~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A man in a vast coat-pocket universe
Captain Kangaroo was what they called him first.
His beard could shelter squirrels or a misplaced key;
the children leaned in close—but how did Grandpa get free?
Mr. Green Jeans always knew
Kangaroo's pockets held sticky glue,
a rogue banana peel, two lost keys,
and Bunny Rabbit's unpaid fees.
His mute friend Moose, that nodding sage,
new chaos filled each television stage:
Grandfather Clock chiming upside-down,
Tom Terrific losing his paper crown.
But when the Captain tipped his hat,
the mess dissolved—just like that.
No rhyme nor reason, a tidy end?
just magic tricks, and a gentle friend.
I must maintain I much prefer poems
which do amuse yet elucidate
with alliteration plus a fun pun
to enlighten and or educate
double meaning yes indeed
metaphorically speaking
a clever endeavour is all I need
for word-play tweaking
and no quibbling I refrain from reading
stream of consciousness scribbling
with neither rhyme nor reason
a smattering of words dribbling
altho' meaningless all the rage
scattering in wobbly lines
Pollock-like across the page
While my head slumps low, on both crouching knees,
my meek soul doesn't know, rhyme nor reason seize,
on both crouching knees, while my head slumps low,
rhyme nor reason seize, my meek soul doesn't know.
There'd be a stake-knife, that choice heightened soul,
dreams larger-than-life completes source cores whole,
that choice heightened soul, there'd be a stake-knife,
completes source cores whole, dreams larger-than-life.
Disclosures concede strength raised benchmarks high,
stay the course, succeed, proud guides, worth third-eye,
strength raised benchmarks high, disclosures concede,
proud guides, worth third-eye, stay the course, succeed.
No man's land--command, rare form sights take charge,
performed cash-in-hand, zoomed measures discharge,
rare form sights take charge, no man's land--command,
zoomed measures discharge, performed cash-in-hand.
“no rhyme nor reason”
a backwards formed limerick game
melons and lemons
lemons and melons
though they don’t taste the same
if you’re dyslexic they are by name
When I hold a door open for a woman;
Doesn't mean I love her;
It's just a polite/righteous thing to do;
If I let you go in front of me in line;
doesn't replicate anything thing out of time;
No rhythm no rhyme;
Just a polite/righteous thing to do;
Won't you try it be a blessing, be true!
There's no rhyme nor reason to be polite in any season
Mysterious rumbling noises, I hear them
Wherever I am, I cannot escape the sound
Somewhat like zombies singing an old hymn
Or a loaded barge about to run aground.
Occasionally they will go away for a season
Then, just as suddenly, they will reappear
There seems to be neither rhyme nor reason
A friend suggested I’ve had too much beer
I laugh and refrain from disputing them, but
That can’t be the reason, since I don’t imbibe,
It appears these noises emanate from my gut
At least, as best I can, that’s how I’d describe.
A doctor will put a lantern down my throat
And, technically, take a good look around
So I suppose I’ll have to wait for his vote
As to the origins of this mysterious sound.
Written June 17, 2022
Daylight drags its feet,
its slippers are grey and pad silently.
Long after dawn
night keeps rolling over in its grave
refusing to die or give way.
Bats flutter listlessly in twilit belfries
somewhere upon a moonlit pond
a trout is crossing over a fishy Rubicon.
It is belly-up, a mottled death gleams
upward where only yesterday it leapt.
The dawn is going nowhere.
In dew-wet theme parks
unicorns shake their soggy manes.
The cat dreams on and will not
visit the litterbox for hours yet.
I am bogged down inside a poem
seeking not, rhyme nor reason,
but a little wiggle room, a plausible excuse
why this tardy day has marooned me
just nowhere,
with nothing more to say.
each ant scurries
the melodrama plays on
directed misdirection
the constant hurry
nor rhyme nor reason
rules the roost
when whirl and bump
are what's produced
To some fears there's neither rhyme nor reason
No remedy or cure, nor age or season
A phone (call for a date) can weigh 1,000 pounds
A weather-beaten house, the haunt of eerie sounds
A request to speak impromptu can the stomach upset
A severe case of butterflies one can get
Some folks suffer from acrophobia
Others tremble at visions of agoraphobia
I once asked a Sage what he feared most to see
He smiled and said, "If God ever stops loving me"
Despite the noise of harsh and loud debate
Rhyme nor reason quells the argument
Nor breaks the smothery sounds of temper flair,
And dares dispute the platform proudly sworn
By proof he wrests the premise by degrees
The scholar wins the highest trophy earned.
Entered in "All Yours" Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
February 24, 2021
I want to relay a message without Judgement or hate.
I don’t want to argue and I don’t want to debate.
It’s just my thoughts on masks and Covid 19.
This is just for awareness and not meant to demean.
The mask is a big issue both here and abroad.
For some it’s important and for others it’s fraud.
Some will get this virus and never feel sick.
Others get lucky and their symptoms don’t stick.
Some will get very ill and eventually die.
There is no rhyme nor reason, and nobody knows why.
Let’s just give some thought and open our minds.
Every life is important, search your heart and you’ll find.
It could kill your husband, your wife, your Mom or your Dad,
your brother, your sister, grandparents, or some acquaintance you had.
Remember these people as you put on your mask, we can all do our part, if you’re healthy be glad.
Please be safe and wash your hands, focus on the good points and not just the bad.
Standing up for Minorities
A minority is black, not white.
A minority is she, not he.
A minority is alternative, not straight.
A minority is poor, not rich.
A minority is powerless, not powerful.
A minority is homeless, not housed.
A minority is addicted, not clean.
A minority is immigrant, not resident.
A minority is mother, not father.
A minority is sister, not brother.
A minority is unwanted pregnancy, not birth.
A minority is clean air, not pollution.
A minority is rising tides, not still waters.
A minority is extinction, not existence.
A minority is over-population, not subsistence.
These causes make no sense.
They have neither rhyme nor reason.
Expect not God's defense,
if you blast out curses and commit holy treason.
The unrighteous knew not God,
so they made laws for themselves.
They campaigned for justice,
and unwittingly chose hell.
"Get right with God," is topic "minority."
change your focus inward
and the topic of worlds will be dispelled.
by,
Martin Braun
6/11/2020
Stuck awaiting Inspiration from your Muse
There's neither Rhyme nor reason for the Blues
You really haven't a single second to lose
~ Consider this Alternative point of view …
Poetry's more a bug that can be caught
Than it is a 'Muse' which must be sought
Once caught, the bug infuses your will to write
Poem after poem, throughout the day and night
One moment he was alive; the next he was dead
Gunned down midst a gang war, a bullet in his head
No motive whatsoever, nor rhyme nor reason at all
Only alienation and desperation casting their dark pall
Over an act so unspeakably wanton and cruel
It incinerated once and forever all Laws and Rules---
Society's fabric pierced, penetrated, shattered and rent
As mourners paid clumsy tributes, broke down and went
Home to a future that now felt so grim and so bleak
A Future of ambulances clanging and sirens' shrieks
A Future here Now on countless sidewalks of slums
Where murder's a hero, law and order a bum
I can remember a February
away back in nineteen seventy-four
'Twas a first meeting of my family
and my intended whom I'd spoken for.
Two hour ride to Kentucky's western part
with a basketball game planned to follow
home-cooked meal - key to a son-in-law's heart.
The tension on both sides, hard to swallow.
Driving home after the game my sweetheart
suffered an attack, much worse shall we say,
than a mere gastrointestinal fart.
Gas stations, closed; fast food stops, gone astray.
No rhyme nor reason fits distension's distress;
My beloved sensed a connection, right off -
key to dad’s workplace suspended a big mess
as mom wonders, "Was it my rice pilaf?"
written February 9, 2018
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