
of life the artists knew.
As subways squealed
around curves, first-time
riders never knew what they’d find
under the city
the stories told
before commuters found the light of day.
Skyscrapers above poked into clouds
as the city lived and breathed
but images of graffiti lingered
lingered in recesses of minds
the art left in tunnels
where trains rumbled underground.
Missouri born comedian who brings Ohio to it's knees in one night
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nibbles clutched the acorn like a tiny criminal mastermind,
whiskers trembling under the porch light's harsh interrogation.
"But officer, I am not a porch bandit," he squeaked,
gesturing wildly at the pile of stolen walnuts behind him—
"Those? Those were... uh... gifts! From a very generous tree!"
The flashlight beam did not look convinced.
I sit on your garbage can and fiddle with a knob
Your back door shakes a bit, I search for a corn cob
Smash goes the lid to your aluminum garbage can
I am the man, I think now, I am the man!
You are in your kitchen, terrified to see that knob
Slowly move back and forth; my cousin has the corn cob
Fighting ensues, we slap each other and screech
You call the cops. They send out Officer Leech.
I fear I've lost the light
In this storm of chocolate rain
Muddy waters cloud my sight
Within this foul smelling haze
But I know I'll make things right
I'll escape this hell someday
And my tights will finally stay white
Off this soiled path I'll find my way
They say the devils in the details
Well I sure hope he likes corn
They say in the end good prevails
But I've had this demon since I was born
In my wake I leave a trail
There's stains on all I've worn
My life's going off the rails
And I feel chaos in my core
Still as I waddle towards the future
I've only known one truth
It always goes smoother
When you let the pain pass through
So when my gut gets sutured
I'll fill the hole in my heart too
I only wish I'd done it sooner
Change your pants before they change you
Down to earth comedian who brings the house down with laughter
Always together, they played
Never alone, lost or afraid,
They trudged through the woods
And all the surrounding neighborhoods,
Piercing the darkness with shiny flames,
Their eyes never revealing their names.
Always together, they delighted
In the games – wonderfully excited,
They plodded on through the night
Beneath stars and moon so bright
Carefully seeking the best garbage cans,
With paws that were suitable for hands
Always together, they embarked
On trails and tracks – some unmarked
Reaching for the best trash to consume
Knowing that later they’d need to groom
Together, they robbed every community
Raiding the trash at each opportunity!
These bandits from the woods where flowers
Adorn their woodsy lands thru rain showers
Children Sing to Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
March 25, 2023
There is a masked bandit in the produce aisle.
This went over the loudspeaker in the grocery store.
It was my neighbor Whitey, who wants to hide his smile.
He has bad teeth, maybe not even one any more.
I use Covid as the excuse, he told me one time when I thought to ask.
I told him I would love him no matter what,
They coppers came in and demanded to know about the mask.
The police left him alone, I was glad of that!
Anna the bandit and shady jane
set out to rob a railroad train.
So, they went for the gold.
Then botched the escape.
In for ten, no parole,
Makin license plates.
Smokey the Clown ran around,
With Bob the Burger Bandit.
Bob, the slob, needed a job;
But didn't know how to land it.
Smokey tried to get him inside,
A restaurant on the hill.
They hired Bob for the job,
Flipping burgers on the grill.
It wasn't long when all went wrong,
And he was fired on the spot.
His belly filled with burgers grilled,
Was more than the patrons got.
Smokey knew that jobs were few,
But he tried one more time.
Found a job for Bob, the slob,
In the circus as a mime.
Two shows a day, one would say,
That he really had it made.
Instead of work, he'd rather shirk;
And eat burgers in the shade.
With an attitude that was crude,
At last made Smokey sore.
Bob, the slob, quit the job;
So now they're friends no more.
How does he choose his victim?
The police are baffled.
Six cases.
Six different women.
One old, one extremely young, the others 33, 45, 68 and 84.
Most of these guys have a type. This one doesn’t.
They are a variety of ethnic groups, different hair color.
Different body types, one with tattoos.
The shopping mall bandit has struck again.
Takes all of their shopping bags, their cell phones, their jewelry and their cars.
This time he has accidentally taken a 93 year-old with Alzheimer’s who was taking a nap.
He dumped him off at a gas station.
So now they know three things about the guy.
He is a thief, he does not use local pawn shops and he has a heart.
dark masked marauder
devoured sweet corn at night
crows left hungry
Belle hung out and consorted with outlaws,
So folks shunned her and called her a scoff law;
But things aren't as they seem,
And though not squeaky clean,
'Twas the men in her life who were outlaws.
Sam Starr was a Cherokee man.
They married and lived on the land.
To friends who were weary,
They gave sanctuary,
In their home out on Cherokee land.
When Sam was killed in a gun fight,
Belle mourned his death day and night.
With him life was good,
He did what he could,
To provide what he thought was right.
To stay home on Cherokee land,
She must marry a Cherokee man,
So she married Sam's cousin,
Just to have a husband,
But Belle still missed her Sam.
Belle lost her life one fine day,
On her way home from a visit they say.
No one knows for sure,
For the history is poor,
But they ambushed her while on her way.
So the queen was brought to her knees.
Shot down like a dog if you please.
Remember this well,
And you won't go to Hell,
If you lay down with dogs you'll get fleas.
Get me a matchstick
And the rogue over there quickly pick.
Or you fetch me smoker’s lighter,
Whose flame is assuredly brighter,
Pouring me out some petrol
From our jeep long on patrol…
Jungle Justice is beginning to itch like lust,
Last week’s, a badgering must!
The fair-play funded by fire
And aided by vindictive tyre:
An impatient crowd’s justice,
Permitting no armistice:
Rather like our dirty street,
Every burnt body, a nice treat!
Still rubber trying to locate?
Or what it should cost calculate?
Please, let me have a bundle of unsmiling ropes
That should dash an escapee’s lurking hopes,
With this ridding our society of a bandit…
They’re real Trial Judges within our ambit.
No sooner are their wigs worn
Than The Hardened confessions are born:
His true identities peeping back at you,
Their impossible hideout proving to be true.
Old timers freely recalling their first operation,
A neat fingering of even the day of digression
But now to them no show of leniency
Nor our determined hands control their proficiency.
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