My left sock filed taxes on a Tuesday frog,
while a cabbage sang opera to a confused log.
The moon ate a stapler with mustard delight,
then borrowed a canoe from the darkness of light.
I purchased a banana for seventeen clouds,
but the receipt was allergic to yodeling crowds.
A rhinoceros teacup performed ballet cheese,
and a watermelon sneezed in seven languages.
My toaster proposed to a decorative brick,
their wedding was speedy, suspiciously quick.
The minister hamster wore cinnamon pants,
while unicycling ferrets performed tribal dances.
At midnight a turnip became Vice President,
its policies largely were soup-oriented.
It promised free waffles for every raccoon,
and declared every Thursday a ceremonial spoon.
The end is approaching, or maybe a chair.
A penguin just shampooed the national air.
I leave you this wisdom, profound as a sock:
If potatoes can whisper,
then gravy can rock.
Fin.
Or asparagus.
It’s my graduation,
What an awesome day,
What can I say,
Up a few steps,
Then capped,
Then down a few,
Between me and you,
All of 90 seconds
No more,
No fuss, no trumpet,
No encore,
I studied, I slaved,
I cried,
I worked through
The night,
For 4 years,
For this honor,
My family hardly
Heard my name,
But this
Was for me,
My moment of fame.
Made all the
More special,
With the presence
Of my 13 year old son,
Homework all done,
Yodeling his admiration,
In true traditional
South African style.
The puppet theater was enchanted, we all knew it too.
Weird bleating goats and dancing sheep knew what to do.
Yodeling chickens and roosters danced in a fancy chorus line.
We could watch these antics at any time, and it was fine!
The puppet theater had been created by a magical man.
He had wizardly ways. I think his name was Devilish Dan.
He parked this enchanted theater up high on a meadow’s hill.
Soulful laughing and singing can be heard from this theater still.
A giant red moon appears every seven years
Over blue lakes and shallow lagoons
Over faithful flocks of yodeling loons
Over the peaceful shores and white dunes
Across the Cameroons
You can hear the tune of the yodeling loon.
every seven years under the giant red moon.
A giant red moon appears.
every twenty-seven years
during the month of June
Over blue lakes and shallow lagoons
Over faithful flocks of yodeling loons
Over the peaceful shores and white dunes
Across the Cameroons
You can hear the tune of the yodeling loon.
every twenty-seven years under the giant red moon.
I am drunk, stoned, woozy and tipsy
Drinking beer, brandy and whiskey,
Swinging with abandon like a gipsy.
Kinda crazy, sozzled but hella merry…
Ha, Mary, kiss me! And Yo Sherry,
Your luscious lips, red as a ripe cherry…
Yoo-hoo, life could be a ding-a-derry.
The unsavory past is but long forgotten
Life’s more fun now and not at all rotten
The hurt is bearable and the pain lessen
Since flirting with this devious devil often
Brings me bliss and heartaches soften.
Like little children laugh, dance and sing
All summer, winter, autumn and spring,
With a passionate heart I bid you to bring
lots of hugs, kisses and joyful yodeling.
~A Brian Strand contest.
Contest: Addiction
Sponsor: Rob Levasseur
Here's the Good News, our world is awash,
in wonders and beauty life cannot quash;
Like laughter and love, kind words, Turtle Doves,
Bar Mitzvahs and birthdays, baptisms and first dates,
Promotions, Grand Openings, healings and yodeling!
Still more Good News...
Our world is awash, in kisses and hands held,
Tests passed, graduations, and money found;
Quiet moments of solitude, with friends in coffee shops,
Good moods rise above, and a dog’s unconditional love!
And still more...
A cat’s warm fur, trips to masseuse or masseur;
Reports of remission, Broadway shows and magicians,
Art galleries, symphonies, faith and homeless ministries;
Be ye conscious of good news, often awash,
Overwhelmed by negative, it simply gets lost.
Just a heads up--Good News Sells too!
March 22, 2020
No sunrise sparkled brighter,
No thunder clapped,
No trumpet sounded at your birth.
You were just born,
Grew to live youth,
To fish back country ponds, summer streams,
Run roadways and highways like a deer,
To work, to marry,
Raise a family,
Retire to loneliness,
To find yourself
Within yourself
In back woods you loved.
Your friends were trees,
As were birds, and clouds and summer flowers
And squash berries.
When you were down, you looked up
To her, your departed love and wife-Annie.
Your joy was in a tenor voice to guitars,
Kitchen sing -a- longs
And cowboy yodeling.
You knew not your time.
No bugle sounded at your death,
The world paid no respects
But we wept there beneath tall trees and mountains,
Where you were laid to rest,
Where mother finally saw you home
And peace was truly yours.
Spruce trees, fish, clouds, ponds and streams
Will all remember you…as I.
W.C.Hull ©2000-2020-20-11-018
A HOLIDAY SCORE
What to do? What to do?
The pancakes do stick!
The milk is out sick!
So the brethren of eggs
beaten and stirred
resound in yolk
a yodeling
quick
so the grandson’s lips
smack
with satisfaction
so their fingers
can pluck
their electronic guitars —
for games like sugarplums
dance in their heads,
a holiday score.
11/23/2108
The egg; a standing ovation in a shell
A fluid protected in its thin infinity
The unborn child of a chicken
A fragile innocence in gooey liquid
Never to grow up and out of it
That does not travel well
When dropped from great heights
Say a tall building, an airplane in flight
Or from the top of the Grand Canyon
A yoke offers small protection from a fall
Yodeling won't help it either
It does not matter to the egg
Though it has no wings just yet
And it never will
The egg has no memory to forget
It has no fear of anything not oval
A perfect egg is boiled for three minutes
Cracked open gently with a silver spoon
Saddled with a side of toast and bacon hot
Some butter, with salt and pepper sprinkled
The egg makes a nice treat in yellow and white
A marvelous guest dressed up in Hollandaise
Easy to serve and easy to digest
Always on the menu of memory at breakfast
Just one short portage and the park is ours,
Canoe laden down for a one week stay.
At the site in just a matter of hours.
It has been too long since we got away.
The next morning calm, with a touch of fog.
Sitting on the bank, the sunshine a plus.
Deep croaks emitted by an old bullfrog
Echoing back from the cliff behind us.
Five-Lined Skinks running across the rock,
Endangered now, once so commonplace.
Yodeling Loons with their morning pep talk.
Chipmunks scurrying at a nutty pace.
Pour-over coffee perfuming the camp,
The sizzle of bacon beckoning all.
Maybe we'll paddle once it's not so damp
Or just laze around until it's nightfall.
And when the day dims and darkness is king
We'll look up to see that old Milky Way,
Shooting stars, and the moon on it's upswing,
Preparing the skies for a brand new day.
The fireflies flitting freely in the bush.
Raccoon eyes reflected by the campfire.
The occasional mosquito ambush.
That's when you know it's time to retire.
And tomorrow perhaps, when we arise,
We'll launch the canoes, go out and explore.
Pulling back the veil on natures disguise
Or sit in the tent and let the rain pour.
A lonely cowboy yodels as his echo joins him in a duet.
August 18, 2016
A big crude demoness
Entered fabulous Garnet Hotel Inn
Juggling kettles, looting money
Netting oodles, precocious quagmire,
Respite-- she thankfully undressed--
Voluptuous wench, *** yodeling, zonked.
See simple sense
Touch tranquil tense
Ask apt appeal
Younger yore yields
Sense sanguine sighs
Troubles tame tries
Approve asking
Yes yours yelling
Such splendor soars
Treat taut thrills tame
Aid allows aim
Yarn yester yore
Sober soothing spring
Touch tingles things
Astound ample
Yes yodeling
Stretch sensuous sale
Tribe telling tale
Alms after aye
Yours yummy yay
Sample sweet stew
Touch toilsome trounce
Applause astounds
Youth yelling you
Leon Enriquez
10 May 2014
Singapore
Polyphagia on board is forbidden and not welcome ---------- when
Everybody knows that should we ran out of food ---------- crickets
Probably will not feed us anyhow and most of us will ---------- cry
Pensive about victuals whilst starving madly. No ---------- seamen
Ever should go through famine. That's why we must ---------- stop
Relapsing into gluttony in this ship. I approve of ---------- yodeling.
Pepper spray is going to be one of the ---------- calamities
Any glutton will endure as a punishment. Thus, ---------- every
Real seafarer will chant these words now: ---------- "Bearded
Captain wants no fressing within his ship! Yes, ---------- captain!
Every single gob will ration the food. Frugality is a ---------- must!
Lashes and pepper spray those who fail shall ---------- undergo!"
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