Details |
Ken Page Poem
EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT NOBODY KNOWS
The Paleolithic Era was a long time ago.
It consisted of a few years in a row.
That's pretty standard as eras go.
I don't know what happened,
but there's one thing I know.
They didn't have any damned yards to mow.
But nobody really knows.
Ancient Times likely invented rhymes.
And who knows, there might have been mimes.
Even some who committed mime-crimes.
I don't know what happened,
but there are many times
you run out of rhymes.
But it doesn't matter anyway, cause nobody knows.
In the Middle Ages, there were many outrages.
I think they ran out of sages,
maybe put people in cages.
I don't know what happened,
but it happened in stages,
likely started with stagnant wages.
But nobody really knows.
The Renaissance they say was delightfully gay.
lots of visitors wanted to stay.
They invented swordplay or was it parfait?
I don't know what happened,
but they took a survey,
and most of you don't either, ok!
Not you, not anybody knows.
During the Baroque, people learned to smoke.
Newton did speak, he was this scientist bloke.
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away", is exactly what he spoke.
Outside of that, I don't know what happened.
Some king likely choked on all the damned smoke,
and you know, somewhere a fire needed stoked.
But hell, nobody knows
The Rococo was quite a big show.
Marie Antoinette said from her window,
"Just let me eat my cake, and the people can go…"
I don't know what happened,
but revolution was sewn,
and somewhere someone moaned.
Whatever, I don't know, nobody knows.
Romanticism was like a prison.
Inflation had risen,
so Walt Whitman went fishin'.
I don't know what happened,
but I think there was kissin',
and a buggy collision.
But damn it, nobody knows!
The 19th century was a time of discovery.
Bonaparte invented the water loo,
evolution came to Darwin while at the zoo.
I don't know what happened.
But I'm telling you,
things must have happened, they always do.
Just because nobody knows it could still be true.
The 20th century wasn't the best.
People ate bowls of dust that were hard to digest.
In 1982, I got an abscess and failed my driver's test.
I don't know what happened,
but after I take a rest,
I'll give it my best guess.
But you know, no one knows, it's not a contest.
The 21st century is still going on,
nevertheless, not much is known.
Just get on Google and leave me alone.
I don't know what's happening,
I've spent most of it prone,
staring through the ceiling at the great unknown.
Because everybody knows that nobody knows.
Copyright © Ken Page | Year Posted 2020
|
Details |
Ken Page Poem
In Birmingham I tried a scam,
involving some velvet and ham.
It appears I am damned.
Wound up in the slam.
I tried a hustle one night in Brussels.
But all I could rustle,
was just enough muscle,
to muster a bustle.
I tried an old con in Lebanon.
But pistols were drawn.
Had to play the moron.
Said I'd just been a pawn.
Attempted to fool some lads in Liverpool.
Though their first reaction was cool,
they set upon me with tools,
nearly smashed my crown jewels!
I went to Kuwait to impersonate,
a wealthy magnate, a friend of Bill Gates.
But at the customs gate, a guard got irate,
said, "Decide on which hand, I'll now amputate.".
Had a great plan, to sell guns to Iran.
Then a CIA man, with a barbeque tan,
said I'm not a big fan, of your really great plan.
Demanded I name, my middleman,
or take a one-way trip in his long black sedan.
Tried to rob a store in Singapore.
Asked the clerk for more.
Made him mighty sore.
I couldn't move before,
he had me on the floor,
picked me up and tossed me out the door.
Went to Burbank to rob a bank.
I never thought to thank,
that a bank in Burbank,
would have the means to flank,
me with an M1 tank.
Kidnapped an heiress in the heart of Paris.
She never would desist,
with efforts to resist.
She had bats for fists
that hit like Roger Marris.
Soon I found myself in the house of correction.
Lots of time for reflection.
As a crook I was hardly perfection.
But for a crook there was another direction.
I'd run in the next election!
Copyright © Ken Page | Year Posted 2020
|
Details |
Ken Page Poem
Sung to, You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch, (extended version).
KP
You’re a monster, Donny Dump.
Some biiig-time twiiisted clooown.
To no end, I could deride you,
are no depths you didn’t fall to,
no ineptness could elude you,
the bottom-feeders they all miss you,
though they tried so hard to keep you,
loving everything that you do,
eat up every word that you spew,
though each word of it is untrue,
Donny Duuuuump.
You’re a purple septic scab leaking a nasty orange ooooooze.
Up there on Wall Street, Donny Dump,
they reeeally loooved you toooo.
You’re as crooked as they had been
as obsessed with all the green.
Make them richer than they had been
cause you’re really one of them.
Just like your very own kin,
the endless money that they spend,
fools the public once again
the economy booms for them
Donny Duuuuump
You’re the featured orange freak show, at a midnight carnival of sleaze.
You astound me, Donny Dump
I caaant beliiive you’re realll.
Your so tiny shrunken brain
has most everything to gain,
as your test does well explain,
person, woman, camera, … plain.
Your stable genius would remain
if your head were full of grain
much more info you’d retain
but your head’s an open drain.
Donny Duuuuump
You’re a plate of writhing worms covered in orange-brown fecal sauuuuuuce.
You drug us all down, Donny Dump.
You suuuurely stomped us gooood.
You failed to make us great,
more like second or third rate.
With your penchant to dictate,
you spread your vicious hate.
All you do’s obliterate
institutions that restate
how our principles are great,
it’s America you hate
Donny Duuuuump.
You soiled the office, Donny Dump.
You reaaaly stunk it uuuup.
Said the swamp, you’d drain it clean
but stocked it worse than ever seen.
Filled it up with much obscene
and a double-dose of mean.
Papered the walls with demean
and a giant slice of spleen.
Treated the halls of power
like a carpeted latrine
Donny Duuuump
An 8-hour steel-wool scrubbing with Pine-Sol, bleach, and borax mixed with Comet, Ajax, turpentine combined with virkon, phenols, and thymol, suspended in vinegar, vodka, and peroxide couldn’t nearly get you clean!
You failed to steal it, Donny Dump.
Your deeeeal has noooow been seeeeealed.
You no longer have the power,
you grow weaker by the hour.
Now it’s you who can go cower
in your tasteless plastic tower.
You can lift yourself higher
self-copulating in the shower.
And if your mood has really soured,
they’ll find you a teen to deflower.
Donny Duuuuuump.
Have you seen "The Hudsucker Proxy", mister Dump? Why don’t you go to the very top floor of your tower, stand up on the end of a very long table, face the far end, take a sprinter’s starting stance, lift your head and say, “person, woman, camera, window”, put one foot forward then another, haul your lard-ass bulk down the table at ever-increasing speed and do a walrus dive, head first through the giant window, pummel 58 floors, kiss all our asses on your way, and leave the art of your final deal spread all over 5th avenue!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ken Page, 11/20
Copyright © Ken Page | Year Posted 2020
|