We have an unscripted harmony
– You wash the dishes and I tell you jokes
Otherwise you kick me out of the kitchen

You chop onions to upbeat music
"I cry less," you explain
I bite my tongue
Thinking ‘you cry just the same to me’

You have no routine
You use a cookbook today
And your mother's recipe tomorrow

On a good day, you try a new dish
Sometimes it goes awfully bad,
Chuckling at your dismal failure
– You order takeaway

In the land of the Bong did dwell a pong
Wafting on gentle breezes,
As people cried and held their nose:
"What is it? Oh tell us pleases".

But the pong just smiled and drifted on
Over hills and rivers and ponds,
Through townships and trees
Folks fell to their knees
As the pong just floated on.

I’m a half-written book

Some lines are highlighted
Some are all black

Crossed out
So I can never look back

The corners are worn
from all the years I've been writing

The ink is smeared
on the worst pages

Some pages are faded
I’ve reread them too many times

Whole chapters are missing
from this story of mine

My favorite chapters were filled
with you
---

Now here I sit
trying to write the next chapter,
wondering how the rest of the book will unfold

Grebes swim on crisp waters.
Reeds blow in the wind.
Time to make a fresh start,
to find yourself again.

Given the current circumstance
you’ve got to make a friend!
Someone you can turn to,
from outside and within.

A rainbows on the horizon
a scintillating light.
Something new is coming
maybe this very night!

You’ve got to be ready
to pull at the first bite.
Your Gods they will not save you.
if your heart is not quite right!

Slate grey stretched skies
winding snake, skidding sloshing
roads, cold choking cloaks of
icey hugs and screaming wind
tugs. Falling flake feathers
pale as cocaine

Bobble hat wearing brats
lobbing frosty white
spheres, causing stripes
of creamed powdered
crowned cars, to smack

and crash, under a,
concealment of falling
white rain. Brandberry

red faces and blushing
noses, infuriating drivers,
doors flying open with
shaking raging fists

Amidst the Homo sapien species
one anonymous baby birthed:
I recount one little known piece of news
which one young married couple did enthuse,
profusely doting on their first progeny.

You know Harry and Marv
The Joker and Brutus
Darth Vader and Sauron
The Grinch who'd "de-Who" us.

Hannibal Lecter
Cruella De Vil
Honed Freddy Krueger
Cute Gremlins who kill.

Bug-filled Oogie Boogie
Wicked Witch and her broom
Ebenezer Scrooge
In his thrice-haunted room.

Michael Corleone
Godfather, ill-famed
The Dark Lord of Hogwarts
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

But do you recall
The Naughtiest Villain of all?

(Da-da, dum-dum)

He liked to ruin beautiful things.
He would squeeze the life out of a butterfly and leave its crumpled wings on the ground.

He would stomp on bunnies until they stopped twitching
And poison the meat so it could never be eaten.

Deer would stare innocently at him
Until they, too, were destroyed.

Dead roses left in his wake
Petals gone, but thorns sharper than ever.

He whispered lies into the heads of lovers
And left quietly in the night after sparking an argument.

Have you ever thought out loud,
Or had an earnest inner conversation with the self of one
By asking where do I come from?
And where do I really fit in
Into this grander scheme of things in life
‘twas I blessed or passed over?
To inherit the genes of heroes, conquerors,
And climbers of unscalable peaks,
Or was my lineage of something else,
A prisoner condemned for one’s beliefs,
Or a slave in ankle shackles
To a pompous, cruel master.

There once was a lad name of Hannigan
who loved a polygamous mannequin
he was hot, she was cold
but her husbands all hold
polyamorous polyshenanigans