In nineteen sixty-three, May twenty-eight,
three youngsters in a Woolworths five-and-dime
sat down and asked for coffee. This was war.
In Jackson, Mississippi, way back when,
outrageous things like this riled up the pack.
The photos still exist. You feel the hate.
To ask for coffee, then, was such a crime,
so unacceptable to local law
that men (look at the photos – they’re all men)
could not restrain themselves. Attack, attack!
With ketchup, mustard, butter they went straight
to smear the interlopers with their slime:
what else are coffee-grounds and soda for?
The heroes (in the age of Colonel Glenn,
the Right Stuff mattered) took down from the rack
more gunge. These sons of the Magnolia State
poured vinegar in solemn pantomime
(one wiped molasses on the young man’s jaw).
What caused this ritual? This zoo-like zen?
The guests had the effrontery to be black.
Categories:
gunge, history,
Form: Rhyme
Enough of golden daffodils, romance and paths not taken
Let's lend poetic airing to a subject quite forsaken.
An opportunity's emerged to give a little plug
To that much lambasted creature called the common garden slug.
Though snails have stirred the poets' muse on many an occasion,
The slug has been subjected to a poesy evasion.
No poet worth his salt would waste much time on this intruder;
A slimy, homeless gastropod and shameless gunge exuder,
Repellent garden wrecker with a squirming gloopy tail
Which lathers lubrication in a sticky winding trail.
But just to be contrary have you ever stopped to think
How an absence of these creatures would create a mighty stink?
They go about their business eating signs of plant decay
And help the ecosystem in a beneficial way.
The hedgehogs, frogs and badgers, salamanders birds and shrews
Would view their disappearance as quite catastrophic news.
So next time you are tempted to dismiss them as a pest
Take pity on the homeless and give naked slugs a rest!
20.05.20
And Now For Something Completely Different Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
Categories:
gunge, appreciation,
Form: Rhyme
(When the true toxicity of Agent Orange
was finally comprehended, the Johnson
Administration could think of nothing
better to do than simply dump the
chemical on a chain of Pacific islands,
where it sits today. Ironically, the
place is named "Johnson's Reef".)
Johnson's Reef
This nasty gunge
is worse than nukes.
It's carcinogenic.
(Ask the gooks!)
Let's put it some place
idyllic, scenic,
far away in outer space.
Stick it on some island chain
where, if it starts to leak and stain,
we're buffered by
the wide Pacific.
Careful with that rotting crate.
Gently does it. Way to go.
Just leave it on the beach.
Where could it reach?
Who knows? Let's blow.
Which way's The States?
Categories:
gunge, war,
Form: Rhyme