The proposal
Was a postal
Verded, nouned
and decisive
Told to a family
Of peoples
Humored and
Decisive
Tanks like ponds
Our Giant Prawns
A District
Countisourre
A taste fresh and delicious
One a seafood lover
Couldn't ignore
We propose in business
A site to construct
And build
A marvelous facility
With freezers and trucks
and skills
People Oh people
Your talents to create
A Product for
Millions
Where there is millions
To make
Internal and external
The environment we
Do care
A Product for
Smart people
A Product for profit
To share
Healthy and delicious
Tasty fresh and real
A unified front
Together in love we
Reveal
Customer and consumers
You have been put first
Our best is
The Worlds best
There is no such
Thing as our worst
Keeping the customer
Satisfied in the
Business of Satisfaction
Only an unscathed man will
Tell you this
They called her triple scoop at school cuz she was kind of plump
she was made of ice cream, so all day long she ran and ran and ran
Sliding in and out of freezers just to gather herself up in a clump
They called her "Dairy Queen Of Junior High" she never got a tan
Flavored in three Neapolitan colors she came, now that is insane !
She dolloped to walloped turning away from the sun, run Queenie run
Oh how sweet but how melty she dripped each time it began to rain
The only thought through her head was, " I might as well be a nun !"
Then one day she met Mr. Freezer, who lived in an Igloo by the Artic
come live with me & we will make snowballs all day and play ...
It was best to live in the cold, for that was her honest prognostic !
together they thrived and felt good in that place called, " Snowsway"
Stores were decorated lavishly for Halloween
A precursor to the extravagant Christmas décor
Seems like Thanksgiving slips silently in between
Almost like it’s not a holiday anymore.
A precursor to the extravagant Christmas décor
Should be cornucopias and some pilgrim hats
Almost like it’s not a holiday anymore,
It’s hard to find Thanksgiving, think of that!
Should be cornucopias and some pilgrim hats
Throughout the harvest month of November
It’s hard to find Thanksgiving, think of that,
Amongst the rush from Halloween to December!
Throughout the harvest month of November
I’m seeing some frozen turkeys in the freezers
Amongst the rush from Halloween to December,
A token for us old Thanksgiving-lover geezers.
I’m seeing some frozen turkeys in the freezers
Seems like Thanksgiving slips silently in between
A token for us old Thanksgiving-lover geezers,
Stores were decorated lavishly for Halloween.
Written November 6, 2022
Autumnal reflection
This is beautiful autumn, with no rain, no wind and no heat
soothing calm telling nothing about coming storms.
South Korea has solved the problem of what is needed
garish colours, mass banalities and predictable music.
In Ukraine, reckless defender of democracy plays roulette
artillery fire near a nuclear plant; a Russian game of taunt
EU has played all the cards, oblivious of people's concerns
living in fear of mass revolt by the starving and the freezers.
Let the coal plants roar as polar melts and coastal cities
sink beneath the sea and idiotic gender misunderstanding.
Oh, what beautiful autumn oak leaves softly fall
enjoy the shortening of time before the onset of winter.
Two days have gone by and no new poems
What's happening to this silly old geezer
Am I having one of those damn writer's blocks
Those famous deadly brain freezers
Surely there's a bunch more stuff inside
It just isn't making itself known
Usually I'm a very patient old son of a gun
Hope this old mind hasn't blown
All those poems I had stored up for months
Getting near the end of the pile
Kinda frightened like a little kid, I am
My reputation's gonna be defiled
Think I'll lie down for a couple of days
To let my old bean-o recharge
Then I'll be back to my prolific old self
Sure feel like an absolute retard
They say it can happen to the best of us guys
Thought I was above all that stuff
So much for that “holier that thou” attitude
You guy's have seen through my bluff
Meanest Bouncer of visiting oxygen
Like a scarf of coarsest jean,
Ever keeping it and the nostrils at arm’s length,
Displaying its suffocating strength.
Oxygen keeps loitering at the fringes of the nasal chambers,
For as long as Septembers are from Decembers:
Kind of dreading an entry into them,
To the sufferer causing a paradise of problem.
Catchers, like a cross, hold their inhalers:
A pathological fear of everything parading propellers;
Tasty meals are robbed of their appeal,
Stylish dishes of chefs not a Big Deal.
Justifies the banging of doors against cold
And auctioning of freezers, not to be cold:
A pointed sealing of windows seldom shuttered
And shutting of the ears to sopranos shattered.
The summer day is so hot
friends stay away.
I can picture them-
like me-
leaning into open refrigerators
and freezers
with frozen chicken,
hamburger,
Minute Maid.
We breathe the air
and fan the coolness
into ourselves.
We are not at all
thinking of wives or children
who try to sleep in the heat.
These moments are only for us,
the stolen coolness for us.
The appliance for food,
the cool air, accidental.
We stay apart
until the sun fades
and then with bottles of beer
begin our exaggerations
each one.
Some call them junk
because of dust and rust.
Strangers disdain their honored positions
on shelves and secure places.
Owners refer to tricycles
with tattered ribbons hanging from tarnished handles as memories,
Worn out Flexible Flyers with rusty runners
as conveyors of bundled joy on snowy days,
Unpolished roller skates hanging
next to freezers as vehicles of independence,
Wooden handled golf clubs
resting in corners as symbols of health,
Dog bowls resting on top
of old wardrobes as memorials to best friends.
I call them treasure.
Is today and it makes me wonder
why this happens only once each year.
I looked inside mine
for something a year old,
and found a few things I couldn’t recognize
in jars behind my wife’s peanut butter,
but nothing had lost its color,
and no foul odors assaulted me.
You can tell a lot about a person
by looking in their refrigerator.
People who enjoy cooking tend to have leftovers.
Single people tend to have nothing,
or maybe a few condiments and drinks.
My new oversized jar of green olives
now sits on the bottom shelf,
because my friend helped me conquer its stubborn lid
just yesterday. They will marinate further,
but be consumed over the next three months.
As we get older, we lose track
of what’s behind the almond milk,
until its odor tells us it’s there,
or mold hides its color.
This morning, I’ll take time to inventory
each item to support this special day,
in hopes that nobody has thought to make
a similar day for cleaning freezers.
captured, buried
in deep freezers
denied warmth
The train immortal blazes a path
Through the seasons of Norway, stopping at my doorstep
To unload a passenger, who looks at me,
Then lounges back,
Taking an apple off of my tree,
Talking to the spirits of the wind in a foreign language.
The next train will come soon, I know.
That's the way of life here:
The people come with their black moment-freezers
Touch buttons a few times, sheets lighting up,
Then jump onto the next train back to Oslo.
Thoughtfully chewing on the fruit of many years of labor,
The person yells the only Norwegian he knows into the forests...
That simple "Luftputefartøyet mitt er fullt av åler!"
Tells me, snickering from behind the barn
That maybe this man is here to stay.
THE ROOM IN THE MOUNTAIN
At the base of the mountain rests a massive six-foot thick steel door that hides so many secrets behind the cold metal.
Built in the dying days of the 20th century this secret room houses long forgotten strangers from the past; frozen in nitrogen in this cryogenic world are the dead who will one day awake.
Now in the 23rd century the door has been breached and the contents have been seen by the world.
In tubes of glass and in temperature-controlled freezers they lie with the same expression on their faces as the day they died.
For they are not really dead but asleep, soon to awake. As daylight chases away the darkness the computer begins to slowly bring them back to life.
What will they think of the 23rd century?
Start go, Start again
To understand the past is not natural historians of the time
writes about power and might, but little about the people.
Yet, within this confine art existed painting and poetry which
will be a good guide for those who want to know, alas, most
folks live in the now washing machines and freezers are more
interesting then computers.
The future is a clean slate we write on it to our peril, yet
we who have not been there - how could we- and since human
emotions do no change overnight that democracy are ideas of
the past we going backwards in ambition, and peace it is about
building a wall around you property.
Socialism is against human nature, experiment by philosophers
that failed in the net of human basic instinct, is about strength
and the sword, the cry of the battle will always ring in our ears.
Modern science is met with scepticism, there is no Darwin, we
are back to the Stone Age, and our collective consciousnesses,
which will be called religion and it will have many followers till
our self-importance rejects the idea of God and the whole gory
story of humanity starts again.
Summer Heat
What could be colder than the sun
Hell froze below all thermals known
Ice cream burns the tongue
Less than zero, the bitter winds begin
Glaciers form on Florida shores
One snow flake at a time
Hurricanes move in opposite directions
Work just like vacuums
Clears the landscape clean of ice and trees
People on the streets shiver at the thought of heat
Ice turns debris and minds to crystal freezers
Under the cover of summer sun
Delirium sets in
I’ve seen the freezers
where they store the mother’s eggs
where the unborn sleep
cradled in maternal dreams
cribs of baby fantasies
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