There once was a man from Atlanta
Who said to me, “this is nirvana.”
I’d say all time
Those two words shouldn’t rhyme,
But he thought that I was banana.
(“A Man from Atlanta” – 7-5-2017)
Tag: Nonsense
memories through a self-serving crucible
i loved you once, or maybe twice –
it kind of sucked, or it was nice —
but you were everything to me,
or sort of great to some degree,
or maybe kind of, really, there —
i don’t recall, and i don’t care.
i saved the word from harrows once:
i was the world’s most brilliant dunce.
i used my superpowered wit
to vanquish each and every twit
who chose their vacancies to share:
or maybe. i don’t really care.
the doorbell rang. it was a man
who said they’re taking me away
to where the people never work
and see a doctor every day:
it sounded good, i thought, and so
i left behind that desk and chair —
i found that things don’t go that well
when i decide that i
don’t care
To share is human:
So, There
She wrote a book that no one read,
He read a book that no one wrote;
She thought a thing that neither said,
Which then became his fav’rite quote
His nonsense seemed to trouble her,
Her troubles seemed nonsense to him;
So therein lay their animus
All whimsy lost
Upon
A whim
To share is human:
I Stooped To Use A Metaphor
I stooped to use a metaphor
And kind of scraped my knees;
I should have known the dangers of
Heavy analogies
It figures that figures of speech
Would figure in this tale;
As part of parts of speech is parts
That can be rather frail
And so, unwary and confused.
I tried things to compare:
I stooped to use a metaphor,
But should have stopped
Right there
To share is human:
Boston Cream Pie
Boston Cream Pie is not a pie
Instead, it is a cake:
This place has real Boston Cream Pie,
Which mean it’s really
Fake
To share is human:
Random Limericks – or – Words Hate Me
Already I’m think I’m in trouble
This limerick’s crumbled to rubble
Before a word spoke
My amphibrach broke
And couldn’t be found now by Hubble
= = = = =
A limerick, would be the best
A dactyl or an anapest
But I don’t recall
My meter at all
By now I’m sure you’re unimpressed
= = = = =
These poems are meant to be bawdy
And not full of rhymes that are shoddy
But these are so low
I think I will go
Pretend to be Paul Giamatti
To share is human:
The Ballad of Who and What
There was no one around for leagues,
And wearied with the day’s fatigues,
We stopped a while to stretch our limbs
With Who and What our pseudonyms
Who asked me why I’d come this far –
What told her it was just a car –
And Who and What could bide their time
Out here where jokes were not a crime
I know that all we’d done was kid
Like Abbot and Costello did;
But Who and What we thought we were
Is hard to know or to infer
For though our names are always nouns
(Some we misspell or mispronounce)
It is by pronouns we are known
Just him or her to call their own
And in the desert, Who gave out
To What the trip was all about;
For know one knew quite what to do
With God-knows-What and Lord-knows-Who
And so deserted, there we stayed
And withal What the words we played;
As Who knew what we really meant
When day was done and light was spent
There is no more that I can say.
It was a trip, a time, a day —
And What was left there still to rot?
Well, Who can say –
But she
Will not
