Maybe what we need
is a little more make up sex.
Maybe what we need
is a few more exploratory kisses.
A growl can tremble like a treble clef,
all rowdy and slapstick naughty.
Maybe a permission slip
for the teacher is what we need.
Maybe fingers on a chalk board
as we fall to the floor.
Just a little taste of dalliance
as we decipher each other.
Growling we are a duet trembling,
all rowdy and slapstick naughty.
Accidentally gave my wife a glue stick instead of chapstick
As a result, she isn't talking to me, no matter what subject I pick
That'll shut her up
Her lips got stuck
She'll heal in a month or two, this humor is called slapstick
Every treaty they make
makes to cheat me
to
dislocate me
from my
territory
and on the plains
it is so plain to see
that a treaty's not
worth
diddly squat.
With its bite or baud or bit
It takes thick my stomach strict
When the mouse is there clicked
Then my brain is hard constrict
And my thoughts are in conflict
With my hair rough or slicked
I feel as a lousy kicked
By a mangy cat then licked
And my will completely nicked
Was by case so subtly tricked
That I am like a drug addict
Even though I am afflict
As deserving to be convict
In a way I can’t depict
Neither I can rapidly evict
Nor I want it be hand-picked
Insofar I can predict
That no penalty is inflicted
To this slapstic informa-tìc!
Well, it's back to the sillies I go
This serious stuff is hurting my brain
If you notice I'm being serious again
Admonish me, must be totally insane
Must maintain my “silly” status
Or I'll totally fade away from the scene
“D'ya hear bout a guy who walked into a bar”
Sorry! Well you know what I mean
My humour's more of a cerebral nature
Yah right! Who am I trying to kid?
I'm down with all the rest of those guys
An image I could never get rid
Satirical, slapstick or self-deprecating
Puns creeps in now and then
Not what you'd call that high brow stuff
A hit with my P-Soup friends
Well hopefully I've got my point across
Though I might write a “serious” again
But they'll be rare, few and far between
A great big relief for my brain
© Jack Ellison 2013
* Wrote this one a while back *
When the music stopped for Dad
And Shorty McCormick’s Jazz Band
Played their last gig, his drum set
Was retired to our dank basement
His traps resided in an extra large
Black cardboard suitcase and soon
My brothers and I commenced
Drumming the life out of its quiet remains
Before long the solid beat of the remaining
Percussion instruments were rendered silent
And were finally sent out with the trash
I hung on to the last reminder of my father’s
Well warn drum set that helped him keep time
During his many solo jazz improvisations
Now with love I hold on to his tattered slapstick
The only rhythmic survivor, still ready to keep the beat
tripwire with spiked barbs
two trite puns joined at the hip
slapstick jabs that bruise
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