I was wooing a shiksa named Trish
So I got her something delish
She wouldn't go for Gefilte fish
But she devoured Sam's deli Knish!
I told her that in married bliss
Every supper we could share a Knish
and she replied:
"I can't marry you unless you convert
I don't want to cause you this hurt
But I hail from the Bible Belt
Even a Knish can't make me melt."
Her rich Dad owns a fast food chain
If I let her go, I'd be insane
But I was offended, broke all ties
I had shot my arrows, no more tries.
In Alabama, a franchise has a new dish
It looks like fried chicken, it tastes like a Knish
So my breakup influenced Alabama cuisine
Its an unlucky wind that can't blow clean.
Today my daily run, it's pouring rain
From exercise there is so much to gain
What ever the weather I will not refrain
I pass a group of smokers outside a fast non "food" quick death franchise chain
Running bare foot, bare top in just shorts alone
I feel the multitude of raindrops massage my tanned skin
Luckily I'm not a "LOAN SHARK"
In this heavy rain I would need to grow a fin
In the middle of the town I'm aware of many stares
that seem to indicate I"m entirely mad
I assume I don't have all their addictions
I'm free from many a nasty fad
So here's to the rain providing many puddles
into which ,with fun, I can run and jump and splash
The rivers creeks the land
with life giving water they are all awash
Another poem's come to mind
the time has come to dash
Venezuela’s vast oil supplies
Sit square in our president’s eyes
For their petrol drums
Trump gives away crumbs
And loves that land as his franchise
Serving that teaspoon of wishes bright
luminous, the night has a thousand eyes.
There is something about a wintry night.
That purposeful frost in the air might
bring to life a few dormant excited cries,
serving that teaspoon of wishes bright.
A bit of a nibble without that harsh bite
an idea can turn into the latest franchise.
There is something about a wintry night.
Warming you from the inside despite
silence sometimes replacing replies,
serving that teaspoon of wishes bright.
Silken sprinkles full of star-flakes excite
instigating a flurry of high pitched cries.
There is something about a wintry night.
You borrow a little and share that light,
you’re the talent and all of the supplies.
Serving that teaspoon of wishes bright,
there is something about a wintry night.
He bought himself a tandem
In the hope that he would meet
A suitable young lady who’d
Ride on his back seat.
He took it to the Dance Hall
But didn’t stand a chance
Cycling not seeming to fit in
With ideas of modern romance
He’d offer one a lift and
See her expression slip
When handed a bike cape
And a pair of cycle clips
Then he had his eureka moment
When he persuaded one to try it
Selling it as essential part of his
New Calorie controlled diet.
The idea rapidly spread
And much to his surprise
He managed to turn it into
A very lucrative franchise
He’s a billionaire these days
His happiness complete
As the ladies queue up
To ride on his back seat.
Roll the credits on what's-his-name,
walks like Eastwood, talks just like Wayne,
saddled up on his trusted steed,
pistol packing, sure he'll succeed,
stealing the sunset, final frame.
Red carpet ready, for acclaim,
didn't notice the spotlights change,
when he signed up, to take the lead.
Roll the credits.
Movie critics called it a shame,
a bad luck draw, no-one to blame,
for the box-office franchise creed,
but paying punters have agreed,
spiralised westerns aren't the same.
Roll the credits.
I have the skills
That normal zombies don't
No one's ever seen anything
Like it in the mist
It's not gonna help
Your agonishing escape
This moment so close
To being saved
That ending takes
Lots of guts.
Join free now
And name a price
Up and down the sum
With which anything is bought
The franchise of the respectable
And not so respected
Captured beings like ourselves
Now cought in a bear trap
That ending takes
Lots of guts.
If you've lost out
On a couple of victims
Why go back for them
Once they have gone?
The U G L Y outcome
Of a without you/me oblivion
The going to town
That makes my skin crawl
That ending takes
Lots of guts.
In front of the China Palace restaurant
there was a stone frog,
it was not hatched in a cloud of spawn
like the rest of us,
it was decorative,
placed as it was,
upon a rock
above an ornamental pond.
Inside the China Palace
there was, at some time,
a similar stone frog,
it could have been a female frog,
hard to say for sure.
If given a million years
the two stone artifacts
may have rolled into each other
as many rocks do in time.
Sadly the two gender neutral frogs
will never now meet
for the restaurant closed for good
some time ago,
it is now a Burger King franchise.
The stone frogs have been banished,
one to a faraway garden center,
the other to the back of that same
fast food eatery.
At back of the former China Palace
there remains a small enclosure
where hard working Americans
in the catering and service industry
are known to smoke a hasty cigarette,
and talk into their cell phones -
mostly about sex.
That’s just how things roll around here.
Before I come home my dear, dear lover I know we are getting older I will always be with you. I understand you are fearful by the dominating thoughts of death and the unknown. Have credence my sweet darling for I know there is no final act and only we become a franchise of love.
Are we not our graves digging,
With the keenest interest in rigging,
The first to be buried our image;
“To Electoral Franchise: Savage?
Are we not behind greatly lagging,
When the Neutral Press we keep gagging,
The next to be silenced Plain Truth;
A despot imaged as today’s Ruth…
Often, the time to befriend hell’s thugs,
Remember they don’t need your hugs,
Lover of carpets you take to rugs;
Very few things could say ‘No’ to Drugs…
Election rigged is a virgin raped,
Never count it that you have escaped;
In the robes of Molester draped;
Don’t expect a future well-shaped.
Mister Jack Horner’s
Shop on the corner –
His specials were cakes and pies.
While inspector was looking,
He thumbed in the cooking –
Now his shop is a Starbuck’s franchise.
Written on May 14, 2023 for the “Mother Goose Grows Up Poetry Contest”
(Growing up “Little Jack Horner”)
The political storm is gathering
Election fever is at its highest pitch
As Nigerians head to the polls
To exercise their franchise
In the mother of all elections
The most crucial ever
Since the birthing of uninterrupted
Democracy in our dear father land
This would be an election like no other
Coming at a time Nigerians
Have their backs to the walls
Victims of unmitigated misery
Kidnapping, banditry and general insecurity
Victims of multi-dimensional poverty
In the midst of affluence
Proverbially living near the river
But washing their hands daily with spittle
The time of reckoning is here
Chickens have finally come home to roost
A Daniel has come to judgment
This is the time for Nigerians
To speak with one voice
That would echo and re-echo
For a long time to come
Far beyond the moonlit corn maze
the silence of true terror lies
within the bonfire’s burning blaze;
‘Urban legend’ isn’t just a paraphrase;
In short it may bring about your demise,
far beyond the moonlit corn maze;
Dressed in October’s magical craze
never controlled though everyone tries,
within the bonfire’s burning blaze;
Gaudy leaves color autumn days;
Darkness fools many with it’s disguise,
far beyond the moonlit corn maze;
Shadows of a spell binding chase;
Endless images horrify smiling eyes
within the bonfire’s burning blaze;
Your fears linger in your mind always,
this haunted event has built a franchise;
Far beyond the moonlit corn maze
within the bonfire’s burning blaze.
Tim Horton's and Starbucks are cropping up
On just about every corner
We've become a nation of coff-o-holics
My choice is obviously the former
Being Canadian and a hockey aficionado
One of the reasons for my choice
Tim Horton played for the Toronto Maple Leafs
In the 50s and 60s we rejoiced
He tragically died in an automobile accident
On a highway in February '74
Just before this great franchise took flight
And became a “one on every corner” goal
What a sad ending but his name will live on
Becoming part of Canada's culture
Was destined to become a very wealthy man
Until his very untimely departure
“What is this strange place we find ourselves in,
Trapped in the open, we are free within”
Like Walter Mitty I would rather be
Inside my head, adventurous and free.
Safe sanctuary, thought-provoking kit,
Equipped with high caliber tool, called wit.
There’s no embargo and there’s no restrain
On a free current of wondering brain.
No franchise on uniquely designed mind -
Cerebral wheel of fortune of mankind.
When trapped in the open, against my will,
From within I am, liberated still.
March 19, 2022
Contest: Matrix
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
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