Sunday, September 30, 2012

“Misappropriated Muscadines”

We sat at the feast,
Watching races rather than the NFL, oh well.
Then the host showed us his fruit picks
From new in-law lands violated.

“We never imagined a refusal”
Upon our net perusal,
Of glorious glory Gloria purpleness,
Thrust upon us like a berry berry treat.

The juicy juice is moribund-
Compared to what VW is paying.
Likewise unqualified dunces such as I
The rider, the runner, the berry non-shunner.
I profess to love those I have abandoned
To the caress of steel and the imagined feel
Of berries in the dark, of juice drank in the park.
Of ‘Dairy Barn’ cones fulfilled alone.
Leave me the rest of the leavened best.
Beer and a treat tricked upon the sweet sheet street.
Alphea, those price changes are serious,
But so is the way you brush across me to verify us.


The Canadians have a different word for zero,
Now tell me Ted would you use zed in a sentence
If Lisbeth would wink back at you?

I saw zed one time, on the blue
Lining on my cold weather sleeping bag/
Floor bed combo for dates not rating a
Drive-In visit or trip to the ominous “knobs.”

Never doubt the veracity of scotch tape
Sticking over key-holes, OR
The definition of NO when considered as
A request rather than a demand.

“I leave judgment to the Judge and
Silence to the silenced.”
Leavened bread and flesh fish
Freshed to the hungry Hungary mob.

Forgive me sweet beaver of Texas!
Won ton ton and the grape ape freshness
Demands a confession with no regression,
No altered state or sense of weight
For never ending a sentence with a preposition.


You saw the werewolves,
The ambulance siren hurt your ears.
Oh Albert, why did I leave you
With a roll of sausage and a prayer?

Big Al, you were dependable,
Unlike Pooty, though she was sweet.
Leave the last words unwritten
For the broken-arm van drivers.

Ah-Roo, Ah-Roo, Ah-Roo!
Serenade the dark still countryside!
Help the sailor and the mermaid
Remember the sound of the tide!

Rocks rock my world and yet
I need you friend Albert.
Scratch away the vermin of time,
Make pure will a metronome!

Bark! Bark! Woof!
(It’s the same in French)
My dog, the hero never shown in ‘The Odyssey’
Defeats Scala and watches ‘Jersey Shore’.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

"The Gift"

A random street refugee clad in bunny shoes
Approached  good Ms Mama Bess & Baby Gee
Asking with authority, “Are you a Christian?”
(Just like in the song “Walking in Memphis”)
Of course good Ms Mama Bess said “Yes!”

The wizened possible malconcent rogue
Then plopped a weird round rock squarely into
Mama Bess’ pale white right hand and gleefully
Professed, “this here be a diamond blessing for
Sweet, sweet Baby Gee and a totem o’ luck to ye!”

Mama Gee left, her heart hotrodding in a flutter
Wondering if she and caterpillar Baby Gee
Were rich and ready for a Knoxville Kohl’s trip.
Her friends quoted Scripture and science,
Then something unexpected flew in the zoo.

The rock began to sing, it sang a song about
Cutting glass and cutting class and
Sermons on the Mount behind Wood’s
Truckstop converting 5 loaves and fish
Into Facebook credits and an Ebay wish.

“Golly Gee, we have hit solid gold Baby,”
Mama Bess wiped a tear and confessed.
She put Singing Rock on the mantle Uncle Jess
Brung back from the Viet Cong home of Ages.
-Duo prayed earnestly to melodic mineral Diety.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

“The Importance of Dying at Home”

Take me off this battlefield grey,
Place me in front of the fire,
With daughter reading the Good Book
While my Love tends to the baby.

Who will do the spring planting?
Tow that stubborn mule back in the row?
How will little Willy know his Pap
Loved and held him through the croup?

I should have fixed the roof better,
Dug that well out more for sis.
Glad I hunted when I did with brother,
Won’t never get to borry his gun again.

Take care of old Blue for me darlin’
Rub his ears and fuss over him some,
Don’t fret that I’m not there please,
I’d have come home if I could’ve come.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

“Seven Heaven”

Get your update,
Secure your star mate,
Don’t be an ingrate.
We failed to compensate.

Nude on the moon, or
The Swingin` Mid-Way Drive-In
Look Ralph, me hammer car,
No spirit of radio to carry far.

Whoo Hoo we got bit
By mediocre Gators
Lost in translation
Lurid stand Dayton!

Help there is a bear in my pants!
Oh wait, that is a high-school game.
Go Vols, Go Vols, Go Vols,
Manhandled by third rate geckos.

TV Dinners offer promise,
No Georgia lawyer can surpass.
Hit me, hit me, hit me,
Score the Orange mass!

Friday, September 14, 2012

“New Bad Luck”

Counting past 31 to a calendar,
Expecting better on a ballot,
Keeping the one-eyed fish,
Paying to see Aerosmith,
Eating Greek yogurt at Church.

Watching Friday the 13th then,
Replying to Spam,
Trying to subtract using the Elemental Chart,
Flying over Los Alamos on a Monday,
Eating at Truck Stops on private drives.

Entering a race with your real name,
Going to Bristol for Nascar in March,
Wearing rubber boots on a first date,
Reciting Soft Cell lyrics in class,
Eating solar heated TV dinners.

Any Mexican vacation,
Paying annual membership at a library,
Wearing a wig from a funeral hime,
Observing the mating habits of freshmen,
Eating in the Wal-Mart ‘restaurant’.

Wearing the same colored socks for a test,
Taking pictures in the dark in Englewood,
Running toward the neighbor’s dog Bonkers,
Leaving an IOU as a tip at the A&W,
Eating in Etowah on ANY Monday.

“Going Shirtless”

If I couldn’t mow
Without my shirt on,
I think I would feel
Like someone else’s

“Come Read ‘Tom Sawyer’ to Me Again Dear Teacher”

Dedicated to Mrs. Althea Johnson, the best fourth-grade teacher in the world.

Millions of things come to mind
When asked “what does being
Grown-Up mean?”
Driving, dating, working, yada Yoda yada.
But ever hardly never being read to…

It’s a short-schriff sale this adulthood.
Oh my the places and people we smeet.
But when alone, either at night or in
Showerzone, traffic-jam, Wal-Mart line wreck-
I want Mrs. Johnson to read to me again.

Read to me about Tom and Huck and Becky,
Jim and the Indian man and Aunt Polly.
Scary caves and pirates and fence painting-
Save me Mrs. Johnson from bland news,
Biased work reviews, and QE3 blues!

Read to me, let the child in the man
Experience a return to Eden before the fall.
Narrate the stories with the ‘bad words’
Marked through and love for your listeners
Beyond the insulting salaries we pay you.

Who is luckier than every young student
To have second Mothers or Fathers that loved
Us wholly, our faults and talents alike?
Read to me again Mrs. Johnson-Your voice
Still guides me in my journey on the river.

“When Rock Was Young”

It was the Roll that made the Rock.
Kids could go and do something
Besides watch crusty VFW guys
Bowl and belch and adjust their
Hearing aides then paw spouses.

Having a dance party in the yard
Was cool-cat status, not wearing
A&F or texting imaginary friends
While droning on about the sallow
Emptiness of discarded Starbuck cups.

Before student protesters were
Murdered by Army men or people
Got trampled to death trying to
See The Who and culture gods
Began to self-terminate-Rock Ruled.

Rock and Roll will never die, ShaNaNa.
Ageing voices and strings and flash
Serve as instruments of ego torture for
Great reduced to grey, don’t fade away.
Johnny B. Goode tonight OK?

Old Rockers that can’t play or sing
Have one respite and it’s a doozy.
When the phat kat hoppity hippers
Go AARP old Dre and Suge and
Cube and T won’t have tha’ surge.

Go back to the drive-in days
When the vehicles came from
America and the music came
From a happy place free from
Guilt, remorse, or cutter’s purge.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

“I Can See Heaven”

I don’t read newspapers,
What is the point
Of reading someone else’s
Opinion of what happened?
I can see Heaven.

I was the newest
Fad to come down the pike
Until the covers were pulled
Back on reality kings-but
I can see Heaven!

People think I can do
Things seldom imagined.
It is amazing what words
Do when listeners know
I can see Heaven.

They named a jello flavor
After me-consolation for
Capitol dumping my crew.
Crumbs are mighty tasty &
I can see Heaven.

Ramble, rumble, ice-fish
Stumble up that stairway.
“Follow me,” whispers Tinkerbell.
I’ll never be able to go there, yet
I can see Heaven.

"The Queen Is Dead"

The Queen is dead,
What shall we do?
Asked the old woman,
Who lived in a shoe.
The Queen is dead,
The Prince is sad.
Gone now are the days
Of peace that he had.

The Queen is dead,
The night is long.
What light may shine when
There is no great song?

The Queen is dead-
Koo kat, koo kat
Koo kat koo, say hey
Tomorrow today.

The Queen is dead,
Royal flash panned.
Coupons in the sand.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

“Battleship Chains Amid the Still Life Sky”

The day after was worse,
The sick stomach pit now
Enveloped the body whole,
Ladybugs even be bopped
With less grace and aplomb.

Ghost ships from WWII
Patrolled the sallow September skies
After the secret of steel was
Exploited in a paint-by-numbers
Simplicity and death scythe certainty.

Ahoy! All ye dead sailors of the Pearl.
Joined now by less sovereign
Wage definers and babble-shoots,
Subjugated to jumping sans the
Mandated golden parachute.

When diamond shards rain the
Covers of green-backed streets,
Top hats morph into Gunnery helmets
Worn by Captain Charles on the USS Cole,
Feathered chapeau in a G.A. Custer dreamscape.

Going down cripple creek with all the
Cripples, ladders with broken rungs,
Rookies with broken lungs,
Relegated to hero for a day status
In the charter schools of Kingdom Come.

Friday, September 7, 2012

“Texas Wind Honey Boo Boo”

It gets into your personal space
Fast as an Armadillo on meth.

It was wrong for that business student
To suggest calling Erzchas “Mike”

The waves lap your lap and fish
Fly high overhead, Apache arrow imposters.

When did we replace cutting edge
With arrogant small-mindedness?

Yippee kai yay the honeywagon’s here!
Mmmmm, lego sandwich, my favorite!

People in suits look ridiculous
Wearing backpacks with blank stares.

Honey Boo Boo threw a rattlesnake
On the bad man from Salt Lake.

Motorcycle riders never understand
The merits of dry pants and socks.

Blow south wind, blow me away!
Beach fishing & wishing Raymond Burr wasn’t gay.

Monday, September 3, 2012

“Stealing the Moon”

The night was dark
As the masked bandit
Scrambled around the porch
Seeking the bucket of orbs
One of which was The MOON!

My raccoon thief, more
Stealthy than bright, as
Property magicians tend to be,
Had heard from a cricket of
The Lunar Sphere hiding in my pail.

His name might be Alphonse,
I guess I shall never know, unless
A pig squeals on him, oink, oink!
All I saw was the aftermath,
Golf balls strewn, container upset.

White plastic whiffles,
Nicked Wilson journeymen,
In need of a wash and dry.
One fluorescent orange still there,
Alas my hi-lite moon yellow favorite-