sometimes its better to let the yoke go ~ than lay his egg in the snow
thought the penguin to herself ~ after her loyal mate made a no show
yeah she’s cold but not frigid ~ as half dozen males stand up in a row
By
David Kavanagh
The other night
Visiting in a dream a foreign land
We waited in expectation
The arrival of a group of alien dignitaries
Somehow involved in guiding the culture.
When they approached across the sound
In a dark and rough hand-hewn canoe
I ran out to take pictures
Only to find a half dozen or so headless chickens
Standing patiently in their effortlessly gliding craft.
Superior alien advisors in the form
Of small dark brown headless chickens,
Baffling for sure,
And frustrating when I couldn’t get any pictures…
A sure sign of dreaming or just a block by aliens.
Yet the humor of the moment didn’t escape me
As I turned to tell another baffled guy
To look up Mike The Headless Chicken
A real thing that survived almost two years
With only a brainstem.
Which provides some clue I guess
To the symbol of superior beings without heads
And thus complicating brains
Dark and primitive in their dugout
And yet still, within the absurdity of it all, superior.
(11/20/24)
There's a MAGA 6-pack,
Sitting aloft the highest bench.
Where they've decided once again,
To throw in the monkey wrench.
It seems they weren't satisfied with,
Just taking a peek in Pandora's box.
They had to turn it completely upside down,
Shook it well, only to see what rocks.
You made the right choice
Sign right here, be a pal, oh..
One more thing can I ask?
Though I know I seem shallow..
Could you just click a like?
Or a heart, that would do
I don't wish to impose, but
It makes our friendship SO true
Then I'll visit as well
Send our numbers to maximal
I do love you and this is
In no way transactional
You can stroke me and hug me
With your words affirmational
My reply will be Shakespearean
Or at least dissertational
When we're done with our tags
Or the half dozen kisses
With the hearts and the stars
Loaded high with best wishes
We can sleep safe and sound
As with nuclear fission
There's nothing to fear
From our popularity mission
xxxxxx
September 1999
Floyd made his landfall
right here on our tropical isle
at category four strength
on the Saffir - Simpson scale
The winds which came
out of his mouth
were so strong that he had blown away
the rooftops off all the houses
hotels and coconut trees
like lighted candles on top
of a child's birthday cake
His ferocious thirst of water
made him perspire his sweat
from among his cloudy body
which created additional ocean bodies upon our land
the sounds of his thunderous voice
was as loud as a juke box
no electricity, no showers
no phone calls
no viewing of new favorite cartoon episodes
The saddest part about Floyd's visit
which will never be forgotten
where he ruined the celebration
of the first half dozen years of my life
but he was gifted with first piece of cake
upon his departure
bring on the...
snacks
tim hortons...
drive-through
be empty...
'medium plane tea please
with three sugar'...
and
two esppresso...
shots thank you
also...
a half dozen plain
timbits...
got exact change
have a nice day...
it's our
well...
full of time
stan sand
Don’t try to straighten tulips, dear - they spread.
They lean and bend…they bump and crowd…infuse
Their sunrise glow - the perfect rainbow-red.
The priceless, Holland-choice, symphonic hues,
Impress a smile from lovers’ lips, a test.
They lean and bend. They bump and crowd. Infuse.
In comely youth, great happiness expressed -
Relinquished to the bulbous fate of time.
Impress a smile from lovers’ lips, a test.
The glass panel aflame - half-dozen rhyme
In partial sun. Such glory circumscribed,
Relinquished to the bulbous fate of time.
Across the morning sky, their light imbibed.
Each vibrant cup with verdant leaves adored.
In partial sun - such glory circumscribed.
When glimpsing life through glass, don’t bind with cord.
Don’t try to straighten tulips, dear - they spread.
Each vibrant cup with verdant leaves adored.
Their sunrise glow - the perfect rainbow-red.
4/20/2022
AN ORIGINAL TERZANELLE
Sponsor: Milton Hankins
HMS and Rhymezone
In it not much of a meal,
A half dozen not a big deal,
My regular canteen I still approach
And for trying the stuff self reproach;
At the canteen appeasing A Fooled Tank
And having God to truly thank …
One is not to popcorn munch,
While targeting a classic lunch:
The Thinnest Starch for playful crunch;
Eaters don’t see much of the bunch …
To God, I’m faintly grateful,
After a Popcorn and that’s unfaithful!
Of the Non-Given Reverence mindful
But of My Cleansing not needful …
It shouldn’t often be a Mortal’s Homage
And, I trust, God wouldn’t a belly damage.
Half dozen folk in a police line up…
Who stole the angel’s wings?
A child to glance upon the awkward sways,
She sees the feathery outbursts of light that sing.
“Sir, mister detective man, it’s him!”
She points at the fool dressed like a clown.
“I see the wings, they flap all around.”
On a man who’s paint cannot frown.
An angel waits patiently,
To have her wings restored,
Though needs to wait against processes,
Before she can revisit unopened doors.
The lesson learned is when divine spirits rest,
They need to guard what’s behind their chest.
Saturday, October 23, 2021
The U.S. was fighting against Spain over their colonial policies with Cuba,
And Asist. Secretary of the Navy, Theodore Roosevelt resigned his position just to join the volunteer cavalry. One of three regiment raised in 1898 for the Spanish-American War was the 1st U.S. Volunteer Cavalry fondly known as
The Rough Riders. Roosevelt recruited a diverse group of cowboys, miners, law enforcement officials and Native American Indians.
Roosevelt and Colonel Leonard Wood trained and supplied the men in San Antonio, Texas so well that The Rough Riders were allowed into action unlike many other volunteer companies and they sailed for Santiago de Cuba from Tampa on June 13,1898. There they joined The Fifth Corps, another highly trained, well supplied and enthusiastic group of excellent soldiers from the regular army.
The Rough Riders saw combat at Las Guassmas on the way to Santiago .
In his after action report JULY 4,1898 Roosevelt wrote that of the 490 men he led into battle at San Juan Hill 80 were killed and wounded and another half dozen were MIA.
Mrs. Robin, busy as a bee
visits my home's skylight annually
She builds a nest there carefully
her private retreat, only I can see
She commandeers my yard militarily
hopping to and fro imperiously
Ever seeking bark or twig assiduously
to feather her penthouse more comfortably
A half-dozen blue eggs she lays surreptitiously
Settling down over them protectively
Sheltered from the elements so cunningly
She awaits their hatching expectantly...
One day, her chirpings' cease, inevitably
Mrs. Robins' dreams realized successfully
She's flown the coop, perforce happily
Her nest, forlorn ~ stares at me emptily
July 10, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
A red snake licked freedom's sun and smiled.
Spiraling its way up the precious tree of life.
In the nest a half dozen naïve pinkish babes.
Through pin feathers went two poison fangs.
It started to devour them quite methodically.
Kept munching though it was no longer hungry.
When it was through, there was only one left.
It was spared to be an example for the rest.
Mother returned with fury, laid open the snake.
The future spilled out but it was already too late.
The remaining babe was never quite the same.
A serpent gives a hard lesson-and leaves a stain.
Six of one,
half dozen of the other
Which do you want
my bartering brother?
Make a wise tribal decision,
as to who will be
your soulmate lover
Let not the dowry
color blind your veil vision
One is very, very pretty,
the other is so doubly cute
Is your 20/20 desire
on a splitting Adam/Eve pursuit?
So be spiritually
doppelgänger discrete
This double blessing offer,
I won’t marital repeat
One is very, very pretty,
the other is so doubly cute
Whom would you wish to see
in the nuptial mirror —
Standing next to
your Zulu bridegroom suit?
Fish
A half dozen, small fins…
bought from the pet shop.
Now swimming free in an ocean,
of rock, plastic flowers, and artsy things…
“All” part of the bigger picture.
I fed you daily, I feed you still.
There are less of you, but more of each.
You come at my calling.
You know when I walk by.
You bring me nothing but smiles.
You cost very little.
Little fins that swim around,
you cheer me so.
Feeder fish? Nay...
Little fins with big dreams,
now and forever,
swimming in a sea of beams,
all sunshine!
Moccasins crunching on crusted snow,
wolf-fur hood warming what I breathe,
jogging with lance and tomahawk,
other friends spread out, left and right.
The wapiti run before us,
big elk, eight or so moving,
no chance with fleetness of foot
to run down or diner out here.
They approach a wood bound by steam
and a corral we built last night,
funnel into a single, beige line,
when arrows slice through cold air.
A half-dozen of our tribesmen
let loose with stone-headed shots,
elk bleat and scream, some go down fast,
living ones trample them to flee.
Frantic milling, blood and hooves and snow,
then they’re gone, dashing through the spruce.
Eight lay on the ground, two alive,
I plunge my lance to end one’s pain.
Send a prayer to the creator,
words are vapor in the winter sky,
obsidian blades start to cut,
a runner is sent to the village.
All will help butcher this meat.
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