Lovely ladies are all around
Gents, just look- they're there and they're everywhere
Many men are attractive
Beauties beheld in everyone's eyes
Some say they like these things...
Luscious looking lips and long legs
Handsome hunks and built muscle men
I am a watcher. I watch. I think. I am standing by a laminated wad of rotting brown ice; glacier. Somehow she is more resplendant for her age and degrading slough. She will carve off in hunks, destined to float in the sluch of a Svalbard inlet. Destined to become brown water a million years old. And this is still beauty. A beauty of age is of more substance than a beauty of youth, for it as endured millenia. Like the Greenland Shark; he lives for hundreds of years himself and is beautiful. For his knowledge.
dying ice sloughs off
melting, warmth of ice water
rinsing off shark remnants
A Mystery of Love
Who can understand. Why would a person
sacrifice himself in such a way. Spat on,
slapped, falsely accused, deprived of sleep,
given no food, unquenched thirst. Hauled
before Pilate the Roman governor. No guilt found
but crowd cried for Barabbas, a murderer and rebel, to
be freed. No guilt could Pilate find, but the throng
called for His crucifixion. Scourged by Roman whips,
hunks of flesh torn and blood flowing in rivulets.
Crown of thorn smashed down on His head, blood
streaming into His eyes. Purple robes of a false king
draped around His shoulders. Forced to carry the cross
beam of His cross until He collapsed. Hand forged spikes
driven into His wrists and ankles. Stripped naked and His
clothes gambled away. Hanging in the hot dry sun his parched
lips cooled by vinegar wine. He cried it is finished and gave up
the ghost. His side pierced by a Roman spear to make sure.
A mystery to me why anyone would allow this to happen.
The only answer has to be love. God loved us so much He gave His
only son to die for us. Only He would consent to this and His ways
are beyond our understanding. His life for ours.
~Merry, Merry~
Twas the night before Christmas and all around my house….
I heard loud footsteps,far heavier than even an overweight,mouse.
Irene, my calico cat,so high on good weed, snuggled in her bed.
While images of muscular hunks in speedos, danced in my old, poetic head!
When out on my lawn, I heard such a clamarous noise….
I wished and wished Santa brought me a sleigh full of boy-toys.
I decided to look outside and see what was the matter.
And, behold, the handsome fireman, who saved my life last week,
was climbing up the ladder!
The moon on his legs, gave off such a amberescent glow…..
I swear, it seemed as though I had snorted a big wad of blow!
He was so young, no grandpa was he, and not one wrinkle.
And those big, blue eyes, did far more than just twinkle!!
The crest of the moon on the new fallen snow.
Higltlighted,his muscular, gluteus maximus….
Far more, than you will ever be blessed to know!
He climbed down the ladder and inquired if I was alright.
I thanked him for the visit, and for my best ever,glorious,
Christmas Eve Night!
12/23/2024
The neophytes
The hunks, the hulks
The curbs, the bulks.
Mary had a little lamb,
Her Father shot it dead.
Then it went to school with her,
Between two hunks of bread.
Mary came home from school one day,
And declared she is now a vegetarian.
She considers, she then went on to say,
Anyone that eats meat is a barbarian.
How You Are Feeling Today Sponsored by: Silent One
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoisting in hefty hemmed hovering house,
hollowed hunks, higher hames hype
Checked by: HMS.Com
17 Syllables
I, too, dislike poems.
I’ve tried runes (and rampikes)
but that’s affected
rather than merely effete.
So I call them
figments.
When people query
What do you write?
at a barbecue or birthday party
I say soliloquies,
fractals,
fragments.
Self-similarities,
singularities,
sculptures (scriptures), geometric shapes and series,
three dimensional triangles, spheres
and differential equations,
fractured fairy tales,
Rocky and Bullwinkle,
rectal impactions.
On the other hand,
bits, bots, bytes
remnants, scrap, earth
gobs of phlegm in grains of sand,
shards of glass in a slice of hell,
hunks and clumps, curds and whey, sleet and pain, slap in the face
sub-atomic particles, cell organelles,
chunks of energy, cookie crumbs,
rusty trucks stuck in mud, dustings for ghosts,
just plain dumb luck, rocks, concrete, but not tweets.
$6.50 for an ice cream cone,
A rip-off, that’s for sure,
But once spring fever hits, I know
There is no better cure.
There’s ice cream in my freezer;
I could scoop myself a bowl,
But in the outside air, a cone
Is soothing to the soul.
Today’s was coconut with hunks
Of chocolate mixed inside
And almonds to accentuate
No pleasure was denied.
$6.50 for an ice cream cone
I’m glad I can afford,
For after so much time indoors
I’ve earned this sweet reward.
Coffee Love
Alarm shatters the dreams of hunks in my head
As the sunlight streams through like a Broadway show
Self- talk just is not working
As I again pretend to pretend to be a bear in my den
What is that? What is that I smell?
Mr. Coffee maker has again sensually called my name
With the perfume of that dark roast ticking my nose
Ok, ok I will go betraying my dreams for you
Stumbling over Lego block, dogs, and furniture
For you I will once again do the Zombie Walk
I will hold you in my hands, so warm, so delicious
Touch you to my lips and feel the sensation of bliss
My eyes will open and my senses will arouse
Again I can face the day
You have given me energy to conquer
Bring it on I say all I need is just one more cup of coffee
A little Bluer
Tales of the great
folklore and the gypsies
pirates all around the state
traveling the seas getting tipsy
mythical witches and their brews
hellish demons and angels too
This world you will have trouble
elves and trolls...wait, I'm not through
fairy's and pixie dust
hookers, temptresses with lust
humbled yogis, monks and shamans
Buddhists, Jehovah's, Amish and Mormons
temples, God's, and holy cows
cheating couples with broken vows
thieves, killers, gamblers and drunks
California with all the babes and hunks
Insecure actors, and glutton hillbillies
**** stars giving old men wet willies
boxers, wrestlers, and samurai
watch out? You might just lose an eye
Wizards, and snake tamers
magic card nerds and all the gamer's
whatever you choose, nothing truer
you just might make the world a little blue
We're not all Hollywood hunks much as we'd like to think
Some of us are simple down to earth dudes
With simple needs and desires, walking around in a daze
In a “wonder what the hell happened” mood
Before you can say “Oshkosh Begosh” you're muttering
“Has anyone here seen my damn uppers”?
Basically you're on the last lap, the end's closing in fast
Soon you'll be enjoying your last supper
But be of good spirits, even the most powerful succumb
Be happy with the contribution you've made
Then be of good heart and thankful for a life well lived
Keep smiling, you're still going poops without aid
We're not all Hollywood hunks in this big old world
Some of us are down to earth simple poopers
Satisfied getting through with only a few minor hassles
But we can always be joyous happy troupers
I feel my skin crack and split
as I watch dust seep from my old wounds
in puffs of smoke.
The gore that encrusted my skin long ago
dried up and flaked off.
I have to reach up with my left hand
and wrench my shoulder back into place
but I barely grunt
and that only because I know it should hurt,
although my nerves ceased to exist long ago.
I put my hand to my back
and start to pull
the multiple daggers protruding from it free
letting them clatter to the floor
with hunks of dried flesh
stuck to them.
There is a slackness to my jaw
and I can't make it move
nor do I wish to.
I get fully to my feet
and take a few steps,
then as if I was struck by lightening
I come crashing to my knees.
My body actually feels
like it's on fire and I feel it rehydrate,
blood pouring from open sores
the discarded blades
come hurtling back at me,
plunging deep into my spine
and ribs of my back.
As my sight
begins to darken
my mind blurts out
"Such a viscous cycle."
and I collapse in a heap on the ground.
J-ust let the chips fall where they may,
O-n the twenty-sixth of September;
A-llow the sun to share
N-othing but a fine weather.
B-egin to speak no lies,
E-vade the deceitful tricks;
R-efrain from proclaiming
C-hunks of evil tactics.
A-im to be just and fair,
S-how the light of the day;
I-t's time to tell the truth,
O-r let the chips fall where they may.
Train To Auschwitz
By R.e. Taylor
How many
How many men, women and children
How many were herded onto those trains
Packed in like worthless hunks of meat
No food or water
Nowhere to sleep or sit
No cool air to breathe
They had no idea where they were going
No idea how long they would be there
But they all had hopes that it would be better
They would be able to at least live
But there were other plans
A megalomaniac decided for them
They were hated for so many reasons
Not one made any sense
But they were condemned for them anyway
Beaten, raped and murdered they had no chance
They were burned or buried in mass unmarked graves
Today, the tracks still remain
As do the memories of so many who were killed
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