Stray cats slipped under a waterlogged night
only to drift back bedraggled,
as if today still pulled at their tails
Old Charley Winslow died
before the deluge,
before the river threw itself
over the dike.
Laid out for burial
he was seen to float out of a lower window.
Lots are gone,
welcome mats and watering cans,
sheds and shingles,
plastic peddle carts,
potted plants, stretchy pants, and porta-potties.
Many never made it back,
though some may turn up tomorrow
to be salvaged and put away
for a rainy day.
A tugboat was pushing a barge.
I wondered just who was in charge
For the cargo on board,
Which I wish I’d ignored,
Raised some issues which somehow loomed large.
Porta-potties were lined up in rows.
Full or empty? Too far for my nose,
But the thought of that load
Being merrily towed
Made me hope there was naught to dispose.
Certain subjects make some people blush,
With activities often hush-hush,
So those toilets afloat
May make many take note
That it’s better to deal with a flush.
Cats and cars slipped under the long night,
only to drift backward
as if yesterday still pulled them in.
Old Charley Winslow died
just before the deluge
but when the river threw itself
over the dike
he was seen to float out of a lower window.
Lots are gone.
Welcome mats and whistle pigs,
sheds and shingles,
plastic peddle carts,
potted plants, pants, and porta potties.
Lots never made it back to yesterday
some may turn up tomorrow
but when they surface
lots of things will smell bad
and just as clogged and cracked
as we will be.
It's either too hot or too cold here,
the thermostat in hell must be broke again.
Maybe this is Purgatory
i'm told the Governor of purgatory
can't fix anything and he dithers a lot.
Someone has turned down
the dimmer switch in my mind -
hard to see my thoughts.
Foods a bit stodgy
and there's a shortage of porta-potties.
It’s quite heavenly here on the weekends
and during most 'happy hours',
otherwise there's much murkiness.
I’m driving down a four lane highway
squinting into the foggy rain,
now I see a road sign;
well look at that
it says: 'Welcome to Ohio'.
Pointedly poignant points portend pointillism.
Pontiffs pontificate pointless pointers ponderously.
Pompous poems populate Pompei pottery potently.
Porous *********** portrays Portuguese porta potties.
Poppies pop Popeye’s popular popcorn.
Populist populism pots ponies properly.
Blithering blather blots bloody bleeping blips.
Bloomberg blogs bleach bleating bloated blinks.
Bluebloods bloom black blackberry bloopers.
Bluetooth blizzards blame blurry blackboards.
Blithe blighted bladders blatantly block blades.
Blazing blasts bleed blooming blenders.
Fumbling fumes funerals fast.
Feuding fluid furniture flutters flaps.
Fighting flatulent flamingos flounder.
Floating flotillas flee flying flops.
Families foment future futile forms.
Freaky frozen French fries frighten frogs.
Stopped at an Oktoberfest
Just to catch the scene -
Big steins of beer, a German band,
Appropriate cuisine.
Some lederhosen wearers
Did compete at beanbag toss,
Then swigged their pilsners cheerfully
With every win or loss.
The port-a-potties waited
With a needed job to fill,
For after every jumbo stein,
I guess you know the drill.
We only stayed a while
On this bright day in Oktober
For I think it would be much more fun
To patrons not quite sober.
The orchard had a racket
With some autumn fruit to pick –
A pumpkin or some apples
But it wouldn’t be too quick…
For the parking lot on Saturday
Was filled with family groups
And to get to where the orchard was
You had to jump through hoops.
The lines were long for everything –
The picking trees and store
And bakery and port-a-potties;
Plus, just one thing more…
The temps were not quite fall-like.
It was sunny and so hot
That if you think it was fun
I must assure you it was not.
Still, the kids ran up and down a hill
And climbed the hay-bale pile,
Enough to make us almost feel
The trip was worth our while.
We left and cranked the car’s AC
To max and headed back,
But first – lunch at the diner,
Just to get us back on track.
As air and leaf litter are substrate for the bird.
And what makes a human. Separation from the substrate.
Believing the substrate and the subject are separately defined.
Whatever gives the poem form - three lines - is the substrate.
Things will be said. The signer and the seer must supply the words
Which are the substrate of the mind. A beautiful week ahead.
No hundred year storms, normal summer warming.
Your bones are white as lightning and strong as sticks and stones.
At Pat's 80th b'day party most of us are old and jolly.
250,000 port-o-potties. There's a way to wash one out
And a way not to. Arctic ice melt. Slushies. One can count
Past one or nine by inserting zero to keep the rows.
Implied is an order beyond the small order we impose.
Goes to greatness human and divine. The two white wines
Death brings to the garden are the love between good friends -
Abstract. Suppose there is no afterlife, to understand the end
Imagine the beginning - no brain, no mind, no name, no I. Zero
Had already been inflated and the rose was in the garden.
To see the game, you have to plan
It takes some time you see
This is for all the die-hard fans
You'll need a strategy
To stand in line for baseball
Can be a timely task
You first must get the tickets
To clear your way to pass
Excitement now before the game
Which section are you in?
The dugout group or foul ball side
Row 5, seats 9 and 10
Concession stands are all around
Decide which should be first
Tee shirts and hats or hot dogs
You'll have to quench your thirst
Now don't forget the plans you made
Cause folks are filled with glee
You'll drink your beer, your coke and sprite
But then you'll have to pee
Another line to wait in
The porta potties blue
Don't get distracted from your plan
They'll jump in front of you
Oh Wow! Another "homer"
My team is going to win
Can't wait for seventh inning stretch
I have to pee again
Great game it was they played today
Our team is now the star
We're tired but we have to go
It's time to find the car
Barbara
Funny, empathetic, introspective and shy
Daughter of Dick and Mollie
Lover of babies, music and ice cream
Saddened by abuse, disabilities and hunger
Afraid of snakes, porta- potties and a lingering death
Would love to see Paris, Rebirth of a strong America and my parents once more
Live in the Golden State, California
Gorelick
Canada, land of good
manners, polite people
until we lose the Cup
and angry crowds of testosterone
go wild
burn cars and porta-potties
hurl bottles, bricks,
street signs and threats
at lines of riot masks
and batons ready
for adrenaline
almost as high
as that elusive win
Oh Menards how I hate thee
Every time I go to your store and see
Nothing but anger ignites in my body
Something about the for sale port-a-potties
Or maybe it’s you rclerks
How they always give me such a smirk
Possibly that you don’t sell Diet Pepsi by liter
Oh how my teeth teeter
Your store really angers me
Oh so depressingly
Change it up maybe sell some fun
I guarantee others feel this and I’m not the only one
'THE WRITING ON THE WALL'
god hath numbered thy kingdom and brought it to an end...
porta-potties scattered around high rises
placed like sacred pillars.
a stonehenge edifice of heroin diaries
and delicate scratched cuneiform figures
scrollings of huge *****es and booby robots.
the eloquent poetry of low brow purists
along the walls they read like the neolithic monuments
of old so telling us all we need to know...
the urinal dialogs written for future posterity,
are defacing angels inscripted with lipstick and pocket knifes.
Trains upon trains
Exalted trains with pristine potties
and stewardesses with snack carts.
Luxury trains topped with glass so
the first class can see beyond
the concrete shoot the cars shuttle through.
Trains upon trains
Avant -garde trains with scrolling neon signs in three languages,
Japanese, Chinese and English with velveteen seats.
Subway trains with oh, so, polite grannies
and oh, so, skinny men in pinstriped suits.
Country trains who’ve seen their better days come and go
with accordion hinged umbelical connections
and shiney beige linoleum floors
whose cars shake and shutter as the trudge along
trains upon trains.
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