DINNER’S A CHORE
Dinner, my turn, nothing in the fridge
Off to market, be gone a smidge
Car won’t start, battery’s dead
Jump it, full steam ahead
Old gossips in the aisle, won’t move aside
‘Scuse me’ I croon, but they get snide
Right back I get crass
Suggest they kiss my ass
Fancy a quickie
Scuse me my darlin’
I notice you smilin’
Obviously enchanted by me??
Well i’m exhilerated to say…..
Its valentine…s day!
And im horny as horny can be!
The name is Peter!
Aroused to meet ya!
Whats a gal like you doing
in a place like this?
Your lanyard says Vicky…,
Do you fancy a quickie?
On your break or
After your shift?
Constrained by rhymes,
the writer of verse my well err
from the straight path like a hiker
to whose clothes things cling as would a burr,
like a tramp at whose heels
there slinks a dog that stinks.
From this well-thumbed rhyming dictionary,
you may infer
that inspiration needs the occasional prod.
How odd! Even to those who claim her as a friend
the Muse of poetry and verse sometimes has lips
as open as a miser`s purse.
O, say, in Heaven’s name, what gain
has even lain in the fact that the verb "to blur"
rhymes with a noun like "myrrh"?
Just for the merriment
try this experiment.
Say to the first person you meet on a bus.
"'Scuse me, Sir!" (or maybe "Lady"),
"Say, I pray, why fat cats so often purr."
Try this out, and you'll aver
that while sense and rhyme sometimes concur,
it is not invariably the case,
and would the world not be a duller place,
if - perish the thought - it were?
‘Scuse the stains,
leftover chicken gizzard in the soup pot,
universal tears flood the bile ducts.
Cybermeat, and ranch dressing.
See you next Thursday by the mulberry bough.
I lost last night’s dream, and
blue eyed Christina did a delicate death dance.
Erotic subversions in the shadows.
Cybermeat, and horseradish.
Meet me next Thursday by the eucalyptus bough.
I want to penetrate your soft silent soul.
‘Scuse the stains,
yeast worms and cauliflower guts.
Cybermeat, and primrose knockwurst.
Sorry for the misunderstanding.
I’m only a silly human being, and
I want to penetrate your soft silent soul.
is not in the best interest
of folks who charge obscene interest
for us to keep talkin'
but poverty don't equate to
stupidity
so I reckon there's still hope.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
an now please 'scuse me while i go pray a little
Why is the “p” silent in receipt?
Why is “no” not the same as “know,”
Or “new” and “knew?”
And if someone says “there,”
Why do we know
They don’t mean “their” or “they’re?”
I read a note from a redneck up yonder
Said “Hay man, ya got a doller?”
Well I don’t, not that I’d give it to ‘em anyway.
(Probably makes more than me too)
I s’pose he couldn’t talk a lick, hence the note.
Some say I talk funny in these here parts,
but what would one expect
from a Yankee from ‘hia anyhow?
Everybody knows everybody here
‘cause I think they’s all related somehow.
The lady down the street, I swear
is married to her daddy,
her grandfather also her step-uncle.
Jack down the road is all in a tizzy
wondrin’ who’s yer daddy.
Up in Minnesota I found
a word can take half-hour from start to end
where a soda is a pop… there is no spelling
of which I can describe – can you?
But I met a man from Harvard t’other day
asked him “’scuse me sir, where’s the library at?”
With pomp and serious demeanor he says to me,
“Here at Harvard, we never
end a sentence in a preposition.”
So I says to the prep, “OK, where’s the library at…
*******!”
Blinded as a child,
by a rock thrown at my eye
The pain was great, I'd demonstrate,
but I'd hate to make you cry
I found a marble on the street
and figured it would do
Popped it in that vacancy
so I could stare at you
Now 'scuse me sir, it's rude to gawk
at someone else's head
even if my real eye's green
and the other crimson red.
Beggar's can't be choosers,
that's what I've always known
This shiny red is better still
than just plain hollow bone
Now turn away and eat your soup
you perfect featured fellow
Be glad your eyes are real and match-
They could be blue and yellow...