as I jog down Lakeshore drive
I drank hot chocolate as a swan took a dive
the water so cold, as old men played chess
the ferris wheel spins, blowing off hats
and up the rich lady's dress
Lakeshore dr you see all for me
the white horses, pulling the carriage
I'm not home I don't miss my marriage
the butlers two maids swing the wellington kid
another kid waits for he haven't even slid
the light house shines my eyes follows
the breeze deep into pine trees
the crows perch away from the city
and that's what we call hospitality...
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
May 14th 2004 Fort Myers Florida
My Sons Graduation day.
In memory of the homeless men playing chess on Lakeshore drive Chicago.
Here is the sad tale of the moronic bullfrog king
He may be royal, but he is a ding-dong-ding-a-ling.
He cannot tie his shoes, drive a car or even sing.
Whistling is out, he is a lackadaisical old thing.
He has a name, but he does not answer to it.
For he does not remember it day-to-day, not one bit.
Majestic maids and butlers are much smarter than he.
He does not even hit the toilet when he takes a …..
He has no friends, but his court is always full.
People can steal his riches with a tug and a pull.
For he does not notice as they grab his watch.
No robbery there ever had even one small botch.
Lickety-split here he comes, so pretend to bow.
He will either ride in on a donkey, pelican or cow.
He is the oddest bullfrog king we have ever had.
And this was all said by his mom and dad.
A K-9 Spaniel who sniffed down crooks
started getting suspicious looks
To avoid detection
he’s in witness protection
with ten butlers and twenty-three cooks
It is 1954, and the sun is shining brightly with feeling.
I am lying in my room, staring at the bland white ceiling.
Go out and do something! My mother urges me again.
There is nothing to do, without my friend, my twin.
A car comes screeching around the corner and Ms. Cat is here.
I run out there, as swiftly and happily as any being-chased deer.
She is the epitome of a good time, this hilarious feline pure.
She says “Hop in!” and I leap into her T-bird and yell “sure!”
When did you have it painted? I asked her. Yesterday it was red.
My daddy’s butlers turned it pink this morning, that cagy cat said.
She wanted it to match her scarf, and it was the perfect color pink.
The amount of money her daddy made the rest of us really think.
She let me drive her around, and I wore a smart black chauffer hat.
My friends laughed at this, but I did not care because of our great chat.
She told me how to make money, and I took her advice this day.
I now have two Thunderbirds, and others work while I play away
How terribly and awfully English was he
Stopped everything for his afternoon tea
Crumpets for his breakfast covered with jam
Sandwiches for a light lunch mustard and ham
He lived in a mansion in the country somewhere
Butlers to dress him and barbers to cut his hair
A rich man was he not particularly pleasant
Out each day shooting for game and pheasant
So onto dinner he would have some beef tonight
Had to be cooked just so and served just right
While the poor man sleeps in a shop doorway
This rich man was living more than okay
He hasn't done a days work since he was born
Enough to make one feel anger and scorn
Doesn't give a damn for the plight of the poor
If only he did he'd be a better person for sure
Sails of snow
Hoisted
To the roar of northern wind
Wires wild
Leashed to masts
Banging like spoons on pots and pans
Sea of Earth lurching
Beneath
The creaking planks of our house
On we go
Tossed and turned
The bow of our kitchen
Cutting through slaps of whitecaps
Windows sinking
Chimney smoke whipping from the rooftops
Bushes plumed and weighed down
To their knees
With buckets bailed of snow
Swaying low
Like the last herd of wooly mammoths
Dragging themselves down the street
A march to oblivion
The storm subsides after three nights and two days
Though the trees continue to throw snowballs
On their own
We emerge
Michiganians
Terrified sailors
Transformed
To butlers and maids
Sweeping and dusting
Shoveling and chipping
The destruction
From the wrecked decks of our driveways
Signaling at dusk to one another
Through flashlight Morse code
All is well
All is well
We survived.
Years of weary travel, sojourn soon to end
the time passed unseen, in elixir of youth.
Now sunset awaits, a shadow to descend
faded twilight greets, the inevitable truth.
Diminuendo of some whistling songbirds
vanish somewhere inside hearing aids.
Arthritis and denture, with forgetful words
bifocals now see, only butlers and maids.
Snow of winter has to melt in heat of sun
leaves of autumn, once brown they wither.
Rings on trunk of trees, counted one by one
bygone days.. can't they again be together?
In the last casino game, no one will ever win
Roulette wheel will stop, no one knows when.
Debris File of Life deleting to Recycle Bin,
An estuary flows... to Death, in final Amen.
Dated 5th June 2019
Sponsor Emile Pinet
A contest on aging
A company wants naked butlers,
all handsome, well toned, looking tough,
to carry out duties around people's homes
besides apron, they'll be in the buff.
I've not filled out an application,
my chance of success being slim,
unlike, I must say how I look nude today
as my Doctor would tell you, it's grim.
My complexion's generally pasty,
the same sort of white as a fridge,
and the varicose veins you'll have
seen on the tube as directions to
Blackfriars bridge.
A victim of male pattern baldness,
on the back of my head a few locks,
I look like I once bought a 'bullworker' kit
but could not get the lid off the box.
Still, I just plod on along, and not moaning,
one thing in my favour I'll say,
if I did get the job, with a beer gut like mine
I've got somewhere to balance the tray.
Blood shall ring the butlers call
Step into the parlor
the fires spent, still burn
Painted in the faded tint,
nightmare shades to turn
Broken slabs of conscience,
rotted to the core
Splintered in a thousand words
never heard before
Gears abide the grinding,
slapping to the beat
Shards of incandescent lights
flavoring the meat
Slicing as you swallow,
whispering refrain
Caught like someone else's fate,
filtered through the pain
Dressed along the hallway,
mirrors shout their fear
There among the carpet stains,
distant as is near
Gasp for all you bother,
feast that final breath
Blood shall ring the butlers call
long beyond your death
If I was a doggy in a rich family ~ most certainly I’d be pedigree
crowned in robes of exquisite luxury ~ diamond studded collars
chauffeur driven Bentley's
Butlers would serve me on platters of silver and gold~ I’d snub the commoners
with an airy nose ~surely other tails would want to steal my throne ~ so hold
ya doggy bones~ I’d rather be alone
if I was a doggy in a poor family~oh my God ~ that would be catastrophe
not a single bread crumb wouldever fall for me~ I’d be skeleton and bones
roaming aimlessly ...
If I was a doggy in a happy family ~ my joy would be waging quite excitedly
my tongue would be hanging out ~as I run and play ~ my bowl of chow would
include ~ warm smiles each day ~ ya know
As long as hugs and pats keep coming my way~that’s where this doggy is
gonna stay~ what ya say
Fell out of a limousine
Drunk out of mind
Spoiled
Filthy rich
Child
In time
He loved
All his toys
Then a woman
Showed him other joys
Sweet, just close your eyes
On champagne dreams
Wearing butlers shined black laced shoes
Away they went
From here to the moon
In love, their passion heaven sent
Taking the train ride of ones life
Bubble baths, there is no more strife
Pleasures surround you everywhere
Magical is the feeling of loves truthful desires
Falling in, like two young doves
New York City bombed
Devastation lingers in the air
No more love stories
Only dead widows and widowers
As infants tears fall on rainy graves
Now I, Arthur
Alone
Cringe
Staring out my window
'Twas at the home of Governors
with pink champagne in hand
I asked them all to take their chairs
still restless, I did stand
I began to speak on modern times
and Pinner's mind to tax
and laughing as they sipped their wines
I felt the more relaxed
As caviar was ushered in
no one the least perplexed
still rattling on about our age
until I mentioned sex
The chandeliers began to shake
the butlers 'loosed their ties
what in the world was happening?
why all the constant sighs?
I merely mentioned the metaphor
to stress the women quaint
when Mr. Belaire
dropped his cigar,
the ladies began to faint
No need to get hysterical
I can explain you see
Sex is but the small word SIX
except you use an "e"
age 16
While Walking Through The Meadow.
While walking through the meadow I heard the strangest sound.
What can it be? I cannot see, is it underground?
There it goes again I feel it drawing near
is it coming after me? Where can I hide in fear.
I could run toward the hedgerow or onto Butlers farm.
Why run? I hear a voice say, I won't do you no harm.
I'm looking for a red fox I saw him run this way.
He stole the chicken on my plate, it's him that I'll make pay.
So sorry I must tally-ho I'm rather in a rush.
I have his scent of where he went, he's hiding in a bush.
Sorry I stopped you with my plight and frighten you my dear.
It's Mr Fox I want to box, I'll catch him do not fear.
So I'll be off, as I'm done with talking
Please don't let me stop you dear
carry on now with your walking.
Drama centered on an aristocratic British family in
Old times- early twentieth century
Waited on by butlers, footmen, maids and valets
Noble families lived wrapped in luxury, night and day
Tale of young suitors, attractions, loves and marriages
Of young Ladies with service class rocked the family carriage
Not uncovered till late-child out of wedlock added to the disparage
As World War and other world events stirred awakening
Barriers between lord and servant started fading
Butlers sought jobs as teachers, cooks sought education
Erosion of aristocracy was inevitably writ in the nation
“Yes My Lord” would not be heard by future generations
Written on :07/18/2016
Contest: "Your Favorite Habit-forming TV Show" by Tom Quigley
What is there too say now?
What is there to do this evening?
Nothing for I am without you,
I remember you, when my eyes first looked upon your brow and beautious eyes,
Your luxurious features and a heart of gold and platnium,
I am lost in a garden of cluelessness, and lost and forgotten.
My heart aches and shivers in the lone days of the mid December evenings,
You are gone and lost without a single trace,
But soon I had lost you for good and could never find you again,
I buried you in the gardens of the dead,
and the tears from my broken heart showered your grave.
Oh now I wish you were here,
To listen to my heart,
For it is out of tune and the orchestra is playing a slow melody,
and the chimes ring me to the dinner table,
To eat alone the lonely supper for the mourning of my woman.
So I eat alone tonight,
The house is quiet and empty,
The butlers and maids have gone home,
Nothing but lone, empty halls,
Once filled with love and music,
keep me company.
The slow music plays in my study,
I sit in my red chair,
I cry and cry again,
I read a book of poetry and think of you,
Not a life worth living without you.
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