IV)Next I had s-Ort
self-ctr-Olled and
my O-h fresh bills
When Old Mother Hubbard
Examined her cupboard
And found not a scrap there to munch on,
Not one morsel that clung
To an ort or a crumb,
She felt foolish and dumb
And stood sucking her thumb
While her dog, Butch, got nothing for luncheon.
"She forgot to go shopping again," grumbled he.
She just scratched his ears sighing,
"Sorry, pal. C'est la vie."
When pangs of hunger are felt,
Humans tighten their belt,
But poor Butch started howling
As his stomach was growling,
For a mastiff has needs to be regularly fed.
So…since there was no baloney…
And…since she was nice and bony…
Mother Hubbard wound up on the menu instead.
This tale has a moral,
As some nursery rhymes do,
And this one's a little bit gruesome, it's true:
A pet owner's job's
To protect not neglect him,
So feed yours each mealtime,
For if too long overdue,
Your "Butch" might be inclined
To make a meal out of you.
To craft a poem short,
one that cavorts,
holds court,
exhorts,
perhaps retorts
of sort
and not resort
to ***ort:
a sport
that does comport
in support
of a certain forte.
----------
H/T to Maurice Rigoler's The Art of the Short Poem
dear god or whatever
you can begin me now
begin me on a whiteboard
a blackboard
anything that can be erased
my cookie was baked with bad blood
begin me again
as if I were a fish
on an alien shore
gulping impossible air
i took myself to the edge
my chicken heart clutching
a chicken-hearted prayer
i am resurfacing
maybe drowning
only ducks and whales
can speak of this
upwards sinking
there was a time
a no time
when a magnificence
consumed
only to put me down
half-eaten
now all is washed over
by the before & after
what is left over
is this ort and tittle
this residual prayer
a clinker of dark & light
now seen
now unseen
dear whatever
i got stranded
Eine andere Art
Es ist eine andere Art
der Schönheit,
wenn mein Finger
über den Bogen deiner Braue fährt.
Dein Ellenbogen zeigt
mir das versteckte Glück,
das ich schon so oft verloren habe.
Wie ist das Sein in dem Moment,
wenn ich all die alten Farben in mir vergesse.
Deine Nägel -
weißt du -
wurden sie für mich gemacht?
Wenn du Stille mit mir teilst,
komme ich an einen Ort,
der sich durch das leiseste Flüstern
in mir auszubreiten vermag.
Und wenn deine Augen
mich dann fragen,
wie dieser Ort wohl heißen mag,
dann sagt dir mein Herz,
dass nur es von dieser namenlosen Schönheit
zu berichten vermag.
Das ist es, was wir brauchen.
Kehren wir der Distanz den Rücken.
Legen wir die Masken ab.
Zusammen!
Für die Wiederbelebung der Liebe.
Zwischen uns! Für uns! Durch uns!
The rimpledeeduggs klacklety splatt britly floaming,
Ere flamping drakkurz snazzle at elvitty gloaming;
Yon jamweezy wudderslimps gamwracks smotly crawling,
Hoytaling pagartrimps flotlessly wrothful in bawling!
Beete stell ere yethle flagorns craithen yere eise,
Ort smoothle yourn mithredoons bakk toon codry skize;
Bodryluntz quidups moost stupuddle cudgely pierdax,
And zakkertic flibboots wraithling in yert tardly tracks!
I'm Leaving (eventually)
I'm going to leave the planet
never coming back
wave you all a quick goodbye
as I vanish into black
Traverse the great elliptic
skipping the asteroid belt
on past the rings of Saturn before
you'll even know I'd left
Uranus, Neptune, Kuiper belt
ignoring Pluto as I fly
on through the icy-bound Ort cloud
waving at Voyager as I cry
Among the constellations
sail my spaceship unafraid
with my spaceman headphones
listening to your whinging fade
And when at last, there's silence
not the smallest peep
time will stop my mind grow quiet
I might finally sleep
But if I woke in my bed
and that was all a dream
I'd be awfully sad, disappointed
in the very extreme
Holds
Each love
Anchored with
Reflections years
Tint
Sweet
Port keeps
All those loved
Cherished 'till time
Ends
... CayCay
March 17, 2019
A simple golden band that he wore upon his hand
Didn't seem to matter much to him.
He had a rovin' eye and it settled by and by
On a woman at her best when lights are dim.
The gossip got around in this little western town,
And it came to roost for good with his own wife.
She knew his kind of man and she made up her own plan
To settle once for all his sorry life.
She waited until June - a Sunday at high noon,
And fried some chicken bought right from the store.
She said ,"Your time is short, if didn't know you ort,
"When you spent my egg money on a whore."
He was chewin' on a thigh when she shot him in the eye,
And finished with about a pound of lead.
She ate up all the chicken gave the dog the plate for lickin',
Then made sure one more time that he was dead.
Well the sheriff came around from that little western town -
Said he hadn't seen her man in quite awhile.
She had said,"Me neither and I'm thankful for the breather"
And the sheriff tipped his hat and winked a smile.
11-28-18
For Brian Strand's End of November , 2018 contest
His name's John, but they call him Jack.
The boy's got gamblin' in his veins.
He cowboys and don't give no slack,
But he plays poker when it rains.
The other thing that's on his mind
Is women, whether tall or short.
He just loves 'em all - either kind,
And it don't matter if he ort.
One dreary day not long ago
The rain brought them both together.
She was dealin' in El Paso,
And he loved the rainy weather.
"Young beauty deal them cards," he said.
"Today I aim to do two things -
Take your money then you to bed
Before that big red rooster sings."
Well, she was buxom as they say -
Had her two top buttons open.
His eyes wandered up there to stay,
Just lookin' around and hopin'.
He was lookin' she was dealin'
From the bottom, top and middle.
Took the money he was pealin' -
Didn't even leave a little
He woke up as the rooster crowed,
Lazily gazed at all she had.
Said he admired all that she showed -
Then smiled,"One out of two ain't bad."
6/27/2017
For contest Form R for Broken Wings
His name’s John, but they call him Jack
Got gamblin’ in his veins
He cowboys for the Lazy D
An’ plays cards when it rains
The other thing that’s in his blood
Is women tall or short
He loves ‘em either way it seems
Don’t matter if he ort
One rainy Monday just last fall
They both came together
He found her dealin’ cards in town
He loved rainy weather
He said,” Young beauty, deal them cards,
I aim to do two things.
Take yor’ money then you to bed
Afore the rooster sings.”
She said,” Young stud, count your silver
After you’ve played awhile
May not find yourself so cocky –
See if you wear a smile.”
Well, she was buxom as they say
Had two buttons open
His eyes kept wanderin’ from the cards
Lookin’ there an’ hopin’
He was lookin’, she was dealin’
From bottom, top and middle
Took his money and IOU’s
Didn’t leave a little
He woke up as the rooster crowed
An’ gazed at all she had
Then kissed her on her ruby lips
“Rainy Mondays ain’t so bad.”
N otice me when I am in a mood to
E valuate my every move!
V oice your opinion to
E scape the wrongdoing.
R eality is never given to you.
A nswers are forthcoming when you are proactive.
L itmus the acidity of recourse and the
W iser you will become.
A bsolute your environment to factive and
Y our essence is known.
S earch always the tractive shown.
S ort a basis of emotions to the depth of despair.
O rder everyone to treat each other fairly.
M ix up is disallowed.
E ffort illuminates good-well profound.
I ntense are your sentiments to unity
M agnified by your desire to be free and not just
E nthusiasms seen.
S ometimes are not a part of equanimity.
__________________________________________________|
Written 02/08/2016 in two forms Free Verse & Acrostic!
I heard a sound
lilting like reed pipes
wending through air
grown heavy in dusklight
sultry and organic
rising from behind
a pasture heavy with
coarse hairs and droppings
horses and their liquid eyes
shedding winter coats
(and masticated oats)
even they know
they're only scenery
with withers to the wood line
as a shadow rocks
hypnotic rhythm timed
to cicadas and honeybees
a man
a man who sings to bees?
rushing to challenge
a stranger in the yard I find
him hatless in the swirling
humming to himself
to the hive
to the dusk
to his dark leather shoes
turned just slightly away
profiled yet indistinct
wordlessly he sings
to wounded hearts
wistful hopes
futures lost
and silently I lie down beside
wild onion, cooling grass
listening to the rhythm
deeply thrumming on the comb
modulated voice, concert of a soul
ort of treble, rumbled bass
and opening my eyes I see
no man
no music
only bees
and me.
you seen lost
your the boss
your lifes toss
mabe lost love ort weath
for your health
do for you too
noone elS
FINE YOUR SELF
LIFE IS SHORT
DO NOT QUESTION IT
ENJOY IT
YOU WILL DIE SOON ENOUGH
YOU CAN’T PUSH THE HOLD BUTTON
IT DOESN’T SEEM TO WORK
LIKELY
GOVERNMENT CONTRACTED
LIFE IS S H
ORT DO NOT QUESTION
ENJOY IT YOU WILL
DIE SOON ENOUGH
YOU CAN’T
PUSH THE HOLD
BUTTON IT
DOESN’T SEEM T
O WORK
LIKELY GOVERNMENT CON
TRACT
E D
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