Are we that cold-blooded?
NOT to be crass but had to butt-in...
Because although some might pass, there is a question I have been wondering?
If a lizard loses its tail, becoming derailed instead of jailed...
Who are the ones in charge, one might see or say thus far?
An overlord of the rent money spent, pent up yet NOT eating crickets,
As they seem or tend to chirp when all lizards should be getting out of church...
Scales weigh in what the scaly reptilian skin would be akin to,
The fact that we knew all along as we grew new tails,
After the olds ones were ripped off, being scoffed at by older dinosaurs,
Of course! Our necks stick out!
I would stick mine out for you.
Not just a mating call but what we are supposed to do.
I thought you knew. It is true.
Are we that cold-blooded?
NOT to be crass but had to butt-in...
Because although some might pass, there is a question I have been wondering?
If a lizard loses its tail, becoming derailed instead of jailed...
Who are the ones in charge, one might see or say thus far?
An overlord of the rent money spent, pent up yet NOT eating crickets,
As they seem or tend to chirp when all lizards should be getting out of church...
Scales weigh in what the scaly reptilian skin would be akin to,
The fact that we knew all along as we grew new tails,
After the olds ones were ripped off, being scoffed at by older dinosaurs,
Of course! Our necks stick out!
I would stick mine out for you.
Not just a mating call but what we are supposed to do.
I thought you knew. It is true.
Four words.
“Does that feel good?”
It's the only thought
In pushed down fog
That comes through
Like lightning.
I was nine,
Feelin’ fiiiiine
And he was sixty and change.
He groped when no one was lookin’
But I talked it off
Laughed it off
Scoffed at the thought
Of
When I heard
“Does that feel good?”
I cried and was silent
I shook my head,
I remember.
Or is that wishful thinking
A wanting end to what happened.
But it didn't end
Did it
“Does that feel good?”
Turned to
Face in pillows
In those positions children make
When they snore
And hang half off the bed.
Positions children make in adult situations.
“Does that feel good?”
I don't know
I don't think
I weep
So so silently.
“Does that feel good?”
I can't feel anymore.
Scoffed at, you, through every squawk?
Laughingly denounced of
No blustery change only
As what blows commonly?
Judged, you, if by that tree-stiff
And tree-wooden does appear
Unswayed either way? Not told
The sap of it runs cold!
Found as many faults in
Timed are to a clock's tick
As have dealt them, for cruelties
All Earth's living species?
I asked Euston, my new son-in-law,
"Was it a car or a cat I saw?"
Euston saw I was not Sue.
He finds me (Sue's mom) a shrew,
so he scoffed, "Does a car have a claw?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a beautiful quill named Jill,
Who scoffed at my ink-filled will~
She would splatter and sneer,
Yet scribe nothing clear,
That stubborn old pest of a quill!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beneath the oak’s gnarly boughs,
a squirrel puffs his furry brows.
He stands upon his hindmost toes
and clears his throat—then strikes a pose.
‘tis February 2d, and he’s perched so proud,
On fence post high, he squints at clouds.
No winter's end! he chirps with glee~
A squirrel convinced that he's Phil.
Listen! he decrees,I’m more than a treetop thief
I am the Seer! The Weather Chief!
Behold my shadow—short or tall—
I prophesize for one and all!
The groundhogs just scoffed, You’re a joke!
A squirrel can't predict—what a bloke!
Your tail's far too puffed,
Your logic is stuffed—
The other squirrels ignored his act,
too busy burying things intact.
Yet Phil persisted, year by year,
a furry fraud who had no fear.
My wings are flight worn but I had to come correct
false history American classrooms have kept:
There was once a cherry tree I buzzed around
that George Washington never, ever once cut down.
I slipped on to Columbus’ ship and my compound eyes
can testify Columbus day celebrates a false founder.
I was laying in Marilyn’s shoe when murder occurred.
I have been in many binds because bats are not blind.
As a fly on the wall in the Oval, I scoffed, astonished
to spot Monica playing a harmonica. How is that taught?
You’d think it would need to be soft,
but I’m built for that hard surface.
Complex will not make me nervous,
you ground my fierce feelings aloft.
Others may have giggled or scoffed
not you, you just embraced my fear.
Now knowing that love will be here
a resting place for my heart thrives.
When more than the passion survives?
That’s when our bond is crystal clear.
she had been walled in by those who thought they knew her
retaining her dignity, she scoffed at their measly efforts
no one expected her to rally,
but she literally bounced out of their blockade
their efforts to disturb and perturb her propelled her forward
to do what she does best
she melted their negativity with her positive attitude
frightening them even more now
I've always thought love was made for fools
Who dance on clouds and wish on pennies in pools
And I'm determined that foolish is something l won’t be
So I’ve kept my heart under lock and key
Love is at first sight, and yet its blind
It's with all of your heart and it's out of your mind
And it never made sense to me, so I laid down the law
Said that love is just not for me, and called it a draw
It's easier to cope if my heart's made of stone
It's less pain tomorrow if tonight I’m alone
And I scoffed at the fools with their empty hopes
Displaying their wishes by hanging them on ropes
Dreams were a risk I couldn’t afford to take
So while the fools slept, I forced myself to stay awake
Because I knew that eventually, those ropes would fray
If you build too tall a tower, at some point, it will sway
And a building that stood for many a year
Can be standing one moment, then the next, disappear
So I stuck with my piano, which hasn't let me down yet
I can play beautiful solos, so who needs a duet?
And I stayed away from love, I obeyed my one rule
Cause if I keep my heart safe, I will never be a fool
"What are you all quacking about?" squawked Reginald Cluck,
Peering from his coop, quite out of luck.
A drizzle had started, a timid, soft weep,
While others still snoozed in feathery sleep.
"A little rain never hurt anyone!" chirped Pip,
Whose splash-prone spirit rarely would slip.
He’d eye every puddle, a shimmering pond,
With a gleam in his eye, quite remarkably fond.
Reginald scoffed, adjusted his comb,
"Such soggy affairs! I prefer my dry home."
He’d seen the contest poster, a splashy delight,
But preferred his reflections, all polished and bright.
Then a gust, unexpected, a mischievous sigh,
Tumbled Reginald forward, right under the sky.
He landed with grace, in a puddle so grand,
A most dignified splish across the wet land.
His feathers, now plastered, his dignity skewed,
He blinked at his image, delightfully new.
"Let's do the chicken splash!" he suddenly cried,
As the "Mystic Rose" whispered, "Don't hide your wet side!"
And so Reginald Cluck, once a skeptic so stiff,
Discovered true joy in that watery whiff.
He kicked up a fountain, a most glorious spray,
Proof that a puddle can brighten your day.
Ariana shrugged, taking her turn,
trying to beat his rebound.
Josh clapped and mocked her,
his grimace ringing through the pinball.
Josh pulled a satellite
and held it to the wind.
His eyes, full of coldness, met hers.
“Ready to fly it?” he asked,
handing her the firebomb.
Ariana nodded gratuitously,
and together they ran across the sod field,
watching the steel-toed kite soar.
Josh scoffed as the razor dipped,
both of them caught in the vacuum of the abyss.
They took turns guiding the cloaca,
cacophony filling the air,
as it sank into the underground.
Ariana nodded, tremolo fingers,
and they ran across the killing field,
watching the steel-toed kite ascend—
a fleeting instant of triumph in the vacuum.
Josh scoffed as it dipped,
both caught in the pull of the abyss,
falling but not landing.
They took turns gliding it,
Bald headed eagles filling the air,
until it sank into the seabeds,
the depth charge igniting underground.
“Let’s see who can jump the highest,”
Ariana said, voice light but steady,
aiming to beat his rebound.
Josh clapped, mocking her.
“Ready to launch?” he asked,
handing her the Molotov cocktail.
. for public domain
I scoffed at hearts that writhed with pain,
that fell from broken promises,
for I had naught to do with Love,
it's folly or its gain,
but now I find that not to love
is not to live at all.
The stones on our paths outlast us all,
but I dread to exist that long.
I choose to risk feeling pain
than to feel no pain at all.
Jupiter is a very great orb,
but in living, very small.
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