I knew a man from downtown Bell South
who could stick his own d-ck in his mouth.
That put him in the same bucket
as that famed man from Nantucket,
though he swore he never did suck it.
“The rope round Leah’s neck
Shall soon Leah’s life wreck’’:
Give Leah her first chance
For a funny dance
From a climbed stool
Removed as a rule…
Yes, Leah’s first full chance
For a last Quaint Dance…
And I shall advance
Of Course, Mark Evans,
Man of Relevance;
To stretch Leah’s mischance
With grins worse than lance
To wasted Leah raise
And the Devil praise!”
The Russian bear frighteningly growls
~ Will his paws rip out Ukraine's bowels
Lamented Streets
David J Walker
I bring the village and
The villagers follow
Each a part of the past of
a distorted dream
the energies of the city
magnetize everything
in its path
what I miss is the quiet
of a former reality
the colors clearly defined
the air unsoured and aroused
the waters translucent and pure
a wind with real meaning
a moon clearly seen from a Mesa
the sweet smell of a mesquite fire
by the lake
I bring the villagers who are inarticulate
In the urban foreign vernaculars of
The vulgar streets of daily disasters
Where every song sung is a lament
For sad listeners longing for an
Escape to simple settings
Congtatulater of Vulgar
Both Trump and supporters are so vulgar;
Of eachother appear to be a congratularor;
Inteligence do know,
They are way below;
What Trump did indicate need a translater.
Jim Horn
Guarantee you will never find another
poem like this one.
Keg full of monkey j*zz
Jar packed with grime
Little tank of tiny turtles
Pot of slug slime.
Shaker full of flea larvae
Small box of moss
Squeeze-tube of mushy meat
Flask of dog sauce.
Leeches in a cookie tin
Ice tray of blow
Now can you play to win
This cooking show.
And here we are, on this field
Full of wealth and want...
Hawking love and loans like lollies,
Goodies of globalization entice the gullible ones,
Profits blossom [only] in well-made markets,
Global indoctrination indiscriminate and insurmountable,
Only the fit survive this global rat race
When we feed the vulgar mouth of capitalism
The Vulgar and the Beautiful
By the roadside I saw a blushing flower amongst
arrogant, working class weed. It suffered greatly
this delicate bloom which could inspire a poet
to write about the richness of nature if only bloody
weed would stop being so obtrusive.
I picked the flower, rude, gray weed applauded
in their world of harshness beauty was strength.
And now that I have changed from being an angry
old man to a gentle soul, I put the flower in a vase
and saw it die of loneliness
Next day I stopped my car at the same spot I
ignored the blaring horns of angry drivers. And
the weed said: “why did you this to us we need
a soft soul amongst us even when we make fun
of its boon, but we need the love it creates.
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