My mom's children numbered four,
so, when she went to the grocery store,
she filled the cart up and then some more,
and complained to her friends in frustration -
she'd paid twenty dollars (because of inflation)
at the grocery store.
Tho' they may display legs to best advantage,
observing the constraints, begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Seems to me I had a bee in my bonnet
about women's proclivities and passion
when compelled to write this pseudo-sonnet
about their footwear fashion.
Some are bonkers barmy as bedbugs, daft, dippy, daffy,
(with) bats in the belfry too,
it's far beyond my reckoning, as I can't fathom,
why they choose to wear the pairs of shoes they do.
And as for a clue, I haven't any, why they own so very many.
With their platforms, pumps, stilettos, wedges, they're tottering on
the edges of insanity, an exercise in futility,
an accident about to happen, one stumble, a tumble then... a calamity.
Seeing them hobble, while their dogs are barking,
these are the words they'd speak, if their feet could talk,
'Cinderella had the right idea, losing her glass slipper,
as oh the pains you put us through when you are wont to walk.
It's no more than torture, a total imposition,
somewhat akin to boots of the Spanish Inquisition.'
Complaint
I'm Just
Complaining For
No Reason Just
To Have A New And
Fresh Example
Of What
It's Like.
Pure and Unadulterated.
Could Be Generally Useful.
Or Just Important.
Scratch That.
NOT Important.
-Gray Squirrel
05-18-2025
I bring life and light,
and still get blamed for the mud—
May steals all my praise.
the home was taught
in form as passing custom
to hide is freedom
from a sight not allowed to begin
protected from cinders town
escaped to preserve brown
a coastal expanse
blinding beauty
remaking lords
from dukes and blow
grandmothers quakes
learning by instruction
how to blend
defend and die
prescribe and imbibe
adjust and join
dive and dive
destroy your remains
and bridges as news escaped home
awakenings blame
prides failing regret
astride regrets wings
bring home the pens
quill and brow
be fearful of when
you, when is your new name
If you don’t like my poem, just close it tight,
It won’t harm me, I’ll be all right.
History itself will judge, not we,
Who stands tall, and who’s lesser, you’ll see.
I write my verses as my heart desires,
My only demand is truth that inspires.
Better to cry out and die for what’s real
Than cross to the other side with sin to conceal.
Will I find happiness? Maybe, maybe not,
It matters little if I’m liked or forgot.
My duty is truth for the future to bear;
If not, would I not rest idle somewhere?
Have I fulfilled my duty? I cannot say,
Have I done good or simply gone astray?
Instead of questioning those like me,
To the future, I’ll write my plea!
You may not be an angel, but still you strive,
The truth of life will always survive.
When hellfire scorches your very soul,
Our earthly woes will seem so small.
Demons and spirits grow numerous today,
True sincerity feels further away.
Before your conscience, your soul purifies,
Through the good deeds seen by human eyes.
A person redeems with kindness alone,
And a cleansed soul brings me joy unknown.
Let my people testify to the truth of my word,
And let this petition stand as my accord!
“Hey Cupid, hollered the Saint,
bringing me couples, ya ain’t!”
Cupid answered, “So what?
Ya just get what ya got.
Don’t mix prayer with complaint.”
Even if some rare corningware may be hypothetically worth a LOT
what ordinary person would buy it, cook with it, or let it get hot??
LIGHT VERSE AND NONSENSE VERSE IX
Disconcerted
by Michael R. Burch
Meg, my sweet,
fresh as a daisy,
when I’m with you
my heart beats like crazy
& my future gets hazy ...
The Less-Than-Divine Results of My Prayers to be Saved from Televangelists
by Michael R. Burch
I’m old,
no longer bold,
just cold,
and (truth be told),
been bought and sold,
rolled
by the wolves and the lambs in the fold.
Who’s to be told
by this worn-out scold?
The complaint department is always on hold.
Alas, Sir Munchalot!
by Michael R. Burch
You ate too much,
your common lot;
you munched too much,
so now you’ve got
a gut.
Hadrian’s Elegy
by Michael R. Burch
My delicate soul,
now aimlessly fluttering ... drifting ... unwhole,
former consort of my failing corpse ...
Where are we going—from bad to worse?
From jail to a hearse?
Where do we wander now—fraught, pale and frail?
To hell?
To some place devoid of jests, mirth, happiness?
Is the joke on us?
Keywords/Tags: heart, humor, humorous, irony, light, light verse, nonsense, joke, truth, future, soul
CONTRI and DISTRI
Someone somewhere decided English
needed to be changed.
As usual with our copy-cat world, so dire
an unthinking band wagon has spread as
a forest fire.
An academic,typically verbose, wrote
'why use one when two' could sound
more up-to-date and new!
Thus the 'double prefix' was conceived
and sadly like a Topsy grew.
Contri and Distri have wrongly become
the norm and vernacular pronunciation
overcoming like a desert storm.
English does indeed each day live
and breathe ... BUT..
one thought with you I leave..
a double pre-fix cannot be ..
ignorance is not bliss..you see?
NOTE CON & DIS are prefixes to, for example English words like TRIBUTE.'Contri and Distri' are not prefixes to any known English word, they are a 'modern' 'madhatter syllabic nonsense' straight our of Alice in Wonderland.
I would only have your sweet smile
if I could offer you an impressive size
I would only have your wonderful words
if i could offer you fortune...
I would only have your love
If I could offer the world...
But since I don't have beauty,
nor fortune and I have no world,
I'm despised just as a
despicable asteroid that I am...
that only appears from millennium to millennium...
I'm insignificant to
relish
in your heaven,
appear in your galaxy...
Nobody's coming to save me.
Tomorrow's just like today.
This loneliness, this waiting
No one can fill. So okay,
I give up! (Enter laughing)
That's life! So what for?
You've done it now; let the cat in!
Didn't someone say there was more?
And I just won't have it this way!
Oh, you won't have it this way?
THE COMPLAINT
An employee showed up at the bank
Wearing a black pair of spanx
She written up fast
For showing her ass
Then tells everybody thanks
. for public domain
Along a North Bay windowsill,
lay parchments crumbled, void of script,
a heart entombed with heartless feeling,
no fitting place to lay Love's crypt.
Bury Love with a sigh or a tear,
wail out echoes through desolate canyons,
haunt dark castles and chill woody glens,
strike the souls of our errant companions.
But silence Love without a word?
The very thought is so absurd,
it should be criminal! Twenty lashes!
No. Thirty! --- Villain! BEAST!
Life's poor imitation at least!
This pretense of loss shows no love at all.
Lost Love deserves a page so much better
than poor lack of script in a blank crumbled letter.
And it is a pain to live
it is a complaint to live
I contemplate to pilates
my friend
to live as a pirate I say
to right to water to woe
wo wonder wood wouldy
ro eh? Eh
ech H ...uh,
each compass
that ass
You see me
'tis only meing
becoming
the demise
the demonstration
of one little tree.
PS
Payola
fix roads ffor access to minority groups and indian groups and use tax money to do it.
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