We think the Don’s sort of brain dead
Trump morphs in his coffin-like bed
We wish he had heart
But he lacks that part
Just like Mister Potato Head
No vaccine for that which we dread?
Venereal ill he will spread
He loves a big stick
But without a dick
He is Mister Potato Head
Lately when I take a poop
It comes out just like tater soup
I don't even have to bribe her
Guess I'm getting too much fiber
Devils ‘Tater patch
Hungry from hiking hills
Not a single spud
Ty Tot Ty Taw Tay Tater Tat
Ty Tid! Ty Tid!
Ty Taw Tay Tater Tat!
And her beloved son grew alongside her like clinging vines.
During the capitulation of the Old South.
The era of a bitter drouth.
They lived hopefully from her skills as a midwife.
And though some days were gruesome for her they were perfect days.
When they were together in their strife.
She found joy and paradise in his existence.
In their blissful co-existence.
He grew strong and his mind was filled with invincible thoughts of mastering his own destiny.
With blazing certainty.
However treacherous winds of evil depleted his willful force.
And destroyed her soul to a living death.
A twisted sorrowful wealth.
Through the grueling time in multitude.
With a heart cold to any sane rectitude.
Many times she revisited the thinning forest.
She listens to the song of the Old South.
A tune of her son's demise spilled out.
From the elm tree in a thinning forest.
Near the Ebb Water Creek.
A sounding song of mystique.
And the mystery of his murder lay.
Cradled in the secretive nest in the deciduous forest.
Leaving her to walk in the darkness of despair and soul arrest.
In her heart, she knew the truth.
And its nefarious root.
In a raging storm of wrath.
And, so she took the wrong path.
"Mame Blackwell," he said.
A shiny Eagle in her hand he laid.
"My wife is in need."
"I beg that you do heed."
"She screams out your name."
"And boast of your fame."
The baby is twisting her inner"
And the light in her eyes grows dimmer."
"He said, " I tried to talk her out of being cared for by a Negress wench."
His face was grim, not so much as a flinch.
From the agony of his condescension, she put a plan at play.
She follows him as he leads the way.
Under the impulse and retrospection of veterinary pedagogy.
The acute stress in the room was her burden wholly.
With skillful strategy, she guided the baby into a world of many ills.
But there was no fight for air through his tiny nostrils.
No shrills.
His face was nearly purple and his chest was still.
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With a deliberated ruse; she washed its tiny face with a soft washcloth.
With no resistance, she enfolded the wee infant into a swaddling cloth.
In the Autumn equinox, she placed the tiny form in the simple wooden box.
She watched them perform their antiquated burial tradition, and then she returned to the loose gray dirt.
She then headed home with a secret beneath her skirt.
Earlier during the dim of the day, while they were seeking each other for comfort.
And while superficial prayers were offered up with great effort.
She blew breath into the tiny mouth and massaged its tiny smooth chest.
And by the grace of God, the tiny infant was blessed.
Madame Blackwell by virtuous askew created a makeshift bundle and made a switch.
Her deed made unnoticed without a glitch.
No regret manifested in her heart.
No transient sorrow, in place was a spiritual upstart.
For retribution was pacified and made whole.
There was a righteous mood in her soul.
Justice was done.
For her, the sun's unsparing glory shone radiantly on her and her son.
There’s a little guy, who you may know,
He’s friendly, pudgy, and plump.
And he puts on quite a funny show,
When he plays he likes to hop and jump!
He’s mostly colored all black,
With a tail he can stick up and make fuzzy.
He has a white streak down the middle of his back.
Can you tell me, which animal is he?
Yes, he’s a skunk and his name is Tater-Tot,
And he lives right here at the zoo.
He loves to play and eat a whole lot,
But he’s not stinky and he can’t spray you!
He’s a mammal and an omnivore,
He eats all of his vegetables and meat.
But when he’s done, he always wants more!
And he always spills food cause he’s not very neat!
He’s up all night and he sleeps all day,
He’s nocturnal and can’t see very well.
He’s cute and cuddly and loves to play,
He may not stink, but boy can he smell!
stopping
now just
standing
talking
as if to
himself
are you
following
me around
as he decides
then suddenly
picks up a fork
don't follow me
especially
to work
then
motioning
in the air
won't let you
in as he is
now beginning
to try to touch
the air
in front
of him
now
talking
out get out
of my head
scratching
do i follow you
turning around
i don't need to
have you been
dictating with
now throwing
a punch
in the air
compared
to yesterday
so you were
here but weren't
saying anything
but he's on the green
stuttering putting
last hole
holy f***
it seems
slowing rolling
to be going in
get out
of my head
inches away
stay out
it isnt going in
so well below
so far distracting
par is far
from you
and humming
the looping tune
in my head
that's it
for today
at last
please save me
not even close
the record's stuck
well below bogey
we
are the
champions
Tater tots by the plate that's all this boy ate
he was seven going on eight that boy Nate
The crispy cylinder of potato gold
yummiest finger food so bold
Deep fry or oven baked
Tastiest treat you can make
Nate ate and ate and ate
cooked all by his mother Kate
Serve them for breakfast lunch and dinner
Tater tots always a winner
Nate was never late
for a meal of tots on his plate
Then one day there were no more
Nate's jaw dropped to the floor
He threw a fit and he did spit
out that nasty soggy fish stick
His mother sat him on the corner stool
letting him calm down and cool
But daydreaming of tots made him drool
he held his breath, to win this duel
His dad said to let him eat his favorite treat
his taste buds will get weary of em in a week
Nate ate and ate his tots with joy
you see Nate's dad was the original Tater Boy.
i have little tater tot
til it talks crap and gets shot
i eat it then get really sad
and then comes back and beats te crap out of me because it's mad
so i went and got drunk at a bar
and when i left i got hit by a car
and then i got up to run
it was clear he wasn't done
he came and beat me with a bat
and then got up and got mauled by a cat
and as i was laying there half alive
i seen my tater tot and started to cry
and them i ate it then it died
a and then i went home to my wife
im glad that tater tot is out of my life
Down in Alabam where big sweet taters grow
lives great aunt Cyndi diggin dirt with a hoe.
Up in the morn bout the crack o’ dawn
see for miles where she’s dug up the lawn.
Hard as nails with hair sweet- tater- red
she could set a table, make you feel fed.
Wave you down and ask you to stop by
have a piece o’ her sweet tater pie.
Smash sweet taters and hickory smoked pork
a chilled bottle o’ wine with a stuck cork.
Cornbread in the oven ready to take out
Slap your mama silly, lip smackin no doubt.
Dawg’s patiently waitin on the back stoop
for the cornbread mush and sweet tater soup.
With tongue a hangin and tail a waggin
shortly his tummy will be a draggin.
Sweet tater pie with whipped cream on top
you’ll eat so much you’ll think you’ll pop.
Sweet tater pie my sweet love from the south
more o’ sweet tater pie, well shut my mouth.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
A house sits across on another hill from us
and flies the Jolly Roger
I've been tempted to raise the Union Jack
and break out my tater launcher
Oh what a battle and sight to see
when the taters start to fly
Spuds will smash upon the ground
the dirt and dust will rise
I'm sure they'll put up a good defense
as to save their wounded pride
You see, I have the advantage in this fight
I live up on the high side
There's bound to be some casualties
when it comes to broken windows
But just imagine how the neighbors will jump
when we let off the final crescendo
I can visualize the reporters gathering...
"For Fox news this is Stacy Devon
reporting on the tragic tater incident
stay tuned for film at eleven".
This poem was inspired by a house that does sit across from us on another hill. They
do fly the skull and cross bones