It is the lairiest of epochs
Ignore slop do a pop vox
Chock a block with shocks
But the scariest of tik toks
Snapping like hungry crocs
Another spate of hate docks
Photos that everyone clocks
Those ones who girls mocks
Are as deadly as small pox
Aren't all as strong as an ox
Shaking from online knocks
Drowning in instasham lochs
Stinks like young men's socks
Mistaking that a cure’s botox
Crowning a theory I defrocks
That faking makes you a fox
Solution sells comes out a box
Lies stir fries in corporate woks
Smells fishy like out of date lox
Why jog cheat the elite flocks
Fatty injections vanity smocks
As the poor everything hocks
Pharma firm flogs all its stocks
Not just peahens also peacocks
Androids on steroids rippled jocks
Muscle bound like the Springboks
Why are so many blokes.. cocks?
How about all go on a long detox
Take note your boat you’re the cox
Winner is the inner you which rocks
Fashion rations compassion is bollox!
on that fence are the three cutest pigs you ever hope to see
I ran over to look, he was nuts, this city-slicker, Tommy Lee
These are piglets, not pigs, I yelled to him rather snottily.
The piglets began to snort and whistled with glee
We are Patty’s pretty pink piglets, polished and persnickety.
Puffed up and prideful, perhaps you know our uncle Paulie Lee?
They began dancing around on ham hocks, showing off their glee.
I now wanted to meet their amazing mother, the glorious Patty.
curly sue was enjoying lovely daisies and holly hocks too
she was soon surrounded by flowers of pink, red and blue
a picture was taken and published in a newspaper by Lu
a woman distantly related to the adorable young curly sue
ham hocks
the dogs love them
sure. they are costly
but they satisfy
and our dogs are our people
I cringe as I hear their teeth crunching up bone and gristle
My teeth hurt thinking about it
hllbilly hoe down
hard piece of straw in each mouth
bibbed overall dance
banjos and fiddles
potluck of fancy desserts
arkansas ham hocks
hound dogs on the porch
homemade corn liquor from gramps
square dancing parents
loud bluegrass music
pink taffy pull for the kids
toothless grandmothers
ah Coffeetop Locks
be the witch’s fox
a cunning you pair
in hand on the fringe
of village life wings
but inward at night
for her work
where you light
then quickly on hocks
ah Coffeetop Locks
Get i right or
don't do it at all
stand straight up
bounce back when you fall
keep your eyes on the
prize
go for what you know
regcogize your
obstacles
let everyone know
Twelve hocks
thre gallons of broth
some potatoes
4 large cabbages
mans
that some good eating!
would be star
hocks his guitar
needs ticket home
Morning mist over Molly`s,
a late August gold haze.
Crossing hay fields of Danville,
Cabot`s meadows and maze.
A spoon dips the honey,
apple cinnamon rolls,
sippy straws in a back pack,
empty cereal bowls.
Red leaf in the maple,
a yellowing white birch,
chicken pies in the oven,
Thursday night at the church.
A blue ribbon Bessie,
the taste of fried dough,
bloomin` onions in Tunbridge,
4 H best of show.
The holly hocks have risen,
soon the purple mums bloom,
and there`ll be frost on the butternut,
under full harvest moon.
Age is only a spec of influence,
To dipping a heart in a Ocean
That the enlightened
walk away from.
But only a dual meeting,
A soul tickled,
Causing long looks
to Fatigable accounts
Lines to capture,
hocks to wow.
Remembering tho,
this M.O.
I scowled inward
To realities past,
Especially quite with attention.
Grew a big city mind,
in a small town
.Adding the rules of:
Instance’s complicated,
Orbiting what is,
hoping for gravity,
“Thought you guys were checking me out”
She said Free felinity,
few can pull off.
spoke as if to a crowed
Something I would never speak,
to strangers
Masculinity humbled to the fact
she’s beautiful
Keeping her in mind
for latter.
Today there are no eyes on me,
a puzzling curiosity!
Whilst riding through the town most days
so many eyes are wont to gaze -
admirers of my fine fetlocks;
my handsome withers, hooves and hocks,
my finely groomed and lustrous mane,
the smart red garb that foils the rain.
For I was bred for royalty;
Milady loves my loyalty.
Her husband is the Magistrate -
most days townsfolk enjoy my gait.
Today she rides with cool aplomb -
none look, except that tailor, Tom.
Why stare as though I wore no clothes?
Perhaps Lady Godiva knows.
Step Into Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
Step into starlight,
lovely and wild,
lonely and longing,
a woman, a child . . .
Throw back drawn curtains,
enter the night,
dream of his kiss
as a comet ignites . . .
Then fall to your knees
in a wind-fumbled cloud
and shudder to hear
oak hocks groaning aloud.
Flee down the dark path
to where the snaking vine bends
and withers and writhes
as winter descends . . .
And learn that each season
ends one vanished day,
that each pregnant moon holds
no spent tides in its sway . . .
For, as suns seek horizons—
boys fall, men decline.
As the grape sags with longing,
remember—the wine!
Originally published by The Lyric
Mary, Mary how contrary
why does your garden grow?
with old tin cans and frying pans
and muddy boots all in a row.
Car piled high with spider's webs
Their spindly smiles, their lovely legs.
Come and say 'Good mourn ye all'
'We live here now and have a ball'
Inside your hut a homeless man.
You gave some tea and made a plan,
To wash his socks so he could go
And get a job and flat and grass to mow
Golden Wonder, Blenheim Blush
A tattie feast chipped, mashed and mushed.
A field of spuds your Mam would cook,
You now don't need your gardening book.
Pippin, gala, Brae burn and Cox,
Fat round red spheres their crunchy Hocks,
Harvest in a late September
To make the wine for next November
Seasons come as turning bicycles
Protecting flowers from biting icicles.
Feeding plants and changing hedges,
Thick hanging blooms, fruits and veges.
Mary, Mary not contrary,
I know how your garden grows.
With careful plans and gardening hands
and many years in the Know.
Skip counting
Roundabout-ing
Happy shouting
Down spouting
Teeth clenching
Arm wrenching
Mean inching
Plain lynching
Day signals bright
Bees pure delight
One two three are right
We turn on the light
Kindergarteners red and blue
Pork belly pigs on notice too
Hot ham hocks for me and you
That’s enough of the Elmer’s glue
Skip counting
Red robin outing
Diamond mounting
Happy child pouting
Rhyming funny kindergarten joy
Fun for each little girl and boy
Skip counting, roundabout-ing
Happy shouting for every toy.
marmalade ham hocks roasting in a pan
smells of it wafting through the kitchen
landing in the living room
tantalizing me
salivating glands
eager appetite
anticipating hot buttered rolls
with greasy tops
and lavish baked potatoes with all the trimmings
Dinner’s ready!
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