i am going to sit down here
try this cheesecake ice cream cake
with a dollop of cool whip
listen to the waves crash as i
listen to some oldies from the 50s
and early 60s
i am going to let the rhythmic
crashing of the waves take me
away and nod my head to black
is black by los bravos followed by
jenny take a ride by ole mitch and
those detroit wheels traced by that
song i like called come softly to me
now what is the name of the group
does that little piece of wonderfulness
though i am by myself, my mind is
free and my stress level is zero
i will drink my vanilla oatmilk with
pride and pray for another sunny day
tomorrow
life does not practice perfection,
so i rush in the house when a sudden
starts to fall rather expressively
however, it is all groovy and gravy
after donovan makes me smile again
with that mountain song with the
unsuspectingly funky groove
Categories:
bravos, beautiful, happiness, joy, music,
Form: Free verse
Dudley Bee, bounced around through the town. Smelling grand, whiskey wet, no regret. Only pissing on the tree. His remorse, buried deep within, codgers bin, his only sin, he never wanted to be. Dudley fast, when he was asked, How did you come to be? answer buried deep within, Wanting gin, Dudley could never see. Bourbon breath, hiding haunt, Dudley cannot tell, Which hell, had driven him to flee. World taste, bravos hate, Hunted Dudley Bee.
Categories:
bravos, writing,
Form: Free verse
With two left feet, no sense of rhythm,
Murmur of voices, giggles and gasps
Comes within earshot when I dance.
Oh, but in my head I dance seductively,
Grinding hips and dippin' with Patrick Swayze.
That 'climatic lift' in Dirty Dancing, no problo,
I fly in the air with grace and flair.
Repeated cheers and bravos I do hear,
For I now dance within my head.
Categories:
bravos, dance, humor,
Form: Free verse
Patricia McCormic – Bullfighter
A bull, a sword, a big red cape
A cheering crowd, a girly shape
She was the first back in her day
A Matador, the best they’d say
At least among the girls back then
For until her, they were all men
Not just a girl, a Yankee to boot
Dressed up in a manly suit
She fought 300 bulls or more
And only six times did bulls gore
But once the gore was so severe
They thought her end was very near
A priest came out to give “last rites”
After one of her losing fights
And he issued one last order
Let her die north of the border
But she survived to fight again
And faced those bulls with her girly grin
This courageous girl would stand
With just the red cape in her hand
The bulls would charge, she wouldn’t flinch
As the bulls passed by within an inch
She’d end the dance with the coup de gras
Amid the “Bravos” and “Hurrahs”
For ten years she endured
The thought of getting skewered
By bulls that she engaged within the ring
Now her thoughts are so much lighter
She’s a teacher, she’s a writer
As bullfighting no longer is her thing
Another true story from the web
Categories:
bravos, adventure, art, girl, sports,
Form: Rhyme