Category Archives: Doggerel

Requiem in pax

“There are no words but words,” I hear him say.
Is this some white truth or muddied Grey?

“There are no words but these,” says he.
“What then,” I wonder, “What of me?”

“There are no words and that is all.”
Is this true? Is man so small?

There are no words he shakes his head.
“Alas,” I say and we are dead.

All that hot air

Ed said, “They’re lying.”
Duane said, “Of course!”
Jeff said “They’re trying.
It could be so much worse.”

Ed said “They’re lying.”
Duane said.”They forgot.”
Pooky said,”They’re trying,”
but she said it with a curse.

Ed said, “They’re lying.”
Duane said, “Not again.”
Juan didn’t say a word
as he shook his head.

Ed said, “They’re lying.”
Duane asked, “Are you sure?”
I suggested maybe
I can’t take it any more.

Ed said, “They’re lying!”
Duane turned off the lights.
Mary said, “I’m dying
it’s really just not right.”

Ed said, “They’re lying.”
Duane replied, “I know.”
Faustus left with sighing
but where is there to go?

A minor ode to the loss of Margaret Hamilton

So Toto in the golden gate
passed corn too softly masticate
passed poppi just a bit too late
old toto, gone and gone away

So Dorothy blue and rubicund
stomped upon the cobblestone
tin-glinted in a stuttered sun
old Dorothy, dunne and done and gone

So of east, of green and cackled fear
flickered flame beside a winged leer
snickered shame, no ‘love you dear’
The east – she drains into the almost here

The West, the truth. Long dark hair
The kindness of despair.
Speak the loss of sister, if you dare,
the cruelty of a face too fair.

Come back to me,
Come back from calm Boothbay
the light will guide us far away

Someone else’s politics

Tell me of chocolate. Junior mints. Peanutbutter and other sweet things
stinging, singing bringing nothing but joy to my tongue as they cling

You call that Easter Morning, I call it politics and dead bodies build
filled willed up to the heavens up to cemetery grassy and softly hilled

Tell me of beer. Guiness and chocolate stouts, lagers and pilsners and ales
wails and tales and holy grails of missed parties and forgotten details

You call that Good Friday, I call it philosophy as long dead languages fade
played grayed words displayed, then sung – all of us slung o’er damacles blade

Tell me of faith. Chocolate robes on large men and short men and monks
hunks and chunks and thoughts unthunk left to rot in Godless trunks

You call it Holy Saturday, I call it meditation as I nibble jelly beans
in jeans. greens (obscene) yellows, pinks, never whites – if you know what I mean.

enjoying the autumn

Upon a throne of maple red,
the chipmunk king raised his head
looked upon the the leaves, all dead
the plump acorns upon which he fed
and with chirped voice all he said
was,”chipmunk kin, feel no dread!
though another winter lays ahead
we sit together in good stead.”

Below the throne in tones of gold
a little chipmunk, a bit too cold,
said, “Yer majesteee, i’m not so old
i’m scared the snow i’ll first behold
will be much worse than I’ve been told
as all the land becomes enfold
ed in heavy white I’ll be holed
up for many months untold
my tiny fate uncontrolled!”

The chipmunk kind, with tender eyes,
bright and honest, deep and wise
no tolerance for any lies
said, “My little friend, I can’t disguise
the danger of the coming skies,
but rest easy, there comes a prize –
green leaves and spring breeze sighs,
as bitter winter says her goodbyes.”