Always thought God's an odd bod
Untruths like hoofs stuck in a clod
Over us aloof just run roughshod
So don't give love above the nod
No proof where Angels ever trod
More encores from the laws of sod
Each church on a perch made a wad
Will besmirch then constantly prod
Tribal bible merch from God squad
Us all in the lurch bait on their rod
We're all just peas in the same pod
No merry on sherry on vicar's quad
Fickle like feather tickle of Ken Dodd
As through the strife of life we plod
Always been more rocker than mod
But still we are all carriers of the hod
As yes ultimately we're all on our tod
Because yes confess there is no God
Charlamagne was a witch who knew her groove
Her clothing was awesome, her fashion sense smooth
Her hair was braided with fluorescent oranges and pinks
She had marvelous peace signs, her boots were cuter than skinks.
She had a sense of herself, that oozed out of her pores
she dressed herself so well, it irritated naysayers and bores
her hat band was peppered with flowers we had never seen
This seemed to make the jealous ones even more mean.
Eyes burning
As the light bores through
It was so dark
For so long
That it became almost comfortable
And now the light
Just feels wrong
Slowly adjustments are made
The discomfort fades away
It begins to feel ok
But then the light turns off
And everything is black
The darkness that once felt comfortable
Now brings helplessness
The cycle goes on
The craving for the light
The cursing in the dark
And the question starts to rise
Is it better without the light?
He is nothing to me but repulsive at sight
any misery he suffers brings me a delight
I avoid him at all cost and always he I ignore
for his constant rambling suffers he bores
he looks more ugly than a human really can
for everything dumb and stupid traces to him
He does nothing but scream insults at the night
crying for he suffers for being himself what a plight
He never had a job still lives with his mom
who sits by her upstairs window appearing embalmed
He constantly sweeps the street over and over again
then the dirt he gathers he tosses into the wind
He always wants a lighter or to borrow a dollar or two
I tell him to go away got nothing to give to you
Strange and derange I try to pray him away
But even God won't take him Satan prefers him stray.
Why do I hate him with him it is all to feel
He is like a demented cartoon nothing about him real.
I am your princess Tiffany,
A canine so sublime
I give a nightly symphony
And it doesn’t cost a dime
You say my singing is a crime,
The howling causes ears to cringe
But I will not take the time
To be bothered by your twinge.
In my defense the neighbor dogs join in,
And the scrappy cats will also sing
On a special moonlit night,
when it’s not a sin.
I suppose I’ll do you folks a favor
before the evening concerto,
I’ll go down to the corner store
And buy earplugs for you bores!
NOTE: I did have a Pomeranian named Taffy. She was definitely a princess!
Not all of the sane tune out
‘More of the Same’
‘More of the Same’ bores
too the most Insane
Surprised?
A bright afternoon lunch, a darker shadow wraps around
your leg. Not clawing, just yawning. Yearning for a twitch
in its way.
You sit terribly still.
Your mother urges you to shoo it off, your father chews
absentmindedly at the way too bloodied meat, gazing through
your forehead. The clinks of the neighboring tables annoyingly
in sync. Your foot turns to face it.
The waiter gets your sister's order wrong, she curls up to a ball
as so does her stomach as she pipes down the vanilla milkshake,
an excuse to leave to the bathroom. To leave here.
The edge of your eyes catches the figure 8 being woven
along your cramping shins.
The heavy grimace of your brother, your mother fixing up
his collar, clearly not ironed. The setting bores you,
you look under. Beady eyes staring at you too. A plea
for what you should do.
The sinful act of feeding a noir stray cat.
With the steady grip of a football player, a knowing smirk
a bright eye glint, you hold it close,
the pitch-dark abomination–
and toss it onto the table.
An approving purr.
A feast for all.
Fans in stands & beds with heads in their hands
Bazball disbands shredded into dreaded strands
Boycott this lot don't give a jot no one understands
Piss poor bores ignore turnstile roar in hostile lands
Tanned Aussie class brass band was hardly bland
Yelping Stokes blokes giving them a helping hand
Canned the cool fool Bazball brand must be banned
Ivory tower power zen that Baz Bob and Ben wield
Defective ploys annoys but from noise boys shield
What did planning spanning 4 years actually yield
Smote gloat all the chatting not like 86 and Gatting
Bleak Ben does ken Oz not a den for weak men
Joe standing sentry his century show a footnote
For it does seem this time right quote right team
As a hack with that knack way back once wrote
Can't Bat.......Can't bowl ....Can't field!
Like roar, he snores-
Ears sore, she bores
For some, it’s a softer escape
A flight from silence, not quite love
As if a ring alone could mend a soul
Bruised by too many “maybe tomorrows."
To others, it’s help dressed in vows
A lifeline tied to daily needs
To fatten the pig at market day
Turn union into means to feed.
Some whisper “love” with shaky lips
But love to them, what does it mean?
Is it just sighs without the bills
Or bait to catch a selfish dream?
Why do you marry, tell me this
If the night still bores you
If you believe a wedding solves
What truth and time refuse to fake?
The cat had caught the mouse some while ago
a stealthy stalk, a pounce, a single blow
not fatal, for now, the cat would need take joy;
and ease the tiresome day with this new toy.
Feigned indifference, a chance escape, a catch;
oh, silly mouse, for cat you are no match.
Cat cleans a paw, other on the mouse's tail
which will wiggle, struggle, all to no avail.
The feline foe lays on back; without a care
begins to throw the mouse into the air
until even this fun bores our mouser so
and now decides, the mouse he has to go.
The little mouse is shaking, waiting there
the cat humps up her ginger derriere:
a sudden mighty swoosh, a flash of grey;
the mouse looks up and quickly runs away.
The raptor's silent wings to distance flies
accompanied by our moggy's plaintiff cries.
frenzied mud dauber
porch railings are no longer
we are the killers
he bores hole in post
angry about the railings
what will they call home
will he sound alarm
will army wasps come to fight
dejected he leaves
Parasites
there is a tiny mite
that lives on our face
but does not bite
it is a species of arachnid
that’s so small it’s outta’ sight
it bores in to our pores
and only comes out at night
it dines on our sebaceous oil and ear wax
and on dead skin, for dessert, it does delight
they are with us from birth to death
so, no use putting up a fight
each time you look in your mirror, just remember
you are looking at their campsite
they have a very short life
they live no more than a fortnight
if you happen to see some specks
they might be those nasty Demodex!
A shadow shrouded hawk
as inert as stone
perched.
The fence is a claw
some dead hand
has hammered into
the moonlight.
Clouds,
if only there were clouds
to blur this stark glare.
That silent raptor
bores burrows
into my thoughts.
On this frozen night
there's not a feather
or whisker of cover,
nor
no other way
to hear, hide
or see.
Her smile alone, that ONE that radiates uniqueness
bores down plummeting shafts into Earth's deepest
Her beam travels light speed to pierce our blackness
Cupid simply aims, adds us to his lovestruck Harvest
For Men are marooned upon the coldest part of Mars
Like Moths we are drawn to the warmth of her Stars
We rush headlong driving to unknown reaches our cars
Martians all, we leap foreloin in the search of being "ours"
But we know the tempests of Venus emulate their namesake
She needs time to fall Earthbound as a swirling Snowflake
Venus needs to flutter above, then hoover, maybe to partake
Aphrodite, so fragile, so tender her heart, needs much debate
Earthly bound, we can find our Middle Earth, our common ground
Her Goldilocks bound in the correct balance of momentum found
Martians, all you crowd, wait patiently, hush desire's blunt Hound
Venusians, lift your shroud, allow your discretion to come around
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