A wild eyed host shrieked, “Buy this pill!”
With a grin that said I no longer feel chill
Then the side effects roared
The host’s words cut like a sword
“Diarrhea so violent it may run up hill!”
Wild-eyed, wild-haired comic, Phyllis Diller
Here’s why her female fans would cheer her:
“I heard housework just might kill a gal,” she’d pout
And then: “I don’t want to be the first to find out!”
I must have lost my friends,
I should not have clicked "send",
I meant to email you instead
My mind was half asleep,
I called them lazy sheep,
now they cut me dead.
I don’t know what it was,
Maybe just because
The mailing list starts with "A"
Now I'm so uptight
I stared at that screen all night
The screen that led me astray
(chorus)
There is no hack
That can take it back,
No magic “undo” key.
Friends may be sheep,
But the cost was steep,
When the truth-teller was me.
(bridge)
Next time I’ll pause and breathe,
Count to ten before bytes leave.
Read it twice before I click.
Because now I feel sick,
I jumped backwards off the crag,
The cats escaped out of the bag.
In social effigy I hang
No sense of humor in that gang
I've become a hermit living in caves
A wild eyed maniac who rants and raves
I still feel the hurt, still feel the pang.
When I hit that key, and the first phone rang.
Each year, for seven days, it sat upon the shelf
between the silver candle and the season's elf;
It's once glorious value now a faded red
labeled so with speckled stains from bitter tears shed.
For forty years, more, her ritual has been thus;
a once vivacious thing who's clearly missed the bus.
It was the giver, not the gift, she should enjoy
the god of beauty and desire, Aphrodite's boy.
On promise made, she gave him all, her everything,
then came the hour he sent this red box wrapped with string.
She would walk past the box, occasionally smile;
cradle in her arms, rock like a baby for a while.
Up till the moment that the Gin took its effect,
and then, the bitterness and bile let loose unchecked
wild-eyed anger, spittled lips screaming out profanes.
Doesn't know what's in the box but knows what it contains;
loss of trust, loss of faith, and loss of all desire,
all thrown upon her vanity's funeral pyre.
She'll put away the gift until she needs a fix
of wallowing self-loathing from her box of tricks.
wild eyed pancakes
invented by grandma
two kernels of corn for eyes
delighting her grandchildren
sometimes a mistake makes the best memory
‘You’ve had one too many’
Declared old Paddy’s wife
She always spoiled his evenings
With her ‘trouble’ and her ‘strife’
‘I’m absolutely sober’
He replied with much aplomb
‘I’ve only had a couple
And I’m drinking beer, not rum’
‘I don’t care what you’re drinking,
You don’t know when to stop
I rue the day I married you
You useless, boozy sop’
‘Oh, hold your blather, Missus
Give that whinging voice a rest
The day you married me
I’ll have you know you got the best’
‘Got the best? Well I’ll be buggered
You really are a pain
I wish that you’d get off yer ass
And fix that broken windowpane’
Now at this Paddy got real pissed
And sat up in his chair
‘Don’t you talk to me of work!’
He said with wild-eyed glare
‘I’ve worked myself to death for you
But you only whinge and moan
I swear I’ll clobber you real good
If you keep on with that tone’
But she was unrepentant
And continued with her rant
On and on she chided him
With never ending cant
The last was one too many
For this much maligned hubby
So he lurched across the kitchen
And he hit her with his stubby!
I had a vision,a waking dream.I drove someone,a female to a beautiful secluded spot in nature.It may have been the trail of tears state park.We sat in the car and talked for a while till I asked her would she like for me to take a stroll allowing her some privacy for the storm that was brewing.She said no ,she wanted my presence .Almost inaudibly a sound began as if from the soles of her feet building in volume and intensity .As each resistant cell released what it had long held the volume continued to escalate as it sought a point of egress.Arriving at her wild eyed contorted face she looked at me questiongly.I responded with a look of calm reassurance that she would endure this . it ripped its way up her throat pulling her head back with the force of the long contained explosion of pain releasing a scream that both frightened and awed . A ferral non human wale of a banshee that made the hair stand stiffly at the nape of my neck .
Then she collapsed into an outpouring ,no flood gate
Could have contained removing the last vestiges of the unbearable weight she had exhaustively carried.And then she was well.
They’re seen, all three sons; aren’t they cute. (sarcasm)
All heard, and not far from the root.
These boys, toothless feasts.
Fangs of wild-eyed beasts.
Just watch, here comes dad; see the boot.
Super Souper 9-16-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Super Souper
Super Soupers wrangle rhymes
into verses quite sublime
Taming wild-eyed metaphors
into iambic strophes galore
Lassoing doggy ironies
with clever lines, entendre ease
Galloping alliterations
corralled by personifications
Silencing cacophony
with gentle mooing euphony
Bucking wild imagery
herded into symmetry
Stampeding loco thin illusions
bulldogged into chutes of allusions
Bad hoss herds of assonance
saddled for a dressage dance
Bucking broncos hyperbole
Juxtaposed by analogy
Anaphoras on loco weed
settle into quatrain reads
Super Soupers let words rip
in rodeos of craftmanship.
“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg.
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Stirring souls, poetry just knows,
Love, fire, boldest winds of desire,
Rains blessing, song without a choir.
Words pouring out soft, gentle prose,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Glistening dreams, love to extremes,
Beckoning from silence that screams.
Dance of dances, fluid verses,
Poetry that grace coerces,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Poems who don’t just tell but shows.
Rhymes and rhythms, tenderly abide,
Singing of light, sometimes wild-eyed,
Hearts might remain in the shadows,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
There’s a howling in the air tonight
A baying at the moon
For the hound is running free again
And his voice has joined the tune
Of a thousand other voices
That echo through the years
And a certain blue-tick calling
– She’s calling through my tears
They’re in the backwoods running now
Like in a younger age
Baying on the trail with joy
As they did just yesterday
With their feet, like wings, a'flying
As they gulp the happy air
Wild-eyed little maniacs
Without a worldly care!
Do you hear them now, my darling?
Do you see them in the fields
The sun upon their shadows, the wind
Blowing through their ears?
As you know you’ll always see them
And hear them from afar
Romping through the atmosphere
From star to shining star
Now they pause in listening silence
As if they seem to sense
The presence of our memories
In the near but distant past –
For their memories, as such they keep
Are as near as mine today
Which holds them still, while still I weep
For my hounds of yesterday –
Kangaroos bounce lower
for tis the season
some roo laze on their backs
smoke electric cigarettes
Green moments
are discovered in Antarctica
Give your thanks America
give us your huddled elves
your heaving tinsel mountains
sprinkle all our glary nights
Wild-eyed are the rug-rats
they expect a baby-born
one bearing gifts from Toyland
alas alack the three wise guys
took a wrong left in the sand
and found themselves Outback
they waltz now around the billabongs
seeking the vapor trails of large marsupials
and they, the Aussie big boppers
the hoppers, are just chilling
unwilling to face more festive day's
nor shovel up or scoop
yet more reindeer poop
Picture day a day that I from self consciousness detested
add to my gap toothed grin wild eyed and unrested
In first grade sitting next to a handsome young man in a suit
Bouncing along on the bus ride motion sick to boot
The stress of the day tipping the scales on me
and his closest pant leg
Humiliated my sister rushed up his pardon to please
Kindly beg
He put his arm around my heaving shoulders
And said
You couldn't help it honey,and against him lay my head
Home permed ,disgruntled ,with stain
on my dress
This young man's kindness I can attest
Went well above and beyond as did my breakfast
I'm right here, lying in the mid-year heat,
In my yard, on that antiquated seat,
To hear Kera's joyful voice singing,
To watch fireflies on pixie wings glinting.
Regardless of the sun setting, it's still very hot,
The dampness previously had drenched the lot,
However, I am right here, drinking my scrumptious tea,
to savor the gifts the season has given me.
A good deal like an old bullfrog emits a gentle sound,
The date is perused on the greenery-covered ground,
Either that or the bats that fly around the watch's lighting,
I'm strolling around setting up a feast for the evening.
You can see the stars in the clear night sky,
The moon is a fragment and the coyotes cry,
You can hear an owl in a distant tree,
Tonight, wild-eyed and thankful, I flee.
There may be a shower tomorrow night,
Regardless, I'll love to involve in that sight,
Drops rising ruckus on earth should be seen,
Without fail, thunder conveys a heavenly scene.
I'm right here, lying in the mid-year heat,
In my yard, on that antiquated seat,
To hear Kera's joyful voice singing,
To watch fireflies on pixie wings moving.
Written: July 16, 2022
The Capitol’s a scary place to be.
It’s overrun by noisy, wild-eyed critters.
These hordes are a surreal sight to see,
with actions that give some of us the jitters!
Just thinking of them is so darned depressing.
Their antics recent news reports are stressing.
Compared to them, cicadas are a blessing!
June 11, 2021
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