senses bemuse
thoughts amuse too
our goose is cooked
negating form
each life storm ebbs
conform with love
no fears remain
feral stains cleansed
heart’s pain is healed
in body urn
bliss burns erst sins
we turn inwards
in hermit mode
we decode truth
an ode to God
Where there's a will
there's a funeral
death is a fact of life
a grave undertaking
for a mortician
and one day some day
you and I
will wake up dead
hopefully the lifetime led
was of our own making
too late for looking back
no regrets and yet
it's appalling
when we wind up
in a winding sheet
waiting on that beir
aside from six feet under
where do we go
from here?
Some say, 'Heaven,'
some say, 'Hell,' oh well,
by then our goose is cooked, wagon fixed,
and we'll never know 'til it's too late
as they've punched our ticket,
cleaned our clock and wiped our slate.
In kingdoms known by all the lands
in which the Royal court commands
The celebration must begin
with love found of the hearts within
December rules this favorite time
as hopes build in this winter clime
For as this day is drawing near
They all know Christmas time is here
And as this story’s book reveals
with Royal writs and Royal seals
This proclamation is at hand
for everything to be as planned
The bells have rung, the goose is cooked
the joy is found by all who’ve looked
The trees of light are on display
and now it’s time for Christmas day
And as for gifts to be on show
there is but one that they all know
For in these lands so far above
The only christmas gift is love
You know the old saying your goose is cooked
Whenever I hear that I really get shooked
I hear there's some truth to that nasty old saying
I'm valuable because of the many eggs I keep laying
You have to learn how to run really fast
If you don't, how long will your life last
I've learned to do more then just waddle
You'd be smart to use me as a role model
Don't get caught walking around here alone
The inside of a kettle will be your next home
Keep your bill shut, don't utter a honk or quack
If you get noticed it may be your last act
Author Eileen Clark
I cannot anymore say “I do not give a hoot!”
When a policeman pulls over my car,
First thing I say is, “Officer, please don’t shoot!”
Now, I am afraid to go--to venture very far
From the security of my very own back yard
I no longer visit my local neighborhood bar
These days we need a personal security guard
To feel safe when we go to the village malls
Guns from all public places should be barred
Once we could handle old-fashioned brawls
But with serial killers and snipers on the loose
I am afraid our backs are pressed to the walls
Discarded social mores have cooked our goose.
'Your goose is cooked'
I told Azizi
"My what is what?"
He questioned me
'Your goose is cooked'
softly repeated
Azizi frowned
He looked defeated
I wondered why
he couldn't see
his goose in my oven
of transparency
Nations of Compassion?
Follow the crowd, or else,
Your goose is cooked but good.
Bend your square head in obeisance.
Keep your lofty ideas to yourself!
The only truth that matters now,
Is the suppression by the maddening
crowd.
Go, hence, to your humble corner now!
We allow no freedom of expression.
For we are the masters of oppression.
Where lies magically become truth.
That is our omnipotent, potent obsession.
Go toot your truth elsewhere.
It's our way or the lonely highway.
We rule the kingdoms, sans compassion.
Where you and your individualism,
Are not wanted, in our globalist fashion!
July 12, 2020
7pm PST
Hope is the notion
to swim across the ocean
and pray you won't drown
when it gets thick and brown
Hope is that dope
that get you hooked
when you're goose is cooked
and you’re up against the ropes
Hope things are going well and
Hope we won't panic
I've got my beachfront land
And the best seat on the Titanic!
Hope I get paid
hope I get laid
Hope we get to grope
In the cool grassy shade
Hope I don't mope
If she says nope
Hope for no isotopes
In my cantaloupe
Hope for one, hope for two
hoping is the dopiest thing to do
Hope, I sure hope we don’t get screwed
Mostly I hope there’s hope for you
You hope to God
hope to Hope
Hope the Pope
doesn't rope-a-dope
Hope in one hand, whizz in the other
hope that other hand
ain’t the last strand
of your brother
Hope is what you’re smoking
Hope is what you’re shooting
Hope is what you’re doing
When you should be executing
Hope you have a plan
Hope you follow through
Hope you’re the (wo-)man
Who doesn’t hope in lieu
Hope your slope is up
Hope your time is long
Hope you fill your cup
Hope you finish strong
8/16/16
A shaft of sunlight
splits our dreams
and the spell evaporates,
our fate is sealed,
our goose is cooked!
Morning-mouthed,
bedraggled, the reality of day
makes for a rude awakening,
as reluctantly we say
'auf wiedersehen.'
A shaft of sunlight
cleaves their reveries
and the spell evaporates,
their fate is sealed,
their goose is cooked!
Morning-mouthed,
bedraggled, the reality of day
makes for a rude awakening
as reluctantly they say
'auf wiedersehen.'
I was helping a customer with her internet issues,
and remarked that before we’re done, that she will be
like one of our field technicians.
She indicated that she did not want to be a network guru.
"When pigs fly,” she said. I told her that I had read an article of a
farmer that had done just that, he was able to get his pigs to fly.
He had strapped small jet engines and wings to the backs
of his piglets, started them up and away they went.
He had them launch from the barnyard with some geese,
horses, chickens, cows and newsmen looking on.
Lead heading on the local newspaper article said,
"PIGS FLY, GOOSE IS COOKED".
The farmer was sorry that the goose was too close
to the action, but had a great victory meal..
…and the customer was laughing so much that she
didn’t notice that she had accomplished the task at
hand, and was able to get her internet up and running.
Nothing But the Truth
The world has gone too far PC
At least to folks the likes of me
I tell it simply like I see it
If that’s upsetting, well so be it
The world’s become so sensitive
Leaving truth no place to live
“Do these pants make my but look fat?”
How am I to answer that
I simply tell the truth I fear
“It’s not the pants, it’s just your rear.
“How does my hair look in the back?”
Again the PC words I lack
I ought to say it looks just fine
But PC words don’t come to mind
“It’s awful bad, you need a brush”
These non-PC words out of me rush
“What’s that smell? What did you do?”
I have to say “I think it’s you.”
“Maybe your shoes, maybe your feet
They’re simply smelling none too sweet.”
“Does this color go with that?”
Again we’re back to pants and fat
I say “You need to change your blouse
Before you venture out the house”
I know I never should have looked
And just like that, my goose is cooked
And so it goes and never ends
It’s worrisome I tell you friends
The world now labels me uncouth
Because I simply tell the truth!
the heat
of passion flames
a goose is cooked
Forgive me, just some silly nonsense...
You can have your Chatty Cathy
Or Annie with the big Fanny
But you can't have Tom Terrific
You don't get it? That's uncanny!
They gotta rhyme like Sarah Tiara
Or Tammy who loves Salami
There's the famous Roger Dodger
And little old Hammie Sammy
There's more, there's Skinny Minnie
Or sweet li'l ole Flirty Gerty
There's Amy who smells quite Gamey
And how about Gurgling Bertie
Have you heard of Picky Vicky
Or tasty sweet Hannah Banana
There's Mona Lisa Teresa
And cute little Andy Panda
Jerry at times can be Scary
How about little Betsy Wetsy
Buck who drives a great big Truck
And Bessie who's extremely Messy
So I've come to the end of my verses
Oops! Forgot about Bob the Snob
Bruce is saying my Goose is cooked
And I'm trying hard not to sob!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Metaphor of multi plug
The metaphor of the multi plug
With lines and leads connected lugs,
To keep you on their lead,
Believing all their krappy creed,
from some dirty unwashed thug,
You poor mental as passive weed,
Do you dig the drain I’ve dug
Or has you brain gone off to seed,
The master holds a grudge,
Deceptive television yes do heed,
It’s fool the drongoes, brainwash, drug,
The millions watch and get a feed,
Of Tory bullkrapp every seed,
You are treated like a mug,
The Super rich will tug your weed,
Brainwash, every deed,
Your television it does shrug,
Repetition keeps you up to speed?
Jammed in your brain poor slug?
The unsuspecting brainwash need,
Manilipulated poor, poor dud…
When the Rich control the news media effectively,
You are battered with propaganda,
Television always showing no respect for thee,
Your goose is cooked old Gander,
To the Drongo rich they pander,
Their connection, pull the plug………………
Don Johnson
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