Harriet Honey Bunch met Henry at a Honky-Tonk
By accidentally giving back of his neck a tiny bonk
Did you see her flirty, flamboyant ways? Asked Connie Conk
Fine by us said winsome Willie Wonk and decent Donnie Donk
Joyful jumping, oh so jolly,
try it in a tram or trolley
Jiggle, juggle, Jane's tamale,
a laugh, a lark, fine, fun folly.
Happy, hopping, silly stomping,
rarified and risky romping,
bouncing Bonnie's butterscotch,
hilarious, howling hoppyscotch.
Lofty leaping, crazy creeping,
mindful mother's mostly sleeping,
but don't bop with Betty's brisket,
she'll conk you, bonk you, no, don't risk it.
Nature flaunts a pallet of soft pastels,
She amply applies with an artist's brush.
And like pink sunsets and coral conk shells,
She transforms vivid inks into a blush.
Flowers display a plethora of tints,
like periwinkle, lavender, and rose.
And leaves come in an assortment of prints;
how many subtle shades; nobody knows.
Butterfly wings are mobile works of art,
painted in all colors of the rainbow.
These living masterpieces move my heart
and yet, Nature has so much more to show.
By incorporating pigments that bleach;
purple bleeds mauve, and almond fades to peach.
A dent in my heart I will never admit to
You can conk me over the head, knee cap me.
I am not admitting to loving you at all right now
I will never let you know that you sliced up my heart.
It is in teeny tiny parts scattered on the bedroom floor.
I kick some of them around sometimes, for fun.
It’s okay when I have on socks. When I do not, well.
Yuck!
Here I lie on the bed determined to think of not you.
But not you has a face that keeps popping up
And not you have hands that keep creeping over my eyes
Yelling stupid stuff like “peek a boo”
I am not a baby. Why I even thought this cute I do not know.
Not you has moved on
I am ever so glad
Not you
Not me
Not us
Not today anyway
It snowed last night
and spring’s nascent shades
were hidden under a sky of lead,
the cedars, green, cloaked
by a blanket of snow white
framed by tree trunks black.
The swollen stream ran brown not clear,
but the dogwood glistened shiny red
and the Red-winged Blackbird
flared his epaulets of scarlet and yellow
and with his conk-la-ree! loudly proclaimed
his territory in hopes of attracting
a frumpy female who yet malingers
in warmer climes.
I staggered down the road looking for skirt
I’ve had my drink now time for dessert
Bouncing off walls, falling about
Eyes going funny about to conk out
I get to the door and fall flat on my face
Staggering around all over the place
The velvet seats and the strange décor
I sat myself down waiting for whore
The man at the desk said “what do you want?”
I looked at him trying to be nonchalant
My eyes were rolling, I couldn’t sit still
My body was moving of its own freewill
“I want a woman get them on display”
“ But sir, you’re in the Bengal Indian Takeaway.”
Copyright © Graeme Taylor 2013
GT
“You’re not a spring chicken,”
My husband blurts out.
The truth in that statement’s
Beyond any doubt.
My running around’s
Surely taken its toll,
As Nature reminds me
I’m not in control.
For age has its limits
And mine’s reached a peak.
What I do in a day
Should spread over a week.
I try for it all
But my body’s refused.
As I conk on the couch,
There’s my husband – amused!
I was getting the wind but was myth
As he odium me was the real truth
Lone wolf I remained, solo from reality
And suffered the pain of libel..!!!
Conk-out he did and joined another chum
The truth kept me soothe
I shivered in the ail of conk-out and zest
And ebbed in this dark cosmos..!!!
Life blasting past; too hard to see
Almost web of insanity!
Try to be human - don't conk my brain
Oooh - to just imagine the pain!
To be worrried about a scream
Rather have some ice-cream!
Growing up... not quite sure how
Pat my back and give God a bow!
A Caveman on the Prowl
Grogg is not going out to hunt and gather
But to see if he can find a mate he’d rather
He doesn’t even need to think of some line
As a hard conk on the head will do just fine
A Pilot Needed in the Cockpit
By Elton Camp
In movies, pilot and copilot conk out
But always, a half-way pilot is about
But not for many years has he flown
Perhaps in the air force he was shown
Or maybe he was the cause of a crash
And thinks as a pilot he is just trash
He’ll protest his incompetence a while
But lands the plane when under trial
But if that situation should really arise,
Would such a person be in the skies?
If not, then whatever would they do
Since trained folks are actually few?
Instead of ending safely on the ground,
It’s most likely none would stay around
The plane would probably go into a dive
Not a single person would remain alive
the love comes
and the hate grows
love tries
hate has a hat on its head
love shows
hate makes an appearance
love slips by
hate says a loud statement
love let's it go
... all i know is i love you
all i know is ...
I LOVE YOU
sometimes
and my hate is trivialized...
kiss me
kiss me
conk me ...
your love for me is=
now
you knew it all
along-
you knew it all
along-
the love
this never leaves
hah!
try, but here i am!
give way and you know!
i love you!