My stomach hurts
My ears are ringing
I belt, in bursts
Obnoxious singing
I can’t say why
Or if it helps
I can’t just cry
And lose myself
My kids are watching
Many others too
My life, I’m botching
Must hide it from you
I can’t be real
For, if I am
The layers peel
I’m just a sham
My shaking knees
And itchy wrists
I can’t be free
If I exist
Sing me here an old-timey hymn
Like “Amazing Grace” or “Jesus Saves,”
Sing it lustily before my bier,
Nothing overly sad, morose, or grim
My funereal may elicit some raves
But I prefer that to the maudlin tear;
Please remember, I shall be watching.
Not appreciating unnecessary waves,
I shall be very happy that I am here
In Paradise, no more frivolous botching,
Sing me here!
Written June 6, 2022
The Endless Fight
My sis and I, we made a vow,
to lose all of our weight somehow.
Long months we tried; sometimes we’d cheat.
Jogging! Oh the agony of da feet!
A one-week cruise; sister noshed and noshed -
Put back half the weight she’d lost!
A month she took to put things right.
Battle of the Bulge is the endless fight!
But, I digress, we're only human.
You can only eat so much with cumin.
And the next day she made her goal.
God bless her heart, God bless her soul.
So now when we get on the scale.
Sometimes we lose, sometimes we fail.
Butt, ;) we both get tired of the botching.
Of all this weighting and this watching.
Nov. 13, 2011 for Silent One's Introduction By Collaboration Poetry Contest
once the dolt's brain bolts, chaotic codes find no way to fade
once the dolt's tongue bolts, the Pentagon owes him a parade
what sort actually matches his review? toads croaking in the shower shade
and only those shape the true imagery of how he and his henchmen wade
under Mueller's investigation, against which they've tried every shabby charade
charade, charade, the botching of which is the dolt's lifetime trade
In school, I had to memorize
A Kilmer poem called “Trees.”
I wasn’t crazy ‘bout it, but
I did the deed with ease.
My 6th grade brain had lots of cells
Absorbing all the stuff
I entered as I learned things;
There was always room enough.
But as the years flew by, that brain
Was filling to the brim
And adding more, or trying to,
Took me out on a limb.
Abilities go AWOL, too,
And thus memorization
Appears at this time to have gone
On permanent vacation.
I have a speech to memorize –
Of course, it’s rhyming verse –
And I’m not sure if reading it
Or botching will be worse.
I’ll try it but will sneak a copy
Just in case I need it,
Though I’m expecting, honestly,
Most likely I will read it.
Have never been deaf, unsightly or dumb
But where do my poems keep coming from?
As each page with pin I will sit and stare
And here comes another out of mid-air.
Never before were any ever pre-planned
Looked and right in front of me it did land
Thank God my poem I was not botching
Helped me come up with a clever concoction
Hope it doesn't appear to be pornographic
Or like a beat up body ran over in traffic
Perhaps something short, simple and plain
Causing no strain or on brain being a drain.
What will last poem I write in my life be?
Suppose from all sin it had set you free
Even when weather and sky outside are gray
A path to heaven it just may pave the way.
When in poem God I occasionally mention
May disturb some people and cause dissension
But being for God there is such a high demand
Am sure what I say with ease you can understand.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Dr. Phil, that talk show host
Likes to talk; likes to boast
What he just said gives me the chills
Not about his patient’s ills
But about the time he and a friend
Snipped his manhood – comprehend?!
He’s wide awake and holding on
When with the scissors it is gone
With just a local he is watching
Making sure his friend’s not botching
Making sure each snip and slit
Doesn’t mean the end of it
I don’t know how he could go through it
Cause if he’s screwed, he can’t unscrew it
Brave or dumb – this Dr. Phil
The thought of it just makes me ill
If you’re in the market to fix your member
Think of Phil and please remember
Hands on help’s not necessary
For every Tom and Dick and Harry
Mdailey 12/6/11
I had a dream
There were glass picture shows floating down the James.
For dimensional appendages danced along the shore.
Strawberry faced creatures cried with laughter,
as they pounced pocket ear receptors against the breaking currents.
Scandals, diseases, non-profit organizations?
Shrieking cries ricochet off the moon and head to the stars.
"They have found us before we found them!"
I hear the cries.
I turn to face the children of nothing.
My eyes begin to swell as their faces go blank.
I'm not their Savior, today.
I close my eyes,
Surrender to the darkness,
and yell "come with me!" "come with me."