Yo, dig my shades?
Yo, yo, I don’t know
but I’ve been told
mean ol’ homework
will rot my soul.
Yo, yo, I don’t know
but I’ve been told
mean ol’ chores
are an empty bowl.
Yo, yo, I don’t know
but I’ve been told
walkin’ to school
is hard on the sole.
Yo, yo, I don’t know
but so it goes
I done counted
and I have ten toes.
Yo, yo, I don’t know
and may never be told
when this silly rhyme
starts to get old.
Filed under Photo by author, Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author
This is a note to tell you
that Wall Street has taken away
the things I really needed:
my workshop, my reindeer, my sleigh.
I now make my rounds on a jackass;
he’s old and crippled and slow.
So, if you don’t see me come Christmas,
I’ll be out on my ass in the snow.
Santa mounts a new challenge.
[Editor’s note: original appeared in Dec. 2012, but brought back because it still applies. And because I can.]
Filed under cartoon by author, Christmas, poetry, Santa Claus, satire
Unlucky 13
O’ triskaidekaphobia —
don’t let it annoy ya —
your paranoia,
your frightened mind.
This triskaidekaphobia,
it will destroy ya,
I do implore ya,
your fear it will find.
Yes, triskaidekaphobia,
it will toy with ya,
and even enjoy with ya
superstition sublime.
Said triskaidekaphobia,
“I don’t want to bore ya,
but I’ll take Peoria,
at twelve Central time.”
Came triskaidekaphobia,
by way of Astoria
thirteen more than ya
hoped you could confine.
But triskaidekaphobia
was unlucky ya know ya
and took the thirteenth floor ya
and then fell to its decline.
Of triskaidekaphobia,
I’ll say no more to ya
because history will show to ya
that it will all intertwine.
Filed under Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author
Pig on a porch swing
Pig in a Porch
by David E. Booker
Pig on a porch swing
sittin’ by the road.
One day waved
at a passing toad.
Toad wheeled around
to give the pig heck
when the pig pulled out
a menu and a pet.
The toad saw the pig
had a frog on a string,
which to him was
the oddest of all things.
I’ll free that frog
if it takes all day.
the toad said to himself
when asked the pig to play.
Pig on a porch swing
sittin’ by the road.
One day waved
at a passing toad.
Toad wheeled around
to give the pig heck
when the pig pulled out
a menu and a pet.
The toad saw the pig
had a frog on a string,
which to him was
the oddest of things.
I’ll free that frog
if it takes all day.
the toad said to himself,
then he asked the pig to play.
The pig said, “Sure
Whatcha have in mind?”
The toad said, “Sit Still.
It’s a favorite of mine.”
So the pig sat still
Well into the night
Which was all well and good
And to the Toad’s great delight.
So, to this very day
Should you pass by his swing
You’ll find our intrepid pig
Is still doing the statue thing.
Filed under Freeform Friday, Photo by author, poetry by author
There once was a hairdresser in port
who, while wearing a pink hard hat, would cavort.
And to this very day,
though the construction’s gone away,
is still known to have a snarky retort.
A hairdresser and her hard hat. Retort extra.
You can find out more about this pink hard hat and the woman wearing it at: http://ephemeralfilaments.wordpress.com/.
Filed under limerick, poetry by author, Random thought
Smiley faces here,
float across my sight. Sincere?
My eyes don’t see clear.
[Editor’s note: a bit of silliness apropos of nothing in particular, other than sometimes I think “emoticons” are overused and somehow this rhyming haiku floated across my mind. Of course, real smiley faces are at times overused as well, creating a sense, at least in my mind, of a bleary reality.]
Filed under haiku, poetry by author, Workshop weekend
There once was a woman from Oak Ridge
who used sexual “knottiness” as a bridge.
She’d tie down her sailor;
have him now and have him latter.
And she’d (k)not keep it quiet, (k)not a smidge.
Filed under Knottiness, limerick, poem, poetry by author
Sacred cow meeting notes: Sartre never attended a bored meeting.
In a meeting.
In a life.
Full of woe.
Full of strife.
Full of things
I do not know.
Not sure yet
which way to go.
In a meeting.
In a life.
Full of woe.
Full of strife.
Full of dimwits,
Full of “fun,”
I cannot wait
’til this day’s done.
In a meeting.
In a life.
Full of woe.
Full of strife.
But no angels
can save me now.
Nor a Brahmin,
nor sacred cow.
In a meeting.
In a life.
Full of woe.
Full of strife.
Come what may,
come what might,
this is my
gas inducing plight.
Filed under cartoon by author, Drawing conclusions, poetry by author
We shall die a death of ignorance
Hurling epithets instead of wonder.
We shall die a death of ignorance
Full of bluster and decanted blunder.
We shall die a death of ignorance
With our children rent asunder.
We shall die a death of ignorance
And our only hope of sustenance
Will be what’s left of our comeuppance
In the hell we’ve made of utterance
As our souls live the devil’s slumber
And the world goes down and under,
Down and under, down and under.
Filed under death of ignorance, poem, poetry by author
Where the skies are blue and the lions, too.
If worse comes to worst, start writing verse.
A rhyme in time will take your mind
away from this cursed ‘verse.
It will take you to worlds never you knew.
It will take you to worlds never more true.
Where the skies are blue and the lions are, too.
Filed under cartoon by author, poem, rhyming poetry
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