So Instagram is a sham
Everyone seems smitten
With posts about a kitten
Or hosts who hate Britain
Or boasts so badly written
Toasts flam & are all bitten
Goddam is just like spam
Famalam use as a babysitter
Wham bam for any dimwitter
Won’t scram will be a big hitter
Instagram is just glam glitter
Oh please look at me vanity
Narcissist wheeze is insanity
Tease with another profanity
Disease crippling all humanity
Pedants on pews lives fritter
Algorithm queues like twitter
Bottom feeder ruse you critter
Needier travesty tapestry knitter
Greedier fuse lit & now shi*ter
Seedier impropriety just litter
Social media a society splitter
Notoriety trolls scrolls flitter
Anxiety but folks will still titter
Piety for botox you’ll be fitter
Ham it up cash cow AI lie spitter
Kowtow get no views so just bitter
Kapow a scam not some Ashram
Stop cropped photoshopped slop
They cram in a half baked pitta
Instagram is bust and just a sham
Shades of grey cascades on rainy days
Petrichor reigns after each pitter patter
Radiance of earthy fragrance does flatter
Teardrops down panes.. splitter splatter
Fades to whiffs chiding riffs spit scatter
Forever about weather they do natter
Seems the one thing that does matter
Flowers cowers at showers which batter
Tiffs as petal in fine fettle does shatter
Down trodden by a sodden mad hatter
Raised bed fed on shed drops clatter
Spoils for alluvial soils a pluvial platter
Some veg in tatters others seem fatter
Folks chitter chatter.. prefer the latter
Cumulus nimbus nimbly flitter & flutter
Sunrays grasp after a last gasp stutter
Sliding gliding riding wooden shutter
Rasp of uncouth din off a roof of tin
Staccato rinse & repeat beat does utter
Burgling drains & gurgling in the gutter
Huddles of puddles cuddle and splutter
Parched Earth’s skin softens like butter
Mother Nature's own homegrown nutter
Folks groan have to clear up soaked clutter
Mumble prone to moan but not a tut tutter
Mustn't grumble need the tumble they mutter
~ Limerick Style * ~
Some maintain that ‘thought is for aught’
At least that’s what I have been taught
But thought fathers the deed
It plants the tiny seed ~
Without which great doings are naught
___________________________________
*A limerick in form, as opposed to content.
Not meant to be a side-splitter, but rather
'contemplative humor.'
Urban jungle roosters,
born-again scarecrow,
to untutored city eyes,
tawny pipit stonewall nester,
jet black Inca dove bereft,
of dovetail on a croque monsieur,
idle bone grub crawl,
mother hen to sandy brown,
and velvet bill gazer,
from an nearby creak,
recent rural migrant now,
a tree house side kick,
chickadee a late date sitter,
on this air flock beaky natter,
or tweet between the ice float,
edgy grey day species wield,
their sprightly ruffled feathers,
as an orthopaedic surgeon,
and their spatula when scraping,
rancid bark off windmill elm trees,
gastric bugle trenchermen ahoy,
while ogling a fellow common redpoll,
oh these tummy rumble diners,
will zoom in on every gourmet,
tangled wire mesh feeder station.
round and round they’ll fly,
on zesty mission beetroot,
a cock-eyed scavenger‘s delight,
are they siblings of a noble order?
white tale mountain bluebirds swopping,
habitat for granite boundary habit,
off key off discordant choirboys,
six sided snow bird chorus,
ear splitter for tardy wakening,
they cheep religiously as if,
their only valid creed was,
window squinting prayer meets
Within this ink is a taste so bitter
Warn you though I am no quitter
I don't follow fake pomp and glitter
Find within me a devotion emitter
The crosses your bearing, I was for her there log splitter
Replacing their pain, I added sweetness to the bitter
I've written the code of how to be a committer
If you intend to challenge my devotion, those eyes must see you commit to her!
I'll carve you out if you show up to be a transmitter!
That feeling within you; Dads are "far more than just a jitter"
For if hell has a place on Earth; it will not be with me as it's remitter
My current days are trails paved abhorrent
for I wail money twisted and time blistered
within knot plots I cannot get untwistered.
I live as a searcher of dollar measure flexers
and as an oh what should I do now perplexer.
Even toilet paper is a difficult gainer
when basic nutrition is not an obtainer.
Being a face washer, teeth flosser, hair brusher
and body cleaner upper are now strainers.
All intentions proper flare up money impaired
when one’s pennies add up to not even any.
How to be a life liver as a faith believer
when your scenes scream just be a quitter,
a truly properly decent sanity splitter?
When losing my job hard spun me money shun,
my question grinder also lost its answer finder.
Tonight, I’ll be a bread crumb eater and soup sipper
but tomorrow I may be a slipper wearing mess
roamer, a senseless out loud streaming press
and a restaurant trash can nonchalant searcher
who forgot her thoughts once held nothing worser.
... CayCay
August 22, 2019
Pedants fume helpless and seethe with rage,
But linguists surrender to the age,
Media always misuse
Commoners to confuse,
But rage not, time has turned a tired page.
______________________________________________________
It is the age of freedom, free for all. Words are used any which way. Grammar ultimately follows usage. Take epicentre. It may sound a bit grander than just centre, but it is used only in context of earth-quakes. But media prefer epicentre in all contexts— political, social, economic, any. Pedants and classicists and linguists may boil with rage. But dictionaries will ultimately capitulate and compromise. So, make no fuss, or you will be called doctrinaire, worse, obscurantist or obfuscator, or in the worst case a nit-picker hair-splitter. Alas, you thought you were a sophist and a scholar!
______________________________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |05.05.14 |
Need Rehab on Cold Slab
Could be because I became a crab;
What we really need is some rehab;
For while waited;
Was reactivated;
They found us lying on a cold slab.
Jim Horn
My Goodness and Great Lord
Oh my goodness and great Lord,
So He will welcome you aboard;
Will invite,
More poems write;
Hearing from does look toward.
Jim Horn
On test started with vibe and verve;
Then results had downward swerve;
Afraid;
Failing grade,
So teacher did grade us on a curve.
Jim Horn
Was a bitter quitter of the liter;
Had horrible time being a hitter
Saw some trees;
Swang at breeze;
So ended up being a rail splitter.
When texting was just starting out, my friend texted LOL to me.
Little ornery lunatic?
Lovely ordinary laugh?
Luxuriously outstanding lady?
Lobe-oriented log-splitter?
Land over Lithuania?
Lime Orange Lion-berries?
I texted back “what is LOL?”
But she had shut her phone off
For the night.
I texted three more friends,
But their phones had also
Been shut off.
This was before people started
carrying their cellphones all
day long, looking at them
constantly you see.
LOL
From 1998, I was born while my existence was pronounced a fluke
Evil twin, though an age gap, I sat myself flat after physical abuse
I salute to the man who fouled my head off a saw splitter
Mad man with a given temper only persuaded my blood flow thinner
Excessive middle finger to where I pull the trigger
On Christmas, his fellow friends prolonged the demon’s dinner
Couple of high school kids much bigger than what I have figured
He now remains in the same place with revenge waiting to be delivered
A young 5th grade minor feeling the wrath of a swinging guitar
I was unaware at the time that his conscience was dark
Pull blown sparks being targeted towards his front yard
Retaliation wasn’t needed until your intentions were meant to harm
Climbing a wooden ladder, seeking a laugh!
Guffaws in splinters — as I grab each side splitter.
A crescendo after the rung chuckles.
The thinning air and applause, prolapse my breath.
My knees might buckle as I collapse.
2/25/2018
Robert Haigh’s Make Me Laugh contest
Lumpers gather, clump, fuse, combine and meld.
Splitters separate, divide and rupture.
The Lumper's huge nuclear fusion bomb
makes bigger bang by fusing hydrogen
than Splitter's uranium fission bomb.
So where do your allegiances lie?
Is it fusion or fission, lump or split?
Do you focus on the differences
or else, put similarities forward
when deciding how to pigeonhole things.
How do you group, class and codify friends?
Overgeneralizing is risky,
it ignores individuality.
But overs-splitting can be dicey too,
with far too much variation to grasp
and hold while you consider your options.
It is more about what's on the labels,
than the size of your hands, nets or boxes.
A pile of dead branches lay on the ground,
Once proud, now forgotten and dead.
I drag them, with the tractor, off the side of the hill,
And dump them by the side of the shed.
Then the chainsaw comes out, all sharpened and shined,
Filled with black oil and fuel.
Two hours of chopping into cylindrical blocks,
This chainsaws a perfect wood tool.
And the axe and the splitter come out for a play,
And my back is beginning to tire.
Finally I have a pile of splintered up logs,
All ready to light a warm fire.
Finally I relax, staring into these flames,
Hypnotised by their whimsical charm.
And I'm happy and free, just a little bit sore,
A winter's day on the family farm.
Tip tap splitter-splatter ,
Goes down the rain.
Flying down with a clatter ,
Creating brooks along the lane …
From the dark , fluffy clouds...
Descending with the breeze..
Exciting the overjoyed crowds ,
Swaying along with the trees …..
Splashes in the cool puddles ,
Muddy footprints of toddlers and teens ...
Accompanied by the pleasant sounds of guggles ,
And happy faces with wide beams …
It is a blessing , a form of love ...
No frowns , no sorrow , no hatred , no harm ,
Just healing the pains , smoothening the rough ,
Because nature is at its best charm ….
A polite rain
joined me briefly
before heading uptrail
to leave me standing, alone,
in a suddenly steaming forest.
I wrote this on a hike in the Adriondacks to to Mt Marcy, the highest mountain in New York State. My Adirondack Guide indicated that Tahawus was the a first Nation (Iroquois ??) name for the mountain and it meant “cloud-splitter.” I decried that the mountain is now named "Mt. Marcy"after William L. Marcy, who as Governor of New York (1833-1839), authorized the geological survey that explored the area. I speculated that this is why there is so little poetry in our time.
However, a later Wikipedia search revealed that the name was likely never used by the aboriginal peoples of the area to refer to the mountain, and its meaning, may have no roots in any language.
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