Boss! Boss! It is balloon!
It is the enemy of the state!
Shoot it down! Ask questions later.
Leave no evidence for the makers.
China says it’s a weather device
A friend. It would never hurt a fly
Or tell a lie or spy or make you cry
If you kill it, it will die
Use nuclear missiles, tomahawks and mistletoe!
Balloons are sensitive to explosions
They love mysteries and can’t keep secrets
If you burst it, it will know.
For goodness sake don’t let it go!
Capture it! Torture it with turtles!
If it doesn't talk feed it to the media
The white object in the sky is dangerous
Take it to the opera
The orchestra will make it sing
It is balloon! It is balloon!
Don’t land on me or hurt my baby!
Or fall on a cow in Montana
Or in the ocean by South Carolina
Don’t wanna hurt no dolphins do ya?
Categories:
tomahawks, anxiety, fun, judgement, political,
Form: Free verse
Ohio slips in and out of suburban gardens
shedding grey skins,
until
native red and green feathers
crash out of soil and sky.
Climatic airs stamp on thunderclouds.
Painted for war, it leaks blood onto old muskets.
Tomahawks clash above Walmart shoppers.
In the sparse woods, it smokes,
and it does not give a damn
for nicotine gum.
Categories:
tomahawks, poetry,
Form: Blank verse
day cast your light and
help me to fight with second sight.
to see the other way where
shadows cast not their play.
the tune of an old song,
is mellow to my ears.
I hear the train sound fading to
the past, old iron horse on way.
when days begun and cowboys did have fun.
arrows pierced the sky and tomahawks did fly.
the west was won , a new century had begun.
old iron horse led the way.
Categories:
tomahawks, dedication, journey, old, horse,
Form: I do not know?
our young faces
left sepia stains
on ivory paper
there were no flaws nor lines to draw
attention nor depress
just shiney rose hued cheeks which glowed
and purple garish dress
eyes did glint
though there was a hint
of apprehension in our smiles
a missing tooth displayed our youth
orange and umber whiles
wirehaired bodger (dog)
our much loved lodger
who raced with all us kids
came christmas carolling to inrease our treasure
as cash flowed in split lids
potatoe pie
with the chicken bits shy
we would play, spot the chunk of meat
chafing elastic to hold grey socks
ill fitting shoes to beat
hoola hoops, canakers
tomahawks
arms, embraced your bestest friend
knock on doors as mother asked
have you some sugar you can lend?
T rex blast on radiogramme
and the old grey whistle test
cheap lemonade and icecream vans
the seventies were the best
Categories:
tomahawks, nostalgia,
Form: Imagism
al-Quaddafi Haiku-2
Tomahawks fly blind
may be al-Quaidas delight
Allah Ahkbar's cheer.
Here we go again
Belly dancing with Muammar
Hillarie can't dance.
He can dance alone.
al-Quaddafi's naval glows
diamonds up his nose.
Are they Libyan?
Maybe some, we just don't know.
Give them rice and lamb.
Send more Tomahawks
Reroute them to Syria
Belly dancing Booms.
Let's take on them all
every oil field we find
NATO gas stations
everywhere.
Big Chief Tomahawks
Geronimo's great revenge
Belly dance all night.
Gold in them thar hills
Black gold in the desert sand.
Someone's slight of hand.
Twenty thousand more
Suckers born every minute.
In the USA.
Forwardddd!!! Huh?!
Categories:
tomahawks, politicaldance, dance,
Form: Haiku
(7/5 Trochee rhyme form)
They’re coming. Listen closely.
Hear that distant thrum. . .
that steady thrum- thrum- thrumming
of a tom-tom drum.
There! Beyond the cornfield rows.
Tell me, don’t you see
the tops of feathers moving
forward stealthily?
They’re so close to the house now!
Soon they’ll reach the fence.
Where have all the cowboys gone?
War will soon commence!
Wait! I saw the bushes move.
Roger with his gun
spied a Cherokee and now
has him on the run.
But appearing on the scene,
tomahawks in hand,
those Cherokees have attacked
just to save their man.
Roger’s fallen to the ground.
Oh, my son is dead!
Indians now are swarming,
faces painted red.
Running toward the bushes, they
give a mighty whoop!
Cowboys must come out and fight
this most fearsome group.
A cowboy wins if he is
first one to take aim,
but, touched by a tomahawk,
he will lose the game.
When THE NATIVES ARE RESTLESS
it just isn’t cool,
and I’m counting off the days
till they’re back in school!
For The Catch Phrase Contest/ sponsored by Deborah Guzzi
(My catch phrase: The natives are restless)
Categories:
tomahawks, cowboy-western
Form: Rhyme