Cat faeces in piles on the grass
I’m tempted to butt plug cat’s ass
But two solar cat scarers
Have stopped cat crap terrors
Their solar charged tone works first class!
No kitty poop piles this week
Though daily its cat poop I seek
There’s no turds on my lawn
I’m no longer forlorn
Cat’s crapping elsewhere, YES! I shriek!
I asked the bird
about his philosophy.
In bird talk he replied, flying, bath
crapping, tweets his lyrical singing....
I asked the alligator:
lots of teeth, swimming,
attacking, cute little bubbles....
I asked the man and woman --
Romeo and Juliet, intense romanticism
sometimes leading to murder --
I thought to ask the politician, God said, don't
bother: double speak, crapping on everyone, lots of teeth, fake tweets,
attacking all critics, alleged criminality, doubtful an honest cell remaining
in his or
her, its entire body.
-----------------------------
Options
The world is sweet and sour
sometimes all lemons, as with
cracked eggs we make do.
Besides, omelets are quite
nutritious, the cat's meow
mixed with ham and some cheese
delightful compromises. What
I am getting at is, we are a
varied species of different tastes
and points of view, satisfying
options. Billions by last count.
Insects and politicians never my
first choice.
Malcontents crapping on democracy
then complaining about how it stinks
the anarchist and antichrist
keepers of a stagnate stye
It is the eve before the prince of peace arrives
The slots spin,
the casino’s siren song
bellows its flashy music-box tune.
Click, click, click….
O so close!
“It’s not gambling,” she says,
“it’s just a half-assed prayer
we ritually repeat to a sleeping deity.
one that doesn’t like germy fingers
poking at her all night.
Don’t forget to wash your hands,
they provide restrooms,
for when we are tired
of crapping out
on the craps tables.”
I ain't never been a friend of good luck
Unkind are the power balls, scratch-offs, and all that stuff
But I'm feeling good about these
So much so that they got me down on my knees
I got 'em
I feel 'em
They're in my hands
I'm blowin' 'em
I'm shakin' 'em
I'm takin' a chance
They're mine
And I'm shootin'
'Cause I'm a shooter
Pass or Crap
A timid man sees a trap
But I ain't crapping
Instead, I'm big-tapping
7-Eleven
7-Eleven back door Little Joe...
Shake 'em, Shake 'em
I'm betting on me
Roll 'em, Roll 'em
Now, I see who I was born to be
heaving, heaving
of the owl
heavy is his breathing
the weight of it
is leaning
upon the reddened rail
his eyes glimmering gold
opening wide
can see inside your soul
so close, so warm
so cold
he’s stealing your breath
its freezing
in midair
the owl can’t help
but be aware
of your awful stare
the figurine
faulting
ferociously frightened
hair stands up on your alabaster skin
feathers wrap ‘round
the porch climber
the climax shivering
eyes still staring
staring you down
daring you to look away
with that awful flapping
that territorial crapping
and
beak ringing
buzzing your bell
your hands now clasp
your ears - the silencer
of fears
you close your eyes
disguise the shadows
of the night
they open
all’s clear
nothing to fear
but the railings painted white
the awakening is bright
sinister in the moonlight
step out at your peril
pray for reprieve
are all exits marked
doesn’t matter…
the pulchritude of a speckled coat
in mid flight
breaks the splattered glass
once up on a midnight
clearly...
while i yawned all weak
and...
barely over many a pain
too...
clear volumes from gutt'n
more...
and while i knotted nearly
rapping...
suddenly there came a
crapping...
and a rapping at the door
"this"...
i muttered "be my chamber
only"...
and not
a...
thing
more...
stan sand
New York was so relaxed Lady Liberty was slumbering with snores.
There was a garbage strike, and the taxis were sauntering with oars.
No one was excited, hot dog men were yawning in their wheat buns.
It was a lazy August day, and Central Park had many quiet nuns.
Atlantic ocean was taking a sabbatical, the pizza palors were napping.
The dogs and cats were dead asleep, no animals were crapping.
Tourists were taking naps on almost every kind of stoop.
Pigeons were deep in meditation in every single coop.
All 8 billion of us
have mental illness
some
subtly
so
others profound
it's a matter of degree
of shade.
Some are reachable and adapt
become chefs-CEOS- presidents
others curl inward
cannibalize themselves
crapping out
psychopaths
creeping about
raking fangs along
the thinning peace cloud...
We've emptied asylums
population is at critical mass
somebodies going to crack
place an iron neck upon the tracks
derail societal peace
plucking lives
off the vine
before
they're
ripe.
Some are unreachable just outside the grasp.
They'll never adapt
They'll never climb out of the rattlesnake pit.
Self-determination for all
Freedom is not always what it is supposed to mean
It gets curtailed by the influence of the world we live in,
for many freedoms is scary, they prefer freedom within
the cage that is full of seed in all colour you can think of;
such as a religion of choice and *********** to satisfy your
hidden desire.
A canary sat on a perch inside its confinement and noticed
the gateway was open, it flew out and the feeling of freedom
was intense, think sitting on a bookshelf and crapping on
a newspaper the “Guardian” on the small table by the chair.
A window was open, more freedom, it flew out sat on
the branch of a tree, feeling totally free and no one would say:
how blue the bird is?
A raven, shiny black saw the bird and the was that
a few blue feathers are blowing in the breeze.
James Dean junket drive
Up the bend away at Five
Met his end all plaster-fied
The Hollywood pied piper
Hellva lot better Dean
A young-man Diana been
No old man crapping in a diaper
But a trip for the worse
Early turn in a hearse
No fun for fans all screaming
Running at double time
Crossing over the line
Makes an end of your California dreaming
Happy Stepmother's Day
Sorry your card is soggy.
I tucked a few ice cubes inside it.
The same ones you spit onto my soul
so many years ago.
{They all see the gentle-gray-haired grandma
and wonder why I keep my distance}.
But I grew up under the ass of that crow {you didn't}
Crapping out ice cubes on my young soul-
I wear the rouge on my psyche as proof.
Be where your feet are, so you'll always be aware
Of where you are, and you will surely be there
Now listen to me
Ain't crapping thee
Coz where you are now, nothing compares
(a lighter-hearted parody of the masterpiece poem “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe)
Once upon a noonday sunny, while I smiled at something funny
In the park where children play and suitors woo,
’Midst the sound of subtle flapping, suddenly I got a crapping;
On my cheek I felt it slapping, warm and wet and slimy, too,
And my uncontrolled reaction to the foul, repugnant goo
Was a squeamish “Eww-ew-ewww!”
Soon my shock assumed a passion of a duly fiercer fashion,
For the bough above disclosed a damning clue:
There a shapely dove was lurking, all her guilt and duty shirking,
Unconcerned and coyly smirking, just to see what I would do.
“Fiend!” I cried, “You’ll feel my vengeance!” but this only made her coo,
Sighing softly, “Toodle-oo.”
Whereupon, with madness growing, I picked up a stone for throwing,
As but slightly farther off she lightly flew,
But my aim was rash confusion and it met with no conclusion,
So in spite of my delusion there was nothing I could do.
Now my heart will not get over how she crooned her calm adieu:
“Toodle-ooo-oo, toodle-oo.”
Be where your feet are, so you'll always be aware
Of where you are, and you will surely be there
Now listen to me
Ain't crapping thee
Coz where you are now, nothing compares
HUH?
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