Saturday, March 10, 2007
Who discussed the way the winter is shorten (-ed)
Here in the brightly-lit sunshine state
And he had a point he wanted to reiterate.
“you know how I now live here in upper New York,
And at this time of year my truck tires use torque
As I attempt to drive in the deep, deep snow
From my place of work and back to my lovely chateau,
“and though it will be weeks before this snow will melt,
And you don’t GET snow there south of the Bible Belt,
This weekend it’s supposed to be fifty degrees--
At least as far as the weatherman forsees--
“And I want to point out a little thought I just thunk
One that lifted me out of my wintery funk:
When it’s 50 down THERE, you all put on a jacket
While when it’s 50 up HERE we grab the badminton racquet
“And we rush on outdoors into the day bright and shiny,
And we lay in the grass and sit on our hiney
And we pound the neighbour’s door and hammer door knockers
‘cuz it’s warm enough to run ‘round in our knickerbockers!
“So while it may be grand down there in the Florida heat
I find my life up here just perfectly complete.
I’d think myself crazy, and devoid of all reason
If I lived in a place that had only one season!
I like the fall when it turns orange, brown and yellow,
And I like the spring when the ground is mushy as Jell-O.
Of course I like summer, of that you don’t need to be told,
But I should remind you that some of us actually LIKE the cold.
I love to go skiing with long boards on my feet
Zipping down frozen mountains just can’t be beat!
I like to build snowmen and throw hardpack snowballs
And I like to sit by the fire with a copy of McCall’s!*
Of course there’s blizzards and possible frostbite
And sometimes we go seven weeks without sunlight
But at least we don’t get massive hurricanes
And heat that’s so hot it melts down your brains
And our insects are small and not of the size
Where a swarm of them will block out the skies
and fly in your mouth making you wheeze and cough
(and some are so big they could carry small children off!)
I’m not near an ocean where they hang up a purple flag
To warn of “dangerous sea life” that can put’cha in a body bag
After wading through the tall green sea grass
And a jellyfish swims up to sting you on the… foot.
No, I’m miles away from that bright world of Disney
And those other 2 parks owned by a beer company
But I’m doin’ just fine, I do swear,
It’ll be 50, and I’ll be in my underwear.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Of the Ménara Pavillion.
I would make my way to the edge of the balcony
Of the sandstone structure
On the edge of a square-acre pool
The hem of my turquoise linen gandora
Will graze around my bare feet
As the warm breeze plays with my hair
And melts the frost of winter away
From my heart, my bones, my blood
My eyes drink in the blues and purples of the sky and water
The incongruity of palm trees and pine
My toes soak up the heat of the stones
As I descend the stairs to dip them
In the mountain's waters
I'll learn the language
And use my tongue to
Speak and taste
And bend my neck to listen close
For now I keep my back to the window
And the brutality of winter
I Swallow pride
I Feign interest
Monday, January 08, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Some folks say limerick writing's a crime.
Or at best, a complete waste of one's time.
Though they're sometimes amusing,
often vile, or confusing.
They're the oldest known examples of rhyme.
Red Green once said, "Poems don't have to rhyme and they don't have to be dirty, but people seem to prefer them that way." I agree. So without further ado, here's some limericks.
There was a young lady from Cue,
Who filled her vagina with glue.
She said with a grin,
"If they will pay to get in,
They'll pay to get out of it too."
There was a young girl named Maxine,
Who found a new use for the bean.
As a vaginal bearing,
She found it long wearing,
And it varied her f*cking routine.
The prior of Dunstan St. Just,
Consumed with erotical lust,
Raped the Bishop's prize fowls,
Buggered four startled owls,
And a little green lizard, that bust.
Oh, pity the Duchess of Kent!
Her c*nt was so dreadfully bent,
The poor wench doth stammer,
"I need a sledgehammer
To pound a man into my vent."
A broken-own harlot named Tupps
Was heard to confess in her cups:
"The height of my folly
Was f*cking a collie-
But I got a nice price for the pups."