Bard, write through the blizzard!
Icicles, grow from ink!
Gibbous at the gizzard?
Thus, trickery, I think.
Ginkgo, garish gecko.
What herbivore eats this?
Drink thy sweetened tea down slow!
Crow carrion, abyss!
Death. O riddle, wrought in red?
City, rise the dead.
Heaven and Hell, hold thy head!
Careful where ye tread!
Hate, boil up inside my skull!
Overflow and burn!
Clean the end of every trull?
Turmoil taciturn.
Clarion? The count concurs.
Minnow, thy murmurs.
Yellowing scroll, languid lures.
Blue as vision blurs.
Adhesive, thy autopsy.
Blackguard, bounty's broadloom.
Stuck inside, apostrophe?
Apostasy, doom.
Motifs of the hedgerows?
Escarpment, extinction.
Ocean water, harsh thy blows!
Prose, profit the pun.
Toadstool? Viscosity of blood.
Food for thought and gods.
Sonic rain, hurricane, flood.
Vintage, O voivods...
Compassion, thy blessings.
Within all three take root.
No use second-guessings.
Just give the end a toot.
Bitterness, thy blizzard.
Blight, blanket all you see.
Bane, gibbous thy gizzard.
Belladonna, be.
Blistering sun ray, fire it up!
Make it happen fast!
Goddess, covenant and cup!
Please be meant to last!
Yellow rose, thy desert storm.
Lightning, crash and burn.
Volcano, lava in form.
Tamarisk, taciturn.
Reincarnation, station.
Seance, ensconced. Trounced.
Lost souls red dead, creation.
How the ball has bounced.
Tale, never end. Fickle, friend?
They cannot defend.
Broken are those which ne'er bend?
To the devil send.
Ankle broken, mend? Quite slow.
Maybe not at all.
Guard of treasure, way to go?
Brother, I may call.
Hawk, thy eye. Run real reply.
Reconcile, rely.
Doubt, thy torment. Constant cry.
Wave, O tops of rye...
Party invitations popped up in everyone’s hand.
The Wizard invited everyone special in the land.
With magic galore, it was destined to be grand.
He made sure good fairies and elves were banned.
To respond they were invited to RSVP The Wizard.
On the menu would be yummy fricassee of gizzard.
And a huge bowl of sautéed toad eyes with lizard.
The host planned it was held on a night of a blizzard.
All in readiness as the guests were arriving first.
Were offered blood cocktails to quench their thirst.
Little did they know the drinks were cursed.
Sit tight you haven’t as yet even heard the worst.
For entertainment a banshee wailed a blood curdling song.
Dracula danced with Medusa to slow songs all night long.
When he tried to bite her neck, her snakes came on strong.
Witches and goblins, ghosts and ghouls all shared a bong.
Pinning the tail on the donkey beware as the donkey kicks.
Not bobbing for apples in a barrel, these were live chicks.
There were ghastly horror movies playing, Taylor Swift flicks.
All had nightmares after the party the Wizard was up to his tricks.
A weather wizard
delivered a blizzard
to Chicago yesterday
If I weren’t so lily-livered
I’d have torn out his gizzard
~ right away
[ to the tune of We’re off to see the Wizard
from the musical Wizard of Oz ]
If you’ve not had fried gizzard,
you’ve never had southern at all.
The same is true of chicken-fried steak
or vinegar-based cole slaw.
If you’ve never tried hot zucchini bread,
banana pudding, pimento spread,
okra, chow chow, turnip greens or cheese straws,
moon pie, sweet tea, shrimp and grits, deviled eggs.
(dum-dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum)
If you’ve not had fried gizzard,
you’ve never had southern at all.
And this is a sad carol,
Our voice of grief every yuletide,
And our song of plea and prayer,
Now and in every Nativity hereafter.
A partridge, two turtle doves,
Three French hens and four birds a-calling,
Yet on the hens you are always calling,
To slaughter, butcher and murder.
Chicken stew. Chicken pepper soup,
Even chicken cubes season every soup.
From Feliz navidad to crunching gizzard,
Chickens in coops now lifeless in soups.
O come all ye faithful,
Bring joy to the poultry world,
Easy and gentle go on chickens,
And with something else stock your kitchen.
God rest ye merry, gentlemen
And gentle ladies, so rest!
Leave us to merry, to enjoy,
To live long, we and our kins.
And whether it be local or hybrid,
Or white or coloured,
Chickens lives matter.
Oh, please, hark this herald!
Phineas the Frog
crossed the bog
dancing upon a log
Eyed a seagull
thought 'twas illegal
So he lunched on a water beetle
Fell asleep, next to a lizard
Phineas sure was no wizard
~ All that remained was his gizzard
_____________________________
Lizards are known to dine on frogs
Harry Potter a boy with no real family
Living under his cousin’s stairs, in a closet’s gizzard.
Shunned and shut away as a nambly-pambly
In another world, a known, famous wizard.
Hagrid helps him get to Hogwarts where he meets lifelong friends
Ron Weasley and Hermoine Granger, a muggle-born witch.
Daring escapades and escapes are Rowling's books’ brightest bends.
Harry’s phoenix tail wand is magic with a flick and a switch.
Harry took off on a broom when he was not supposed to yet ride.
Swiftly marched in in by McGonagall, head of the Gyffindor House
Dumbledore names Harry as seeker of the Quidditch Team’s G-side.
I am not going to ruin the rest of the story; I am not a louse.
Witchy Pooh stirred her stew in a cauldron pot
The Pot smelled like hell
The contents stank a lot
Long Tongue of Lizard, Pigs Gizzard
Dogs Tails, and Nose or two
Eye of Cat, Fancy that
I would not, would you?
Witchy Pooh stirred her stew
Adding Spiders and a Snake
She stirred and stirred and stirred
Until it was very late
As she stirred she chanted
I could not hear her very well
It sounded foreign
It must have been a Spell
A Spell, Oh my Goodness
I think she has spied me
I thought I was inconspicuous
Hiding behind this Oak Tree
As the witch advanced toward me
Waving a Huge Spoon
I was terrified because I felt sure
I would be in that Cauldron soon
As her wizened face came closer
I was wishing I was dead
Then there was a Tremendous Noise
As I tumbled out of Bed
Do lizards have gizzards?
Do wizards have craws?
Are parakeets Paracletes
Exempt from laws?
I need to know how
I kneaded dough now
To disavow middlebrow
Hear the cow bow-a-wow.
Seeking the local coven’s cavern
a pumpkin rolled into a tavern
he met with a wise wizard
who slit him stem to gizzard
now he’s a gruesome jack ‘o lantern
Death is when you
Are alive in the shadow
Death is when you can
Sit and sing with your ancestors
The ostrich is surely a curious bird
Composed of elements rather absurd
Overstuffed body, resting on twigs for legs
Babies hatch in dump nests of 50+ eggs
Weighing as much as three pounds each
~ No wonder ostriches have ear-piercing shrieks
They're flightless, of course,
Weighing 300 pounds
So they ramble 40 mph
When they're run out of town
And they're tall, oh so tall, up to nine feet,
~ With a neck the size a giraffe's barely beats
Wearing no hats, they're clearly not wizards
In the midst of their stomachs, they have a gizzard
For digesting pebbles, locusts, and snakes
Along with rats, leafy vegetables, or lizards
And why do they always stick their heads in the sand?
~ So they're not decapitated, processed, and packed in a can.
THE MOTHER OF ALL LOVE POEMS
How much love, comes from the heart of me?
Let's count the ways, far as my heart can see,
no more than's in my gizzard or my liver,
I'll ever find any love to give her,
as much as in my bladder, if it's grown
or sharing space with a kidney stone,
my heart hath love, as much as my tongue,
and in between my hips it's hung,
in hair that grows out of my nose,
and in my spleen--between my toes,
the heart pumps blood, and nothing more,
the bladder pees toward the floor,
but never will you ever find
one bit of love, cept in the mind.
© ron wilson
The snow was blowin' and the cows roamed free
Outside Amarillo in fifty three.
It was Christmas eve, my fingers was froze -
I swore and cussed at this life I had chose.
Then, of a sudden, there appeared this sleigh.
He said,"Howdy, boys, I have lost my way!"
I laughed at this fat man rubbin' his toes,
And said,"Old Timer, where's Rudolph's red nose?"
He said,"Son,in fog he saved my gizzard,
But he ain't no help in a blowin' blizzard."
I was surprised that this really was him,
Told him that I'd help and my name was Jim.
I said,"Santa, this wind's from the North Pole,
We call it a Blue Norther sure as your soul!"
He said, "Well I'll go home buckin' this wind,
Ain't sure I'll see this Panhandle again."
He must have changed his mind come the next year.
Left me a note and a six pack of beer.
So you see, my son, Santa's on his way.
You get to sleep..tomorrow's Christmas Day.
12/10/2017
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