Desolate clown's
traveling train
tours famed cities
onto quaint towns.
He mimicks glee
for his ousted
heart's sutures
are dismissive
frowns.
Balloon twisting's
what he knows--
cause joggeling act
makes kids mope;
And sparking globe-nose
bombards
the Top's bleachers
with plumes
of blinding smoke.
His onesie sports
ink-stains for color;
And oily-face
with white base
sweating turns
cream-soupy butter;
Shoved and ridiculed
by crowds-even peers,
cause he studders.
His Mass Bay clown
soles have holes--
with grimy socks,
torn by nails and corns.
Grey's his story--
when a caboose's
the only corner
where he
can call home.
He'll tumbling fall
to gain their laughs-
cringing weeps
in silence--
from prying eyes.
The show must go on--
cause he's a star;
Like his forefathers
before him-since then past on.
The wages of sin are just never paid.
Try as you might you can't make the grade.
Came home from work all tired and forlorn,
My back hurts, my feet hurt, I've bunions and corns.
I've pills for my back, my neck and my shoulders,
No sense in complaining, I'm just getting older.
I rarely sleep now, I just pass out,
Then I wake with a start 'cause my dogs must go out.
The cat's waiting patiently by the back door,
As the dogs race excitedly across the floor.
Then I go to the bathroom to swallow my pills,
Half an hour before breakfast, it's my daily drill.
I bend over double to brush out my locks,
Took a coughing fit and peed in my sock.
I'm just getting old I tell myself again,
It's my punishment now for a youth filled with sin.
The act of Halloween
Sugar rush between
Chiller session
Sweetness sensation
Trick a Treat
Candy Corn seek
Search for volunteers
The taste with who will preserver?
Chosen look out
Observing and moving about
Sugar to muster
Candy corn batch
Eat in catch
Candy corns who might want to attack
Beyond fact
Circumstance
Your stomach won’t be able to control
Your last chance
You were told well in advance
Prepare to be sugarized
Total surprise
Candy Corn phase
Candy corns coming soon
Circus peanuts, full moon
Candy necklaces for Jane
Caramel cubes again?
Chunkys, one's not enough
Candy cigarettes, puff
Crap - what Mom calls that stuff
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
You know why Hippos and Rhinos
never get heart attacks?
Because they don’t
stir-fry their veggies in oil,
Nor add salt or sugar
to their desserts.
You know why monkeys
keep monkeying around?
Because they belong to
a Banana Republic.
You know why corns are so sweet?
Because they are all ears
and hear everything
but do not gossip. Say nothing.
You know why dogs fetch
sticks or balls for their masters?
Because
their masters clean after them.
Two blue eyes and a button nose
Features so striking all with the right pose
Wrapped in a frame so petite and slim
Looks so gorgeous, proper and prim
With a voice so melodious and smile so sweet
She is the one for whom my heart would skip a beat
Remember popping pop corns with Mary Poppins?
And with Sound of Music a treat so therapeutic
Julie Andrews with whom I cruised
Two blue eyes and a button nose
Gave my childhood a big happy dose
Fried sunny side up
Cup rice, green beans and ear corns
Nice breakfast on top.
T’was perhaps by dint of fate
Or some demonic spell
That I, a sock, was granted
The gift of sniff-less smell
I gaged and retched in darkness
Of a foot’s pungent aroma
Finally, I fled the scene
Became a match-less roamer
I hang about old laundramats
With socks lost and unfound
They share a single loneliness
A fading hope of being found
Not me, I shout, I shan’t return
It’s the wanderer’s life I seek
For I miss not the brogans
And those feet that truly reek
Yet, you may see me resting
In the warmth of sunset’s fail
Singing songs of corns and bunions
As I walk that lost sock trail
withered stalks on road
scared deer chased from hiding spots
farmers out all night
Thanks Giving Party
Roosters arranged thanksgiving party
inviting a big troop of Turkey.
Roasted pumpkin in menu.
Wide yard chosen as venue,
close -by their residence termed ' Poultry.'
Monkey was appointed as the chef.
Group of hens came prompt forward to help.
Mushrooms and corns to be grilled.
Hosts - guests tasted to be thrilled.
All danced joyous on rhythmic step.
On the pointed beaks, birds put lipsticks.
Turkeys wore shiny crown of plastics.
The family of roosters,
dressed smart in polyester.
Thanksgiving party ran fantastic.
Like a sea, in front of my glass window, A vast field lay,
Corns of wheat ballet-dance in the soft breeze all through the day;
Quails and pigeons, romantically, sit on them and sway,
Bees and flies, though there is no honey, around the corn play...!
Farm laborers, lankot clad, walk around watching the growth,
Their spouses, in torn clothes, weeds with their entire roots uproot;
Crows peck off moths from the grains granules, as though for a troth,
Cranes march in a queue, like Indian widows, so mute...!
At the mild peeping of sunbeams, wheat heads gorgeously glow,
All around, as though absolute freedom gained, daisies grow;
Tiny irrigation canals, like new-born fountains, flow,
Day, the bride-groom, as though waiting for the night bride, goes slow...!
I know, I can see a bit of my world, through my window,
I should go out, yet, to meet them - my love for them to show...!!!
I had just spoken with John!
To meet the bastard I’d sworn,
My planned time 5:00am dawn,
Over his fertile grass lawn
He had had to treat with scorn,
Contented with being a con…
“You listen to me, Hot John!
Yesterday, you know, is gone,
A new day baby now born
And with it the Newest Morn!
In a morn one does not mourn;
Announcer of this: God’s Horn!
Good proof: True Life is not torn
Nor True Life true face outworn…
You’re , then, to face farm’s corn:
The white, The yellow and the fawn,
All its thought pains to be borne…
But then, to ask, are their pains?
Aren’t the growth of corns from rains?
Good luck wishes times ten, John
As you avoid your clique’s Don,”
Super bulldog frog had horns that made him dangerous in the Rodeo Sea.
The other cow-frogs jumped around, and let the bulldog frog be.
He might gore you, and then your innards would be all inside out and red.
Worse yet, he might slice you in half which could make you incredibly dead.
Super bulldog frog had no idea others were fearful of his tiny sharp horns.
Born with them, he knew their consistency was the same as kernels of corns.
They would not hurt anyone he told cow-poke frogs, but they ran anyway.
At least this meant he rarely was challenged by the others at the end of a day.
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