Theres a flood today in Crick.'
Uncontrolled migrants; on the uptick'
There is football till morning.'
When they normally were snoring
And drunks in their, park being sick.'
i cannot speak but print
be about as accurate
as possible without
problems that be
a pronunciation
difficulty of a
single point
trying to
be as
the sourest of all my...
leftovers
len
(cof...cofcofcof....)
Th' Crick is dryin’ Up.
Ah got this Stick, ah call a Tree, stuck in th' mud:
Decorated it with dental floss, well za could
‘Cause there’s so much of the stuff in the dead weeds out back
An’ th’ Tree pret’ near always stays stuck there, ‘cept for when a strong wind blows up.
That little mud tea trickle that remains a’ the Crick, ah call ‘Trump Soup’.
I laid across your heart like a bed.
Secure, soaring through the air.
Goodbye to the linen I left back at home.
Stuck in an room.
I felt at ease.
My back falling splat into comfort.
An endless supply of sheets.
Laying in complete peace.
My every woe.
My every ache.
Thereby at the door.
There's nothing outside this moment.
Soon I will be sleep.
That's all left to do.
Snore.
A dream closer than the eye.
Sandman.
Stay where you are.
Away from me and my cache
made of heart.
I hope you don't mind that I've laid here.
Contouring to your every shape.
To lay away in this elation I have towards you.
I hope to catch more than a decent sleep.
My neck twisted left.
In a deep sleep in the contours of your heart
Roy Moore Up The Crick
We are Southerners who sure are slick,
So Roy Moore we sent up crooked crick;
Heard our voice;
A lousy choice;
To many he had been a pretty poor pick.
Jim Horn
Must Admit About It
About Alabama many of us have to admit;
Half of them are not really worth any of it,
Real hot to trot,
Was really not;
More then could chew off Moore had bit.
Jim Horn
Brought Moore To An End
What had brought Moore to an end;
Jew and a black are my best friend;
Wife he kissed,
Is prejudiced;
Now who could this possibly offend?
Jim Horn
Decent Poem Written Recent
Not only is this poem great and decent,
It occurred to me was written recent;
Poets are demanding;
They are outstanding;
Not only that you have my consent.
Jim Horn
Curriculum of Wisdom and Christendom
Much information may make up a curriculum,
For what we consider to be Godly wisdom;
Diverticulum extended,
And each law amended,
Comprised of and contained in a Christendom.
Jim Horn
The Old Mrs Cathleen Crick was a great freak
She hired a robomaid she was so sick
Robo broke her china cup
Powdered it for a make-up
Then left house in haste, what a robotrick!
The body becomes the prison
I feel there is reason somewhere
But these lessons seem ill prepared
I’ve taken good advantage of the length of my neck
And now there is steel from collarbone to jaw line
In the tips of fingers
are trills and little fires of anger
I slept with the window open last night
God forbid, the fresh air
And now I muster up all the strength
to close it
and save the rest of my body
I want to dare it; want to turn 180
And burn right where I’m damaged
And then maybe the crick will become cracked
And the stick will go slack
And I can spin again
From my own axis
I’ve been thinking of him
How he rejected the idea of olive oil
On his neck, the healing of holy water
How in three days he was healed
And in three days his healer was risen
The mercy of the breath given to reject
The humble pompous anecdote
Of his foolish mother in law
And so in rebellion I prayed
And turned to feel the pangs of pain
Jesus rose on the third day
Mister was healed just the same
I can’t take two more days
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