Woe…
Woe to the man,
one with grief.
For he will never
say no to grief.
When tears roll down your cheeks,
you don't stop them.
You let them touch you,
only they hug you,
wanting nothing back.
And the soft towel,
my trusted companion.
It helps.
It is the only witness,
testifying for me,
watching my soul break.
I don't want to lose it.
I would rather
lose myself.
I look around.
There is no one to hold me.
Only the towel is with me.
But I won’t hold it,
I can only see it.
So I can honestly say:
Mom, everything’s good.
For my trusted companion
is the only proof
of my unseen testimony.
I want it to stay dry.
To remain clean,
untouched by pain,
unlike myself.
Now my lips waver.
My throat hurts.
My vision blurs.
I know what's coming.
It’s not a smile.
It’s something… familiar.
Home sweet home.
I am grief, falling...
the water in my eyes.
And my companion
still dry.
He threw the towel into the ring
It bounced back up and started to swing
Realizing he had no right to quit
He pulled himself up and landed a hit…
He waved a white flag at the challenge, plain to see
Yet that stubborn flag refused to cop a plea
The odds against him were what they were
But there he was, up and fighting in a blur…
So when you’re sure you’re down and out
Never give up ~ let out a shout
I prefer the cozy fuzzy purple towel the tree frog said.
He rolled his red eyes to the back of his bulging old head.
I did my best to please, so I could get some sleep in my bed.
His croaking kept me on my toes though, my grandma said.
In one’s towel bathroom things are not well
While there is nothing like towel
For the last part of a shower,
Filthy body back ‘Saved Flower…
Towels: hot cake after a bath
But if not handy no true wrath;
Wet body is dried by cool breeze,
Which does so but not quite with ease…
I’d splash warm water on towel
As a sponge for the sick bowel:
Does it matter that of Howell
Or of the respected Maxwell?
For a boxer’s cascading sweat;
What sometimes shows his blows were sweet,
A fresh one for the next round’s heat:
He must try to opponent beat…
When it hasn’t been a good scrub
Off would towel soapy fluid rub.
Time comes when you "toss in the towel"
Considering your life’s work as finished,
You can go out with a satisfied growl
Or, attempt to have your work refinished.
Either way you know you have succeeded
For you followed your gut’s inclinations,
You listened to advice, most cases heeded
Hopefully, you left a few good impressions.
Written February 8, 2022
The more towel continuously dries,
The wetter it gets right before your eyes.
My towels that fall on its floor
Never again cross my door:
Always sentenced to Death by burning,
The circumstances of one mourning…
Or demoted to a shoe rag,
Its reacceptance to eternally drag.
My sponges that in its slips off my hand
Become soldiers missing in action:
Some seconds of silence plus military band
Followed with ‘Rest in Peace or the notion’
I could round spin in my Jacuzzi
But in public bathroom keep eyeing the greasy,
Scarcely thinking it easy
Excusing the unforgivable sleazy;
Always, The Ever Tactical
Any rash alternative, nonsensical.
~ Before you throw in the towel ~
Your pen is full of ink
The paper on which you think
as fresh as a mountain stream
All that remains is to dream
of a subject, a theme, a raison d'etre
with built-in rhyme, rhythm and 'metra'
This shouldn't be so unspeakably hard
yet I suppose every minor and major-league bard
has moments when he's ready to throw in the towel
or just glare at the moon, and begin to howl...
That's it! Go out there and howl at the moon
Surely then you'll sing a different tune
'Coz when push comes to shove, it's all about mood
and though it sounds trite, a good attitude...
So, write your heart out, my friend
Let all your hair hang way down
Your poems will be the toast of the town
the bath towel boogie
a gargantuous spider
giving me the hops
A lively young lady went down
To the sea to bathe all unbound,
She took off her suit,
She knew she looked cute,
Soon folks of all ages stood round.
Soaking wet, she went for her towel,
As she neared her smile turned to scowl,
Her towel was not there
To tie up her hair,
She turned to the crowd and called foul.
July 31, 2019
DEATH BY TEA TOWEL
The WANTED posters in the Flyland corridor
Tell of the unsolved murder case involving Uncle Theodore,
Squashed with a wet tea towel in an execution-style fatal attack.
His crime? Walking on a meat and salad snack.
Flypolice have prepared a lookalike sketch (which may scare)
Of the killer : big white legs with no hair;
Optics - only two, not complex - with glasses over the eye,
No wings - apparently unable to fly.
Armed and dangerous. Carries rolled-up newspaper or wet tea towels.
Do not approach, but call C S I Flyland - the professionals.
An ant
Stumbling on a soft dish towel
Overlooking a vast area
Rugh and bumpy
Behold
What a vastness!
Says the ant
I just can’t reach the end
i never give up on you
you never give up on me
then we shall live a fairytale
Yield to the superior force of that warm, friendly welcome.
Surrender to that well-being of consolatory, feel-good territory.
Submit to a complimented treatment of mental repose for the wayworn;
Capitulate to a gentle and melodious retreat secluded in a shiny enchantment
Of porcelain and metal that will infiltrate your innermost courtyard.
Owl With Crying Towel
You can always tell it was an ornery owl,
When you saw his face wearing a scowl;
We saw pivotal plot;
His claw got caught;
Trump appeared throwing in his crying towel.
(After having been relieving his fowl bowel.)
James Thesarious Nefarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
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