Best Moly Poems
Her name was Ethel....(yes, like the gasoline)
She smelled of menthol...(much like Vick's Vaseline)
A long time neighbor, from down the lane
She was married twice...(or was it thrice?)...
A widowed lady, we knew her well
A bit disgruntled, and a bit dismantled
A bit unusual.....a bit disturbed
and most the time, seemed quite perturbed!!
And as a kid....of her, I feared!
So scared of her that when she came .....Holy Moly, off I'd run!
And hide away..........'til she was gone!
She was a mix of ice.....a tad of nice....
But my mother trusted her sage advice
She had a cure for most everything....some seemed rather sensible
Some quite extreme!!!
The worst indeed..............(Please excuse my dilemma!)
She believed in the (OMG!!) THE ENEMA!!
(Well....now you can see .....just why I hid!!)
And castor oil..............gahhhhhh.......how disgusting!!
Should only be used when parts are rusting!!!!!!
And an old rag wrapped and rubbed on your wart
Then into a hole.....dug out by the fort....
Yep!! Now, why would a dishrag buried in the yard
Could have such power to rid.................................A WART??
Ridiculous notions....all of her potions......but...
Golly, Gee Whiz! , I'll have to say...
That I've been wart free.........since buried rag days!!
Oh, Miss Ethel..............perhaps you were weird....
but you would fix a mother's fears...
Could you still fix-up all my own....
all of my fears....after all these years?
Just NO MORE ENEMAS!!! Please Miss Ethel.....
Oh !! my dear !!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dimes drop, records begin to drop
Rhythm to stroll, jivin’ to hip hop
Slow to jitterbug, boogaloo to rock
Twistin’ Chubby and rock around the clock
The Platters sing, you hold her close
Eye to eye, love’s first dose
Beach Boys up next, time to surf
Steppin’ on toes, unmarked turf.
Malted shakes, pie a-la-mode
Checker board floors, tempo has slowed
Roadsters lined up, sweethearts in style
Stompin’ to the beat, no one’s idle
Jail house rock and shake rattle and roll
At the hop, then on to the stroll
Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry’s pickin’
Mack the knife rocks, Rock-in Robin kickin’
‘Ramblin Rose’, and ‘Good golly Miss Moly’
Dion’s ‘Run around Sue’, turn around now with Buddy Holly
Step in to ‘Shimmy shimmy Ko Ko Pop’
More dimes roll, keep rockin’ till you drop
"The Circe Effect" (Part 2)
In solitary confinement, she remained all alone
in a big old mansion in the middle of a woodland zone
there she sat weaving on her loom all alone
on that Island of Aeaea, until that good sort, Odysseus
walked into her home.
Athena, sent Hermes to warn Odysseus “Beware Circe’s wizardry! Beware!”
and handed him a sharp sword with some Moly to imbibe,
“Protective powers! Added benefit!”, she prescribed -
with her final parting words, something to this effect,
“Odysseus, dear friend, Goddesses are not mortal, they are extremely treacherous in bed!”
Circe’s powers were far too strong and before very long
she had Odysseus
hooked on her magnificent wand.
He remained on her island for one year,
feasting, drinking wine, dancing merry with our Circe,
where he slumbered in a meadow full of flowers with her,
to avoid getting dirty.
Eventually it was time for Odysseus to continue on his quest
where Circe, our clever and dear girl,
gave him final directions to The Underworld
you know, that other dubious
place to rest.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
"Underworld Blues"/The Mechanisms
https://youtu.be/wkWkk7Di2YU
My life is like a movie
well in my eyes I can truly be the ruling
I'm the doozy, Uzi shooting through the rooting
super-computing, fusing routine, never will use these
suiting every few, cleverly blue
see who? me looting every noose
I'm severing, choose to openly rue the recipe soon
why? I earned what worth my brain stirred
the curse, the pain hurts
the search for lame burns
they burst away first
in vein, I lay crazed, when I say hey
I feel they may make fate, destiny a gate
to make way for the day, decay great
face hate to be ate, ached, eight by eight shamed, by the rain saint
pourin' poorness upon the fortune
forced to force feed forty four before we orbit coarsely
im boarding, morphing for these unholy moly forces
I'm holding royal loyalty, I fully see the rhyme dulling
coldly spine showing time, breakin' like folding my soul in nine
for the care of sharing the fire for the fight
in the focus on the light when I write it right, just get excited
Since youth, I've been a big foodie; every goodie I've tried, even sushi.
At 18, I traveled abroad, first to France; Thank heavens I didn't try frog!
I got to try crepes (sweet filled envelop shapes) and liquor-filled chocolate
that I ate on a train headed for Spain; but I could not get tipsy on it!
I tried many foods in Madrid, but the strangest thing I ever did
was go to a bar to try fried "calamar." Had no idea it was squid!
In the place where we lived they would serve us a strange fishy soup
that had gobbledy-gook which looked not much better than poop.
My horror I couldn't disguise while eating around those ugly fish eyes.
A soup in Seville not quite as bad was surely the coldest I ever had.
Its name is gazpacho, but I think that machos would rather eat nachos!
Paella I had on the coast to the east; for most it’s a marvelous feast.
But picking out things I just didn’t like, I ended up mainly with rice.
One melon-like drink has a cool taste. In Spain people order horchata.
Horchata from Mexico though they uses rice. It’s not even worth a piñata.
Also from Mexico I had some pork so filled with fat, I thought I’d choke.
And their mole, Holy Moly! I’d much rather eat a cannoli.
In Israel, served a mammal, I was told (once crammed-full), it was camel!
There’s one last super rare thing I’ve tried in my life (and I don’t fib this).
I say it with pride. I’ve recently tried chips made from flour of crickets!
Oct. 25, 2018 for Nina Parmenter's Trying Something New Contest
(the cricket chips are quite tasty! I gave them to a bunch of kids simply telling them that they were similar to doritos and the kids liked them!)
I know a river where the fish fly in the sky.
Sheltered by boundless ember morning sky,
a lull stillness, it refuses to say goodbye;
I breathe deep in submission quiver and sigh.
Drifting upriver in my small fry fishing boat
wishing for a plate of fried fish, so, I wore my lucky coat.
It's out there waiting for a moving worm afloat.
A dragonfly hover by, big bass launch into the air.
Dangling my pole over the boat there, I stare.
Speckle trout; come with me, my cupboard is bare.
I spent all day as the fish just laughed,
bait writhe at the end of the hook as they passed.
Splash! A nibble, then a take. Holy Moly, largemouth bass.
11/4/2021
Example for Contest
Got yourself some new wheels, huh?
I can hear the squeals of rubber burning
I cough exhaust…left behind, oh gosh! I’m holding just a pile of dented fenders…
suspended… Your bucks spent. Engine Red..that foreign bred truck!
Snap, crackle and Popular Mechanic…Look at the maniac go….!
Holy, Moly….must be rolling in dough!
Woe is me, a junk yard dog, pile of junk, smelly sneakers left in my trunk
There he goes….who knows where….how many horses…under that hood...?
Should I know? I’d fly too, if I could. Just scrap metal in my bellow.
Heavy pedal, limp and wasted..used to be his favorite girl…kept me polished, waxed
and oiled…now I’m soiled. No garage..no umbrella, who gives a rip? Worn out
engine, give up the ship! Cast away…..not in style…gave a ride to Gomer Pyle
“See the USA in your Chevrolet"…, ‘cept that I ain’t got no carburetor
See ya later gator…what’s the hurry fella? Did ya see the light was yellow?
Red light, yellow light…. see if we can make the green
Going green….going green,….does that mean his hybrid’s clean?
Anti-freeze, it makes me sneeze….can’t I have some oil please?
Give ‘er the gas, let’s see what she’s got!
OH.. forgot!…ain’t got my tires..I’m retired
Pubescent male migration, arcing over sunless streets
Hear that squeak……doctor told me oil leak
Honest Engine, joined the pack, no Pontiac to take that ride
Is there heaven for old cars? Car 54 where are you??
I got my kicks on Route 66, running relays, no baton, just open freeways
Son of a gun…give it the gun……vroom.. vroom… run… run!
One door closes, need new hoses, or I don’t go nowhere… no how
Pile of rust, I’ve been busted, up on blocks…what a crock!
My teeth and pride are all knocked in…windshield wipers brush a tear
Windshield wipers swipe the years…skid marks show behind my eyes
Teeth and pride are all knocked in, guess I’m just an old has been!
______________________________________
a stream of consciousness
Drinking water all night,
jerking off on the Sabbath,
and feeling the night making me feel alive,
Sabrine she left me a year ago-
a lie or two broke me apart;
giving too much of love,
giving her my heart and knowing that she'd lose it,
and I sit in the dark room
with one window open,
listening to the people next door making love,
and the bed frame slamming against the wall,
thinking "Holy Moly brother, give her a break, she'll break on you!"
but then remembering my next door neighbors were lesbians.
Then I remember Sabrine again,
letting lose with other men,
while she still is trying to get into college,
she was a good girl and a nice friend,
one you wish you could ask for,
wanting to make love with her,
but she is with another guy-
living in California,
but sometimes I think she turned lesbian
and is swinging with other women on Skid Row,
feeling up each other's shirts and skirts- it makes me hard-
see I still think of her, but now in a different light.
.2.23.2014.
I have a mole that scares me well,
Especially at night,
I barely seem to think of it,
Until I hit the light.
Then I lie in bed with all the what-ifs,
Swarming round me,
They soon have me wondering if
All is as it seems to be.
Then the thought of cancer creeps in,
The thought of saying goodbye,
And all because of a tiny mole,
Oh, that often makes me cry.
So I lie there thinking to myself,
I'll get checked for sure,
But when morning comes around,
It doesn't bother me anymore.
So I go about my day happy,
Forgetting my dear mole,
It’s only when I try to sleep,
That fear takes control.
Next time, tomorrow, soon,
I will always say,
Then by the time daylight comes,
It's forgotten right away.
I know I’m being foolish,
It's best to check it out,
But I think I'm scared to face it,
To let my fear come out.
For tonight I will have to hope,
That my mole is simply skin,
And I'll get it checked tomorrow,
Very first thing.
***For Nikko's Holy-Moly contest***
I must reject the holy-moly, mumbo-jumbo,
All that spirituality soup—Chicken Dumbo.
Atheists, Existentialists, and I, Agnostic,
Eschew the false enlightenment—socially caustic.
She is afraid she must give up her bottle
She is as anxious as she can be.
She is afraid she must give up her bottle,
She's so afraid that so hungry she'll be!
She is a roly poly holy moly honey bunny sweet bambino,
And she walked for the first time today.
A roly poly holy moly honey bunny sweet bambino
So in her play-pen she'll no longer stay.
She is afraid to give up her loved blankie,
And she drags it wherever she goes.
She is afraid to give up her loved blankie
And so she wrapped it from head to her toes.
From her bottle to her play-pen
From her play-pen to the floor.
From the floor to her loved blankie,
She's no baby any more.
Holy Moly! Jeff Spicoli,
Is back in school again.
He’s still stealing time,
Getting out of line;
Testing the rules of Hand.
When his father-in-law got him
into the poultry biz in Rhode Island
Joe had not fully contemplated that
first day to market when he
when he failed to truss and bag the birds
properly, a holy-moly cock-up so
when he tossed them into his ’02
Honda Accord LX to parlay
the beasties down 95 South RI,
they managed to wriggle free
the chickens did, got loose
from the burlap sack
the chickens did, flapping anarchy,
and mayhem, and bad policy about
the Aught-Deux’s upscale cabin,
the mad bastard capons pocking
fine leatherette and Boze while
Bad Chicken Farmer Joe flailed away,
fowl and feathers, feathers and fowl
flailing, clawing, at the faux cherry
wheel, finally rip-cording his failed way
down exit 8A for Quonset Point,
where, at the light, the cross-walkers froze
glaciating, mightily at the cockerel mayhem
unraveling inside a popular Midclass Sedan.
Mrs Mole gave birth to a baby girl
Who arrived early
Mother Mole was horrified
To see her baby's coat was curly
Mrs Mole got a brush
Before it was too late
She brushed and brushed her baby's coat
Trying to make it straight
The more she brushed, the more it curled
Which made Mother Mole dizzy
Looking down at her baby girl
Whose coat was now all frizzy
She did not look like a mole
Or a hairy shrew
Was she another species
Original and new
Moles never have hair,
They are covered in skin, smooth and velvety
Without a crinkle in
One can only imagine, on that fateful day
This baby girl was innocent
And brought her love with her to stay
Forward backward
upside down
Downside up
all around
Yowser bowser
holy moly
Yipes-stripes
guacamole
Inside out
outside in
Pluto, Goofy
Rin tin tin
Al-a-ca-poodle
noodle-doodle
Apple strudel
kit and caboodle
Scribble scrabble
wiggle waggle
Diddle daddle
piddle paddle
Rodger dodger
over-and-out
Happy New Year
Give it a shout