A true story with bees
Category: Writing and Poetry

A man who reminded me of New Orleans
came to thank me with a cup full of bees.
Not the post Katrina New Orleans but the
one all jolly with beer,colored beads and
show me your boobs.

The bees were bees.
Just like the ones that used to symbolize
fertility in all those art history woodcarvings.
But they were all dead.
This is why he was thanking me.

Dead bees all at their repose in a clear
plastic cup much like one from which
you might sample a draft beer.

I was happy. The man was happy
I was glad to be capable enough to make
a jazzy man happy even with his cup full
of dead bees no longer used to symbolize
fertility.

I should have remembered that all happiness
is liable to be shattered by a single twitter
from a simpering phone.

12:58 AM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

brain salad

Human intellect is incurably abstract. C.S. Lewis says

Now I have to try and decide whether I agree

Abstract is most likely right
After all

Incurable?  Perhaps that is my way
as I go on my peregrination
leaving one word in each comment box
in my quest to demonstrate loyalty

Intellect?
perhaps is in the eye of the reader

1:54 AM - 9 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

monacle
Category: Writing and Poetry

Born of a wondering foot
and wavering eye
My glass but half full
of a festering sky
Tears are yet useless
so I won't even try
But a dram of stability
would aide my ability
to shout a victory cry

2:49 AM - 8 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

varsity sweater
Category: Writing and Poetry

There is a tinge of harvest moon
on the scent of sunburned grass
I'll not morn the shortening days
as long as the promise of
college football is in the offing

3:45 AM - 12 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

red my blue
Category: Writing and Poetry

I'd gulp a bottle of serenity
if only I could find some pretty words
Just enough to make a phrase or two
Things like

   The last gibbous of the summer
   is leaking refrigerant

Or yet again

   Steve Vai has left his sails
   on complacency and there are
    tree rings round my hoola's hip

But there's earl gray coercing
my blue vein
with a garlic bread stick
in the red

3:07 AM - 10 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Disc Top Brown (vault)
Category: Writing and Poetry

I wanted to smoke a yummy little gem
Pen a tasty little dainty
To dribble crumpets in
Crumbly little pockets of tea
To somehow wash away the rainshine
Maybe dry up the spatter patter
Wrap it all up in a blanket of
Steamy tendrils skating on a
Plane far too pretty to be called
Surface tension

12:13 AM - 8 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Aestival Stall
Category: Writing and Poetry

The night sighs cool like
a September moon despite
passionate heat like June

Jostling hooves and a aestival
nicker escape the stable
while we pick bits of straw
and guilty smiles from
each others hair and panties

Your laughing eyes tell me
you've just asked a question
but I can't respond while
being so enraptured by the
sparkling brilliance of you

So there we stand swathed
in equestrienne scent

Silent as the glimmering stars
peering in ecstasy at the
summer lovers as insolent
as the prints we left on a
sawdust floor

1:22 AM - 6 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

politics nor religion
Category: Writing and Poetry

A know a man who speaks in superlatives
although he leaves religion out of the equation

His speech is all grandiose
although he lacks the bard's unshaven chin

I almost  think he fears a common penny word
which kind of makes me sad to think he may
not know the simplest pleasures are really
not so bad

3:16 AM - 6 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

olympic mussings
Category: Blogging

They must recruit gymnastic judges from the mafia.

I hope the shot put judges get hazardous duty pay.

Who cares if beach volleyball is really a sport – look what they are wearing!

It figures the U.S. wins the most swimming medals, there is a pool in every yard.

Ethiopians win the long distance running naturally.  Think about it.  The worst thing a yank has to run from is like a gator.   When you train where there are lions on your ass you RUN.

Do the horses get to keep the medals for the equestrian events?  They do all the work.

Fencing would be more fun if the contestants actually got to bleed like in the old days.

If badminten is an Olympic sport, why not lawn darts?

Just how big a helmet do you need to play softball?

I remember when weightlifters had to get the bar bells around their big belly before they got it over their head.

I also remember when it was easy to tell the female swim team from the men.

maybe I'll write some poetry next time - thanks for stopping by!

2:18 AM - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

sore a bar t’dey
Category: Writing and Poetry

He sore a bar

Whilst he walk 'is dag

Up ta corn bin

Bar dint do nuttin

Jus  cut n bolt
No grump ner growl

Just bolt like dat

3:25 AM - 7 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment