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I saw someone
I haven’t seen in a while
She was so happy
So laid back
This person
I love her to death
I wish she would come out more
For all occasions
She was smileing
So happy and bright
Her laugh
Was filled with joy
This girl
I admire her
I really do
Who whould have thought
This girl, would be me
Days come and go
Day in and day out
We dream about what tommorow will be
We take it all in at once
Happiness, Joy and sadness
We make our lives what we wish
We will always remember the ones we miss
Our first love our first kiss
The ones who stood by us in a mess
We remember the loved ones
No hate was ever shown
For in order to hate you must love
And in order to love you must hate
At least we know who we can trust
We do as we must to succeed
And always help a friend in need
Dreams are not just dreams
stray dogs coughin’ from
tight-chokin’ leashes …
tryst early romance
of two fainthearted
nouveau riches
told by quick stolen quiches …
spring flowers bloomin’ wild
off ivory towers …
and runnin’ rivers carrion
swarmin’ young microfiches …
spawn a scene that some
might hold comical, inimical,
or strangely Omar Khayyamical—
or merely facetious—
while others may think it
ridiculous, too implausible …
or simply specious.
Now I’ve left this life
of extraordinary pain
and rugged strife
without much gain,
I confess of riches
I have none.
So it is with pleasure
in goodly measure
I bequeath
my old false teeth
to my eldest son.
here by grace of god go I,
formally charged with:
arrogant skullduggery;
an ill-timed church-pewed sigh;
embellished misplaced modesty;
one self-destructive little lie;
surpassingly inferior poetry;
misfired, too strained hilarity …
and a grisly murder
in rural tennessee
in the first degree
of a drunken damselfly—
and I’m here left hanging
so bare of alibi.
Dry-Gulch Billabong
billabong = Aboriginal ... from
billa water + bang channel dry
except after rain
---Oxford Dict. of Foreign
Words and Phrases
---------
I felt sweet shadow’s shade
Come promptly to my aid
When out of sun’s strong rays
I did hie
Birds quit callin’.
Night’s now fallen,
Which trips me up.
I fall in bed
With sleepy head
Without my sup.
Then sans remorse
I dream of horse
Called Buttercup;
And morn will come—
Sardoodledum!—
I trust … oh, yup.
I’m so old and tired
and so undesired—
and so unadmired—
I ought to be fired.
I shouldn’t be rehired
for I’m all expired.
all systems no go
should be my logo.
I think it would be weird
if we had a sitting president
who wore a scraggly beard.
but it’s weirder still to contemplate,
as I scratch my mental itch,
that we’ve got, indeed,
a presidential sonofabitch
who’s an effing ostrich.