great mind over matter to set brainy bedlam
in an organized queue
so while attention of your
might be moderately rapt, this rue
stirring, hen pecked spouse
best stop digitally squawking sew
the ethereal essence can beak comb
brought to cypher awareness too
and in a figurative nutshell,
when doth a scrivener know when to quit
or tubby pointed rhetorical question -
at what juncture does any artisan
more prolific than yours truly
reckon that his/her faux masterpiece
can no longer be perfected?,
cuz further rit
dick kuel us tampering, potche ing, footsing,
would induce dedicated followers of mine
to undergo severe urge to wanna spit
or throw FAKE nipples,
subsequently they would feel tit
till late head, find this schlemiel
to end this plotz to whit!
FINIS.
At a fashionable diner,
a very funny familiar scene unfolds
A man dressed in his Sunday best clothes,
orders an appetizer for him and his date
In a jiffy comes the waiter
with two delicious bowls of soup
Then comes that familiar part ...
Oops!
Soup split all over his nice threads,
lighting up the red bulb in his head
Only one question for social science
need be asked though:
Will you be the schlemiel or the schmo?
Will you be the chump
who gets the soup dumped in your lap?
Or will you be the bungler
who does the Three Stooges stumble act?
Schlemiel or schmo,
which one are you?
I wanna know
Schmo or schlemiel ...
either way,
a stupid look is stupid still
Zenith of mount
Apex of all
No peak too high
No aim too tall
He reaches, he strains;
He wears himself thin.
He toils, he strives;
His drive to be perfection's kin.
O mighty indeed
But the goal causes fall.
Prodigious intellect
But not wisdom for one, save all.
He hath tried and hath fought for
What he still wills to attain.
"Eminence" and "Pinnacle";
"Crown of Man" the title he wishes to claim.
But how you have strayed!
The world watches and waits.
Sneering and jeering
As languishes one who was great.
To be escalated and elevated
Indeed he did intend,
Instead stumbled and staggered
And only did he descend.
Shadow of self
Shell of past
A look none will give
To him a glance none will cast.
"Dunderhead" and "Derelict";
"Schlemiel" is his name.
Ne'er to be remembered
Is his former fame.
There are few who know
Fewer who understand
But should you be aware
You would weep o'er this man.
Power, glory, and strength
Were to be his right hand
But dishonor, poverty, and disgrace
Are now the garland upon his head.
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