Sir Spoonsalot was a bit of a snot
His breath was stinky, smelled like rot
We were shocked when he began dating Lady Chatterbox
He loved her a bunch, they both had a crow and a fox.
But what about Sir Gigglefritz? My cousin Vi asked me.
I heard that this weirdo was at Lady Hopsincrotch’s afternoon tea.
This was news that had gone around, but I was sure untrue.
Later I got all the gory details from another gossip, Miss Jenny Sue.
These rounders have all been around the block and up a tree.
I would never date such fools as these, I told Wanda and Bree.
They gave me a look that said they thought I was lying.
Which I sometimes do when my stories they are not buying.
Too much news is too much transparency
A 24-hour cycle of news is more than I need
I want only a headline telling what took place
Do not give me all the gory details, indeed!
I do not need “talking heads” explaining to me
What I can understand with just the facts
I can make up my own mind about an event
Let me decide for myself how an action impacts.
Quite honestly, sometimes ignorance IS bliss
I am not disarmed by a lack of news reports,
I’ve discovered I am happier for not knowing,
Especially sassy politicians' constant retorts.
What’s essential for me to know, I can find out
After all, I can always inquire of my wife
For she has never lacked for good information
And I never disagree … who needs the strife?
These blatant lives we lead
with their guts hanging out,
yet only between beautiful words.
I remember (after the failed surgery),
when guts spilled out of my real body;
that unwinding of blank verse uncoiling
in a slow slime of sincerity,
and all those gory details falling out, at last
saying something true.
A dream of a sweet soft kitten,
a cuddly kitten to hold and love,
daily friendship and fun.
A dream of the morning daybreak,
bright colors now appearing,
sun coming up like the middle of a dream.
A dream that has turned into a nightmare,
gory details with terrible sights,
waking up in a cold sweat from the horror.
A dream with you started sweet,
the many phone calls,
our finally meeting each other.
A dream just like a new day,
started off wonderful,
eating and having many laughs.
A dream that turn into a nightmare,
I learned you are a lair and a thief,
you lied to my face and stole from my back.
Written Date 3/26/2020
"Brink of War", the press proclaims
in grand exuberance cause it will know
there will be work for months naming names
and the gory details of friend and foe.
You may notice that the Dow Jones which
has been in the dumpster, with great joy
arises. Investors know without a hitch
which stocks of war will be the ones to buy.
Of course young people, poor and of color
will join the army, marines and navy,
to escape street, family, lay-offs or
surviving desperate moments hardly
found in new patriotism, or think
sacrifice saves old men from fiscal brink
you'd beckoned my thoughts again
through sudden whispers
i've declined to respond morbidly
catering to the quaint findings
of life after death a quiet calm
arose over shattered fixings
wildly i'd mastered the gory details
hindering my every whim
childishly i catered to his robe
nestled beneath wrath carny
and the mild mannered masterpieces
torn between terror and sheer neediness
while captured beyond graveness
the sullen memory of where time resided
my inner self crawled eagerly i suppose
as my body bargained with my soul
a meaningful gesture giving my heart
infamous nudges arousing tattered bliss
mere ashes to be smeared throughout
the galaxy of fairness and the norm
She clings so tightly
To capitalist trench coats
Burning folks with kerosene rope
Coast to bloody engine spokes
The map is tarnished
Glass ribbons shrewd from her eyes
(I minus I) is her demise
Constantly cutting back
And reinventing new blood
She recedes with definite sin
However, gory details aside
You're still a girl with a dream
Nothing more, nothing less
At the doctor’s office, I had to fill out forms,
Showing gory details—infirmities and norms.
They said, “Take a moment to furnish what we ask.
Just tell us your condition, and your family’s past.
Did your ancestors carry some dread disease?
Like hardened arteries or painful swollen knees?”
Reluctantly, I listed the sick and the lame,
All of my progenitors since the Mayflower came.
About three hours later, with pages by the score,
Intense pain seized me, and I passed out on the floor.
Then I heard someone say, and much to my sorrow,
“It’s time to close today. Please come back tomorrow.”