I Always Wondered
Why The Elephant's Ass
Is Bigger Than The Donkey's
Which Is All Jack-Ass.
-Gray Squirrel
06-30-2025
Running around her hair so untamed,
those curls reflecting wilderness;
Crass words fly forever blurting truth;
Sitting silent unless speaking truth,
through the years with a spirit untamed;
She’s the embodiment of wilderness;
Always so inspired by wilderness,
natural instinct’s the rawest truth;
Willing to fight to remain untamed;
The untamed wilderness is her truth.
I'm a truly benign bibliotaph
who sells used books for fun,
& don't intend to make you laugh
because I can't think of a good pun.
Both as Crass and as Callas
As it is to admit openly out loud
I find myself recently trying to reconcile
Why it is I sorely miss much more
Not those amongst us currently here
living I beside
But those who have both sadly moved
and been passed on
I wonder if it is because the dead do
not so much annoy anymore
As apposed to those long already
dead residing besides once happy
joyous memories in ones head
We can talk to them about later on at
night before we go to bed
Because they wouldn't let us get a
word in edge way's or shut up and
stop endlessly going on about
themselves
And I am going on holiday with
said set of individual's tomorrow
As unfortunately they who I am
referring to are my nearest and
dearest family
Whom unlike friends I never got to choose
Prayer meeting for the departed one
finds family praying in silent grief,
whilst others shed crocodile tears as dole,
marking time with their cellphones for relief,
cold hearts, unable to turn a new leaf,
searching familiar faces to connect,
their insincere condolences thus suspect,
crass gesture that happens time and again;
high time from our life, such ‘friends’ we eject,
for they alleviate not, our deep pain.
16-October-2021
Disliked him instantly
He smelled of cigarette smoke
He was crass and rude and loud
He winked at me making me mad
Then he sat down at the piano
And showed the world what a maestro
can do; he played with the aid of angels
Faeries danced and elves wept
My traitorous feet began to dance
The whole room was swinging and swaying
He winked at several others.
His winking was part of his charisma
He was the puppet master.
My partner and I danced the whole set.
We bought him a beer. We told him how good he was.
He winked at me, and I was no longer insulted.
For he was magnetic, and his playfulness was a joy to behold.
He calls himself Lyric Man but his name is Dave Wood
If you haven't checked him out yet then maybe you should
He's a poet with class
Dave's never crass
But if he thought he'd get away with it, he definitely would!
© Jack Ellison 2015
The dead is blowing hisses with their thin whistle
Swallowing the metal, the sound and the supposed terror
Flying in a backward spiral permeating through minute touches
Of infinite displacement among lost consciousness
My death is not on this day
My death is my reluctance
To stop pretending
Of manning up to a stoic mannequin
My death is over my belief
That to read is not the same as to proclaim
Death is engraved on the edge of each of my invisible claws
Down to the spinal line of my imaginary tail
My frail lifeless stale state
Staring
With eyes fully filled with distrusts, mistrusts and all that there is to it
To my supposed superficial living tales
Will I outlive my death better than me outwitting my crassness
CRASS ASS *
We have a rude boss with no sense:
His intellect’s awfully dense .
He can’t add or subtract,
And is lacking in tact.
We’d all like to kick his rear hence !
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NOTE
*Nickname of a guy I actually used to work for - a long time ago.
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Entered in Carolyn Devonshire’s Limerick Contest “Horrible Bosses”
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