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Light Verse
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So long, Spicy ...
sho’ hate to see you go
You were the best comic relief in the PT carnival
Prez Trump sez he don’t need you no mo’
So you publicly resigned
after getting the private heave-ho
So long, Spicy ...
it sho’ was fun having you around
The way you spun those alternative facts
was so crazy clumsy cool
How you and Kellyanne would go on the attack,
then backtrack from the shark press pool
Y’all were some kinda funny,
reverse moon-walking laughingstock fools
Now Kooky Kellyanne is still here, and you’re gone —
that just ain’t right, it’s so wrong
So long, Spicy ...
I’m gonna play another
Saturday Night Live sad, satirical song
Me and the ghetto gang is sho’ gonna miss you
when you’re gone
(Mr. Robin Harris and BeBe kids will too)
But before you leave,
do me a favor willya please ...
tip your jilted jester cap
to the smiling PT freak show,
and give a dour derriere frown,
to the Inepters running this clown carnival
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Rhyme
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I once was a farmer
I worked the land
I reaped the corn
With a scythe in my hand
I ploughed my furrow
I sowed my seed
I grew my crops
My family to feed
One day hot and thirsty
With the sun going down
I went for to drink
At the alehouse in town
As I was a drinking
There at the Inn
Without any warning
The press gang came in
So I was taken
I was taken so fast
And told that my future
Was before the mast
So in my fields
I no longer plough
Instead the wide ocean
I must plough now
From hauling on ropes
My hands are all torn
Sometimes I wish
I had never been born
Our captains a hard man
If one of us fails
He'll have us flogged
With a cat o' nine tails
When I climb the rigging
I oft times will find
I think of the family
That I left behind
One day I'll jump ship
And I'll stay on shore
I'll serve the Kings navy
Never no more
I'll return to my loved ones
I'll go back to the land
Once more I will reap
With my scythe in my hand
I've sailed the wide oceans
Seen Paris and Rome
But nothing compares
With my humble home
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Details |
Lyric
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I once was a farmer
I worked the land
I reaped the corn
With a scythe in my hand
I ploughed my furrow
I sowed my seed
I grew my crops
My family to feed
One day hot and thirsty
With the sun going down
I went for to drink
At the alehouse in town
As I was a drinking
There at the Inn
Without any warning
The press gang came in
So I was taken
I was taken so fast
And told that my future
Was before the mast
So in my fields
I no longer plough
Instead the wide ocean
I must plough now
From hauling on ropes
My hands are all torn
Sometimes I wish
I had never been born
Our captains a hard man
If one of us fails
He'll have us flogged
With a cat o' nine tails
When I climb the rigging
I oft times will find
I think of the family
That I left behind
One day I'll jump ship
And I'll stay on shore
I'll serve the Kings navy
Never no more
I'll return to my loved ones
I'll go back to the land
Once more I will reap
With my scythe in my hand
I've sailed the wide oceans
Seen Paris and Rome
But nothing compares
With my humble home
Denis Briggs
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Narrative
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Cutting stones for building blocks doesn't
bring the whole food at the table. Playing
betting games force them to sell their
clothes and shoes. Saving money becomes
harder than collecting drops of rain during
drought.
Their children toil in the farms and streets,
because they have no school fees;
their daughters end up as pleasure toys
for the rich, for they don't have enough money
to buy sanitary pads and maintaining beauty;
their sons become easy prey for politicians
who pay a few hundreds for causing chaos
to their opponents.....
Gods' eyes shy away from their blessings,
forcing them to turn from lawful men
to gang-bangs, hiding around streets
and lavish estates. Frustration sometimes
force them to press the trigger,
as they scoop out handbags, briefcases,
and pockets.
Their lives are sustained for a while in the midst
of inflation and higher house rents. Their children
go back to school, and food becomes more abundant
at the dining table. Debts are also paid.
Soon, the arms of the law stretch to their homesteads,
and put them in handcuffs. Their wives and children
watch in despair. The sole providers are sent in jail,
to serve decades or life sentences.
Hard life is all they know from outside or inside the prison bars.....
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Bio
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Little Peep Boo
gonna give a ghost face
sneak peek preview
And the Casper Whine burgs
ain’t gon like
the skeleton keyhole truth
We be thee former chain gang,
(y’all know us)
the Menace to Society butt pang
Yeah, klan bruh ... we got the lynch spirit
hanging broken limb tough
Steal it seems,
the Cottonmouth Man (with the head-cracking Cain)
ain’t beat us down enough
Spitting viper shade
is the err spray
that the head cracker love
Hissing hate, forged link made,
is the money play
When push comes to shove
Little Peep Boo
ain’t trying to
subliminally scare you
So take a commercial break,
if your moral bowels
have to drop a few
Just remember to press
the refresh button
When you spray the err
Steal it won’t
conscience clearly absolve you
of the awful things you shackled allowed
sphincter lips to enamel do do
That’s the hard truth of it —
Little spook me
is gonna freely grin spit
shine on some shuffling shoes
Let the sunset crimson reflection
of those mourning blue hues
fall on pale faces
that darkly spread bad news
Lizard skin boots,
wearing dandruff suits,
are croc dropping flaky truth
Spitting viper shade
is the err spray
making follycle souls uncouth
Little Peep Boo
ain’t sunburn afraid to
nappy head bleating heart tell you:
There’s a rug on fire,
and it’s spreading to the roof
Seems the err spray can
of Medusa worms
just wasn’t self-explode proof
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Rhyme
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The Kid had been arrested along with The Boys and Jesse Evans.
All were being charged with cattle rustling.
It was John Tunstall's livestock that had been stolen,
and he intended to press charges against all of them,
until he happened to see William H Bonney.
He seemed so out of place with this gang of ruthless thieves.
Mr Tunstall then spoke with the Kid privately.
"I will drop all charges against you for your testimony,
that my livestock was stolen by this gang of thieves,
afterward you're welcome to come and work for me.
Room and board will be absolutely free,
and you will earn a decent salary honestly."
Billy Bonney readily agreed
and so John Tunstall had the Kid released.
When they arrived at Tunstall's home he had a gift for the Kid,
a rifle and a horse complete with saddle gear and blanket.
This unexpectedly brought tears to the Kid's eyes.
"What's wrong son?" Mr Tunstall asked surprised.
"Nobody," said the Kid, "has ever given me anything in my life."
John Tunstall would become Billy's mentor.
John wrote home to his family the following in a letter,
"That kid never ceases to amaze me.
There isn't anything in the world he won't do to try and impress me.
I'm going to make one hell of a man out of that kid one day,"
but tragically John Tunstall got blown away,
by the ruthless monopolizing competition.
Partners Lawrence Murphy and Jimmy Dolan
sent a merciless gang of corrupt lawmen
to John Tunstall's ranch and murdered him.
Billy's second chance for a better life was no more.
John Tunstall's murder ignited The Lincoln County War.
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Dramatic Monologue
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IF ever I had a country : LVIII - LIX
LVIII
IF ever I had a fantasy country
And if ever I were left to choose a country existing in reality
I'd certainly opt for a country not run by one who studied philosophy
For the simple reason you can blame any other kind of dope for sheer hypocrisy
For not having studied philosophy and pretending to be very democracy savvy
Especially when the victims* of the country's secret services can hit back at the ruling party
That is, if ever I were left to choose a non-hypocritical country existing in reality
And even if I never ever had no country (not) up to my fancy
Note : * It's a published fact that a French writer and literary anchor on French TV (whom I once met, in 1974, selling his self-published book in the streets of the Latin Quarter) never slept in the same bed for fourteen months for the late President François Mitterrand had ordered the secret services to snuff this son of an Admiral out. His " crime d'Etat " happened to be a manuscript he authored on the President's daughter whose mother was his mistress while in office. The " crime " however was expunged when the author in the presence of TV cameras burnt the manuscript at the portals of the Elysée Presidential Palace.
LIX
IF ever I had a phantasmagorical country
And if ever I were left to choose a country existing in reality
I'd certainly not opt for a country where the S.S. and the Police drug gang-rape and press-gang the mother of your infant son with impugnity
Nor opt for a so-called champion human rights country which hinders your every step and plunges you into solipsistic ignominy
Keeps you embroiled in litigation instituted managed and obstructed by near-sighted authority
While it siphons and floods your tiny ground-floor apartment with the precious toilet refuse of fourteen storeys of family
That is, if ever I were left to choose a country existing in reality
And even if I never ever had no country to fancy
© T. Wignesan - Paris, August 17, 2018
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Details |
Rhyme
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A (growing) menagerie of stuffed animals And Beanie Babies
The following doth constitute
combination of fact and fiction
unfortunately not sentences
referencing overactive spousal glute
though sphincter roaring
could muscle us into ample loot
(after wife explodes open bank vault)
versus ass spire ring writer root
ting to live nsync ecologically
viz hypothetical analogous member
of indigenous people named Yakut
living in scattered settlements in northern Siberia.
Impossible mission to clear space on the bed,
when yours truly feels dead
tired, nothing does magic trick than position fathead
of mine (me noggin actually small and roundish)
with brow emblematic of being highbred,
cuz sleeping quarters
overrun By Teddy Bears And Beanie Babies.
Twas the bright idea of zee missus aye air
and I dedicate this poem
yes tis correct, if ewe bare
lee remember this mister
did formerly she-push-lee duck clear
addressed said spouse
"my little buttock blaster” endear
ring pet name applied for obvious reasons,
(her posterior end pulsates with putrid plume),
and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),
anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize contracted a benign
strain sans incurable glare
ring house cleaning malady,
(thus far no unpronounceable hair
raising name affixed
to non contagious ill, nonetheless
accursed conditioned fanatically
jumpstarting organizing unkempt apartment,
whereby to keep tear filling
misery drowning ocean
of sorrows distant at bay,
scrubbing stubborn stains
from clothes, dishes,
and gamut of hibernating
Ursine horde (née motley crue)
that come breathing alive
Nsync with Beastie Boys bay
sic City Rollers Culture Clubbing babes
upon first spring day
engrossed in this, that,
or some other sweeping floor foray
(analogously to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding matted "faux" fur gray
winter coat when warmer temperatures arrive,
where humongous fur clumps would lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
zing globules, oh...lemme get on track,
regarding poetic melee,
whence frenzied fever "cleaning bug" née
major virus afflicting wife,
would necessitate impossible task
whereby strapping former
feisty Norwegian farm gal
in straight jacket indeed livingsocial
would be no game to play
boot tiring and cruel task of her life Yukon say
24/7 daily challenge devious skullduggery
Smokey and the Bandits
an imp posse sub bill
outlaw gang, who lived like
Aristo curr Rats along the quay,
which unpredictable time frame
thine remaining lifetime sans wife oy vey
would frank lee zap
every last oomph of mine
if able twin door remaining with spouse,
meanwhile 'till she obliviously
plucks persistent sprouting
stranded silver follicle
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way.
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Rhyme
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Wergle Flomp Good Humor 2023
The following constitutes a rather
twisted as a pretzel SUBTITLE:
I dash with my jiggling boobs in an attempt to escape...
being overrun by teddy bears and beanie babies
while carrying out heavy duty spring cleaning.
Twas the bright idea of zee missus aye air
and dedicate this poem
(yes tis correct, if you bare
lee remember this mister
did formerly she push lee duck clear
addressed said spouse
"my little buttock blaster” endear
ring - for obvious reasons,
and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),
anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize contracted a benign
strain sans incurable glare
ring housecleaning malady;
thus far no unpronounceable hair
raising name affixed
to non contagious condition, nevertheless
accursed malady,
whereby to keep her
from auctioning me on eBay,
I squarely hide in root cellar.
She frenziedly scrubbing stubborn stains
from clothes, dishes,
and gamut of hibernating
Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus
horde (nee motley crue)
entrapping scampering dust bunnies
that come breathing alive
nsync with beastie boy
city rollers culture clubbing babes
upon first spring day
engrossed in this, that,
or some other sweeping floor foray
(analogously to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding fifty shades of gray
winter coat when warmer temperatures arrive,
where humongous fur clumps would lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
zing globules, oh...lemme get on track,
whence frenzied fever
"cleaning bug" nee
major virus afflicting wife,
would necessitate impossible task
strapping former feisty Norwegian farm gal
in straight jacket livingsocial every
would be no game to play
24/7 daily challenge devious skullduggery
Smokey and the Bandits
an imp posse sub bill
outlaw gang, who lived
like Aristo curr Rats along the quay,
which unpredictable timeframe
boot tiring and cruel task
of her life Yukon say
thine remaining lifetime,
that's my wife oye vey
would frank lee zapping
every last oomph of mine
if able twin door remaining with spouse
meanwhile 'till she obviously
plucks persistent sprouting stranded follicle
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way.
Though far fetched, not impossible
for me and Joe Six
Pack to become one and the same
since a concerned counterpart
contributes to the mix
cuz, she waves a scolding gold finger
dying with craven craving for sweet licks
to grace tastebuds longing
to savor and dissolve sucrose
in any one of the natural
or synthesized combinations
in an effort whose memory
of a washboard tummy
doth hunger for youth afflicts
recent embarkation since maintaining a diet
of exercise no more pesky heeding "yo dude"
(you look like a lady),
the inner fitness maven against
temptation of high caloric junk food
and nightly snack king
on a flexible fitness routine,
this lxiv aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and
well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood-
winking bosom, that if I feigned being
a "bared naked lady" -
asper this chest lewd
city in reference to "man boobs"
that seemed to materialize overnight
now appear to decrease as well
that unwanted "love handle,
this chap more inclined
tubby in a greater mood
to parade around
this non-crowded house shirtless
AND definitely NOT in public,
BUT no weigh Jose
would this generic guy go completely nude
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique
might prompt outsiders
to consider me a prude
and even during closed bedroom door
sexual exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs)
and my dangling dipstick smallish
(concluding biology screwed)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,
though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics
more or less static
hoe ping believe mass elf ya wood.
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Rhyme
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Please help yarn hexed door neighbor...
Yours truly pinned down by invisible
vestiges of coronavirus and
getting attacked from angry plague
of buttons, plus huge spools of yarn
grossly mistook me for human sock
to seal and line with something foreign
sewing lips impossible mission
even to force out
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
(even ventriloquist like) argh gosh darn
smarting with horse sense
Equus caballus hilariously snorting
cuz door left ajar
allowing, enabling, and
providing exit from out the barn.
H. Ty Warner's
ingenious imaginative creations
(a craze that swept America circa
second half of ninety nineties -
and furious at their worthlessness today)
hungry carnivorous, ferocious,
insidious, ludicrous, opprobrious...
anything but innocent looking playthings,
where sharp hairs
bristle, kindle, and ruffle
and upper and lower sharp teeth engage
abandoned beanie baby brood
massive collections spouse accrued,
when said toys all the rage
uttered courtesy buttoned down sage
at auction in two thousand twenty two
might look as small fortune
worth a few thousand dollars
no matter adamantly refuse
being sold to highest bidder.
Beanie Babies from exclusive events,
the Original Nine designs,
first-generation releases,
and even toys with tag errors
can fetch a pretty penny
in the collector's market.
Overrun livingsocial hotmail
by teddy bears and beanie babies
bright idea of zee missus aye air
without any last thread bare
bequeathing, dedicating, forwarding
aforementioned merchandise
to whomever subtly nods head so beware
(yes if you barely
shake noggin) that automatically translates
as goodies non-negotiably sold to thee
signed, sealed and delivered
courtesy wordsmith
duck quacking Doctor Demento,
who forewarns patrons to clear
out and vacate premises asap
lest malingerers experience testament
becoming subjected to she/her
addressed as gaseous spouse
id est "my little buttock blaster” dear
surviving kin who ranks
holy smokes - for obvious reasons,
and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),
anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize, she contracted
benign strain sans incurable glare
to this knit wit – if anyone kin hear
ring house cleaning malady,
thus far no unpronounceable hair
who offers chance to jeer
wag middle finger quite visibly near
heck – even call
guardian angel on wing and prayer
or rumplestiltskin with tiny
ear splitting flatulence sounding rear
help rescue me,
who will button his lips I swear
with duct tape and mouth sealed
with ropy hemp
painstakingly made courtesy
“I hate boys” under wear
now quick travel back
in time from this year.
Come breathe with Justin,
he sports nuff timber alive
analogous rock of Gibraltar to belay
lake nsync with Beastie Boys
viz Bay City Rollers Culture
Clubbing babes upon spring day
engrossed in this, that,
or some other sweeping floor foray
(linkedin to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding gun metal gray
filled stack of hay
winter coat when
warmer temperatures arrive,
where humongous fur clumps lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
which event no picnic in may
nor pleasant as per needled
zing globules, oh...
lemme get on track,
whence frenzied fever
"cleaning bug" nee
major virus afflicting wife
necessitates impossible task
strapping former bachelorette
feisty Norwegian farm gal
straight laced as a yellowjacket
livingsocial within droning hive,
be game to play
24/7 challenged,
I unsuspectingly quickly sink oye
which nearest prey
happened to be yours truly,
destined to get submerged
as black lagoon creatures’ pray
trending and feigning solution
to null solution e quay
I hired devious skullduggery
Smokey and Bandits),
an imp posse sub bill
outlaw gang), who lived lichen
Aristo cur Rat along the quay
boot tiring and cruel task
of her life Yukon say
shun didst tax patience for today
doth not wish
to witness condemned self
to uber fifth dimension
housing after lives like tiny Tim
plays ukulele, where eye espy
which unpredictable timeframe remaining
lifetime sans wife oy vey
would frank lee zap
every last oomph of mine
if able to remain with spouse
meanwhile she obliviously
proverbially plucks persistently
sprouting stranded follicles
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way
Kantian fractal facial expressions
where disembodied spirits
sup on diet of worms and whey
whose effervescent essence
invisible as an x-ray
sewing seeds of life
and white lily repeated onslaught
with buttons and yarn ah feign YAY.
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