I'm a tangling weed, always have been.
I am the blot on a fine painting,
Beautiful people stampede when I blow my nose.
I mess up the too tidy,
stick out like a crow in a cage for a cannery,
My Adams Apple can be seen from space. -
okay slight exaggeration said for comic effect
but it's a fact,
in a lush meadow full of buttercups
I would be the hairy weed
crashing that bottom-land with my bottom.
Some call my calling, my poetic bawling
too weedy, weedy enough to be pulled up
so as to let the lovely flowers bloom and spread,
but I get my scrawny roots around such pretty words
and squeeze.
Abominable Aborigine
Boycotted Baltimore’s Bakery
Canady Canola’s Cannery
Decoded deceitful debauchery
Endless energetic energy
Forwarded farmyard frolicking for a fee
Geographically greeting in Germany
Hardcopy happiness hee hee hee
Ignoring ignorance illegally
Juicy juggling juggernauts
Kettledrums, Kenya and Kentucky
Livening up our literacy
Maniac madness in a manatee
Nightingale nips so nervously
October’s ocelot obviously….
Paralyzes Petunia Parkway’s parenthesis
Quaking quail quickly qualifies me
Relaying relative radioactivity
Scapegoats and scarecrows so scantily
Treat Tajikistan twice tactfully
Undermining Ukraine’s utter ukulele
Vaporizing various vanities
Wicked Washington warrants wisely
X-rays xylophones ‘xtra-instantly
Yellow jackets yield young yearly
Zippy Zeus’s zesty zoology zings with zeal between you and me.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
So they say from years and I'd wonder
If life should be spent, together souls as one
Moon rise as one, we'd be as the falling sun
The sunrise tale of of life as we know it
Is full of hate, greed, lies, lust, and guilt
Broken dreams that one throws at a fork
Up to those on which minds and Souls - Long or short.
If you throw a Stone across the water
It will jump, hop, skip and drop like a quarter
Or it can find the other end of the pond to continue on
And a lifetime of journeys begins in one cannery song
She sings about the hearts that are one
The Joy's of hearts flowing like a sea way into the sun
Capturing picture moments in a memory of time
A second glance at life's rhyme
They were the leftovers
the refuse at the cannery
the wanton waste of discolored greens;
today's menu _
stringy long tantalizing pods
crispy snappings along the opposing seams
limp wilted cultivars rejected
fallen and discarded to the bins;
at shifts end
hours passed daylight
stretching beyond supper time
my grandmother
entered in the kitchen
and in the pockets of her apron fell
the remnants of vegetable extravaganza
the makings for bean soup.
I started with 50, ended with 25
She gave me nothing, just a lot of jive
I told her pimp I want my money back
She is not under factory warranty, there is no contract
I have seen her show, but she no mo jo
I can't believe, just like that, I was burnt by a ho
She tells me that pleasure runs with pain
I am not a pilgrim, I am not John Wayne
I tell her only my bank account hurts when I breathe
She says, to please my customer,I always have something else up my sleeve
I tell her never mind, I will cut my loss
You are supposed to be a ho, I wouldn't reccomend you to my boss
I can't believe I was outsmarted by someone with the intelligence of Larry, Curly
and Moe
It is too embarrassing to admit I got burnt by a ho
You smell like fish, so go work at Cannery Row
I would have been more successful if I would have selected Flo
I will always wonder what could have been
I hope she ends up in Depends
I picture her in a diaper with no self control
Avoid the fishy one, I got burnt by that ho
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