I really only know
the surface of seasons:
the green and bloom,
colorful brittle,
and blanket death --
While science
informs me, of
soil fitness, to nourish
beneath and trim above --
I am yet not
entirely convinced
as to the longevity
of love? Should I believe
more the prophets and
priests or the lawyers and
judges? She was no help.
If my lips could sip on yours
With tender little nibbles
Oh how full my heart would be
With a soft-serve cone.
Music clears the cluttered mind,
Soothes the soul to dance in time.
The rhythm runs to something good,
Forward, back, till understood.
Up on my feet, I make a move,
Left foot over right follows suit.
Hips sway like melody is on its way,
A dance of my own design on display.
Not quite Broadway, our dance hall proved,
My buddies walk up, traumatized by the moves!
Laughing and poking, I turn in surprise,
And see all the humor light up in their eyes.
"Ah hell no, man!" they shout from behind,
"Moves like that are just burned into our minds!
We are only mortal men, not gods of swing,
But damn, you are no good at this thing!"
I smile and I blush, but I feel like I should,
Just moving my feet in the way that I could.
Ribbing and laughing, man, what a day,
I got caught dancin' my shift away.
Camel toe and moose knuckle
Are found below the buckle
I don't want a ruckus or fracas
Caused by my language
But this is good for a chuckle
I’m not emotionally evasive.
Don’t admire me from a distance.
Let's not waste time pretending.
Skip the decorative speech of poetry.
What we’re about isn’t moonlight and flowers,
it’s that common-coin of light comedy—sex.
If intimacy is a sequence of permissions,
take what I have—I want you close.
Let’s abandon polite fiction,
get with the friction,
and form a pleasurable, pleasure dependence
.
.
A song for this:
Get Me by Everything But the Girl
Out very late,gardening in the dark.
When my head torch failed.
I completly lost the plot.
Prince Harry had a barber, name of Ross
Prince wouldn't pay what a good haircut cost
So Ross chopped off his head
Left Prince Harry for dead
Epitaph read: England's gain ~ Meghan's loss
Oh my, a cheaters dream
pastries unlimited
seating by reservation
only poets need apply
silent on humanity
but full of donut bits
for themselves
the bottom grows
the top, rots
they don't wear shoes
they wear
clik flops
AMERICAN NEED
MORE NASTY WOMEN, INDEED
CAITLIN CUP DOES READ
Pee Wee small gray tabby cat
his mom was a great hunter at that
Stealth and unseen
silent and keen
at catching doves a killing machine.
Pee Wee not so much
he does not have his mothers touch
Across the street Pee Wee lives
but my front yard the young cat digs
For doves by the dozen feed
hunger for their flesh Pee Wee be
did the apple fall far from the tree
with doves a plenty Pee Wee sees
he bolts charging across the street
Doves wing high he jumps at their feet
in the trees or up in the sky
Pee Wee rushes up a tree to try
but the doves take flight away away
Pee Wee up high alone he stays
Meowing softly afraid to climb down
in the tree top Pee Wee sticks around
A dove or two feed on the ground
as Pee Wee stuck hanging around.
The old Mulberry tree
in my backyard it be
has now apparently
become the kitten tree
For a tiny black kitten
with a white paw mitten
sleeps in the tree at night
And my dogs give it a fright
for morning out they go
to the tree for they know
a kitten seems to sleep there
and they like to bark and scare
Kitten scampers down the tree
runs to the front yard to flee
my dogs scratch front door
for the kitten they will bark more.
Every morning dogs dance in place
at the back door they plant their face
eager to bolt out for the kitten tree
and bark and bark with dog joy glee.
But kitten rescued now gone away
but my dogs on schedule stay
every morning run to tree
but the kitten no longer see
I tell them kitten gone
but they look at me as if I'm wrong
Each morning routine same
no matter how I try to explain
the kitten gone never again to be
but my dogs refuse to believe
In time they will let it be
and come to ignore the kitten tree.
A young lady delivering groceries to my house
notice five tiny green eye black kittens sitting
in the driveway staring at her across the street
from me. She told her friend a lady who worked
at a Animal Humane society and they asked people
if they could rescue cats, only black ones could go.
They got the mother cat and 5 little kittens but two gray tabbies
stayed. They will ensure health and find new homes for them.
And so....
Bird Killer Gone
She's gone! She's gone!
fill the tree tops with song
That green eye black devil cat
into a trap and now she's packed
Brother and sister doves rejoice
they got her and kittens rejoice
So many doves she did kill
murder us for her kittens meal
Flap your wings fly and sing
in peace we eat the seeds they bring
Mourning coos we can now cease
for those cats in cars back seat, no release
She's gone! She's gone!
trapped in a cage where she belongs
they drove her and kittens away
now we feast in peace all our days.
I expected an ant,
something more scant.
Who knew this field
would yield
an elephant?
I admit my heart sunk
when he opened his trunk,
my credulity tested,
when he requested
dibs on the top bunk.
Spider said, "I wouldn't hurt no flies",
as, innocently, he blinked his eyes.
The jury didn't see it that way,
and, at the end of the day,
on the electric chair, he fries.
There once was a husky named Clyde
Whose mischief he never could hide
He howled at the door
Then dashed back for more
And sat in your chair full of pride
He once found our lunch at high noon
And buried it deep with a spoon
He forgot where he'd hid it
Though he'd only just did it
So we searched for it under the moon
He spotted a leaf drifting by
Deeming it a dangerous spy
He sprang with a yell
But misjudged it quite well
And crashed in a briar nearby
One winter he slipped through the gate
Determined to challenge his fate
The neighbors all cheered
When he suddenly appeared
In the back of a squad car quite late
Each night he would circle his bed
Staring at the ceiling overhead
With a dramatic sigh
Like his rent was too high
The hardwood was better instead
If you meet Clyde one fine day
And wonder why his owners look gray
He is fluffy and sweet
With one common husky feat
He starts ninety-nine plans then will stray
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