Cantina Tina never met one meaner
Though she sure looked pretty as the night grew long;
And so did I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
A Skid Row guy with an eye for Pasadena;
Spend my nights between seventh and third
With old Jack D ’til the world is blurred.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Out of County jail for a misdemeanor,
“No sir, Judge won’t be doing that no more;”
Hot foot it down to the nearest liquor store.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Once had a girl, oh boy, you should have seen her
“It’s poker, pool, or me if you want me staying here:”
So yes, I went ahead and chose the boys and beer.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
So here I am, eyeing Cantina Tina
She’s sure looking pretty as the night grows long;
And so do I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Cream Puff, le Magnifique
You say that you put vanilla pudding in a cream puff?
I thought this was a misdemeanor or a felony.
Oh, cream puff, what is it about you?
With the first bite, I instantly hear
the first eight measures of Debussy's
Clair de Lune, not from a piano,
but the orchestra’s string section.
Doesn’t everyone?
Your pillow of puff is your golden crown
and below is a white cream
that could blind the whiteness
of the brightest clouds on a summer’s day.
To eat you is like breathing blissfulness.
And so, you see
my roommate fair
I am justified
hucking that tennis ball at you
down the hall
when you made off with
- the last cream puff- so stealthily.
For a cryptic misdemeanor?
None of their reasoning was clear;
They only wanted her controlled
with the turn of a single key;
Threw her inside and locked the door
hoping that she would disappear;
Wild was impossible to mold
her heart would not bend easily;
That flash in her eyes was so bold
as she rebelled amicably.
The Bewail city
Ragged into pieces of pain
Each piece tormenting a certain taxpayer
Not even a solitary taxpayer skimped on
Oh the city of bewail!
Walloping at taxpayers
With no apparent misdemeanor
Gazing as their dreams are being dismantled
As they gawk in utter dejection,
Hoping to discern a glim.
And with each passing day
Siphons life off them
But they hang on,
Grasping to life each single day.
Oh well, the high and affluent officers lively
Channeling the city's riches into vested interests
Squandering more city's riches into their own
More than a backyard garden spends water
More than a body spends blood
What city is this?
Timorous taxpayers hide faces in fear
Fear to question and combat all
Greener pastures out of reach
Trapped in the bewail city
Oh down in the dumps!
What city is this?
What city really is this?
A taxpayer shouted "It is the bewail city"
Oh it really is.
External conflict
(versus)
self-disaffection
The first a misdemeanor
(the second)
a higher crime
Inarticulate
powerful yearnings
trapped in between
Inarticulate
powerful yearnings
—of that forever lost
(Dreamsleep: August, 2022)
Confidence is a subtle command.
It takes prisoners
And captivates them
With modesty.
Oct. 31.2021
Is science an everchanging paradigm
akin to poetry’s everchanging rhyme
interpreted by those who never write
yet keep a dark thesaurus out of sight
and so when I place paper beneath pen
I seldom rate the outcome “lose or win”.
One breakthrough gave the surgeons laughing fits
when told, “between your cutting - wash your mitts”
as poets play the game of “almost rhymes”
comparing it to misdemeanor crimes
not punishable with a failing grade
a shallow grave filled in without a spade.
As poets who doctor soul with wit
ramble on and don’t know when to quit
science will not learn the lessons taught
folded within the dust of crumpled thought.
John G. Lawless
8/13/2021
I saw her walking down the darkened gallery,
Beneath unlit Venetian chandeliers,
I glimpsed her acquiescent smile
That never left her lips,
A smile that animated pleasure
And instilled a prick of wonder,
And an expanse of love.
With some embarrassing misdemeanor,
I tiptoed forth and fell in step with her,
I, bold and daring;
She, a feigned timidity in her mien.
Her flared skirt rustled softly against my leg,
And in the silence I felt
Her hand brushing against mine,
Her long fingers curled delicately
And intertwined with mine.
A moment of time, split second of ecstasy,
Our eyes met in a finite profound gaze,
And her lips quivered.
And then.....
All was as before.
Smoothly we drew apart,
Steps never faltering,
As she hurried away
Into a maze of corridors,
To meet her love.
Oysters jump at an opportunity to die
To be eaten before the tide comes rising
Directly from the sea before the shell
Before the dawn begins to smell of day
In the raw, in the sand, in good company
Is best when frolicking by the happy sea
The pretty girl comes dancing in
In curls of golden locks that spring
Wind fills her dress and mind of hollow
She sings merrily of imaginary beings
From the docks she takes her basket
Full of emptiness for idiots like you
Down winding streets goes Daisy tip toe
Pronouncing words unknown to her
That have meaning only to the lunatics
Lost souls on narrow streets who like to eat
It is a perfect time to sell her wears
A litany of exotic goods on sale
Barked out loud to catch the near by ear
“Hot breads and pies fresh off the fire
To warm the cockles of your heart”
But there’s nothing in the basket but fresh air
Is there a crime or misdemeanor on the streets?
“Fresh baked on the morrow” screamed
But tomorrow never comes it seems
Santa the Sinner crossed the Covid line,
With PPE rules he did not comply.
Cookies and milk were swapped, his ample appetizer,
He gobbled up the mask and drank the sanitizer!
For reckless misdemeanor he was fined.
At that point poor Santa’s short fuse blew,
Pandemic? Global? Covid? What! Says WHO?
I ran present production all year from dusk to dawn,
The ones you truly wish for, not bought on Amazon!
No crazy Covid protocols I knew!
December 7, 2020
Mary Six Pack Pistols staggers through time portals drunk
Pretending to be a priest but she is not a mister or a sister
To the old west saloon through double doors she glides
Drunker than a nun on steroids swinging rosaries from her side
Into a smoke filled room in rusty spurs and fake mustache
Presenting herself as a monsignor from another time and place
Cowboy boots caked in mud with love she blesses them
Introducing her two guns from underneath a long black dress
It is a curtain, a robe, a nun inside a habit for blasting baddies
There must be a shower outside which indicates a storm
The spittoon in the corner of the room needs emptying
She feels the weight of outlaws in her midst
From here to there the crowd looks innocent
But Padre knows better so shoots them all to death
To kingdom come and back again through the chest
Through time corridors we suspect they must be dust
Mary Six Pack says a prayer and drinks some holy water
From a whiskey bottle in another time dimension soaking wet
Then returns from there to here less sober and less blessed
Charged with a misdemeanor for impersonating a monsignor
Impeachment Now Moves to the Senate
By Franklin Price
12/19/2019
Impeachment now moves to the Senate
Nancy wants to come along
To control the people in it
Have them sing the House's song
Fair is fair and right is right
The Senate now presides
The House no longer has a say
Has already taken sides.
Impeachment for them said and done
In history written down
They voted Trump to ride the rail
On the first train out of town
Republicans have the Senate
Have the votes that are required
Unlike the left side Democrats
Will not tell the Trump, “You're Fired!”
Things may have turned out differently
If Democrats were smart
And when they lost the presidency
Had not taken it to heart
Had not spoken of impeachment
Before Trump's oath was even said
Had gotten the unfairness
Of the college from their head
Waited for a real High Crime
And /or a Misdemeanor too
Not starting out from nothing
To make nothing stick like glue
Whether Trump is innocent
Or whether he is not
When the Senate finds not guilty
The left will stir again the pot
Not much consideration
For the Constitution's voice
When voting in November
We the People make the choice
I looked all over town
And all I could find
Was yellow and brown
The mixture of brown and yellow
Eversole was mellow
Must have been a misdemeanor
For together they were Mindbender
It is I kept on pretending
Earth shattering rendering
The Browns and the yellows combusted
Equally yoked but yet further disgusted
Such a trifling mix
Making each of us sick
What gets, mixed.
Brown and yellow
Wha wha what's
orange
10/31/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr 2o19
A Visit From Some Old Friends
(Thanking Carl and Phyllis)
By Franklin Price
10/02/2015
A visit from some old friends
Turns back the hands of time
Back to the days of riding
And maybe misdemeanor crime
Met them in the HOG club
The Harley “Mary Poppins” group
When we were week-end rebels
From the times of hula-hoop
Those days were so much different
Chose two wheels over cage
Trips a thousand miles or more
For us was all the rage
Starting then, before the sun rose
Stopping hours after set
The ride was what it was about
Not the ending, you can bet
All five senses were aware
Of the wind, and open road
Saddlebags and tour packs
Carried all our journey's load
Never was a thought of trailering
Even when from coast to coast
If we had hauled the bikes behind us
We'd have no reason now to boast
Living then in florida
Rode from there, throughout the land
The lower forty-eight were done
Canadian Maritimes were grand
Riding in South Africa
On the left side of the lane
Saw DLT's and Ostriches
Found tractors were a pain
There are so many memories
Could go on forevermore
But I hear you now are knocking
Must stop and open up the door
My pet fish walks too slow
In fact it does not walk at all
It does not walk on water or walls
It will not skydive or mountain climb
I suspect it of criminal malfeasance
Fishy activity like swimming is suspicious
Open and shut gills prove the point
Fish have no hands or feet
So guilty as charged
Is fishing a misdemeanor?
Are fish involved in water sports?
They don't drink beer or smoke
They hide in oceans
Fish lips make kissing noises
Pretending to tell you secrets
Have they forgotten English?
Why are goldfish orange?
Why not yellow or gold?
(Hence the name)
Is there something I'm missing?
Is something wrong with fishing?
Fish never look you in the eyes
Theirs are situated oddly on the sides
Heads bobbing left to right
Do goldfish cry?
One lap around the bowl and they forget
Your name and there's a distant memory
What kind of friend is that?
I can't pet my fish for many reasons
One of them being it is already pet
There are rules lest you forget
Why do goldfish die?
I feed them all my M&Ms
They melt in the mouth
Not in the water
If they are such good friends
Why do we flush them down the toilet?
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