Category — Doggrel

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.

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.”

long about the break of two
a closed left eye
a taunt of blues
a raven tressed lass in the nude
in a window
fingers being rude

long about the pass of one
an eye half opened
a brunt of sun
a long locked lass with unlocked gun
in a window
wondering is she done?

long about the thought of three
two eyes open
a leafless tree
a pale-fleshed lass tries to see
from a window
just across from me

long about the hour of four
two eyes closed
a hard slammed door
a raven tressed lass in painted gore
in the window
where she stands no more.

what sofa breaks under me
with such angry alacrity
I can not dare to tell

but as it breaks unkindly
with a rage behind me
i think i break as well

fingers and thumbs – unopposed
counting nothing, all bananas
legs and nose

brown eyes, brown hair – feces
flying outward, all the stench
phylum class and species

of this, we all dare
to this we lope, we lounge, we traipse
we march – stomp-click

-stomp-click
-stompclickstompclickstompclick

and this we revere:
a troop, a poop, a cantaloupe, an ear an eye
a nose well-picked

fingers and fingers and fingers and thumbs
the march goes on and we all go numb.

larry ate a cheetah
joey ate a kid
i only took a sip of tea
and pondered what they did

larry ran a circus
joey ran away
i just watched in silence
as they ran another play

larry was a monster
jimmy half as bad
i was almost worse, I think
i said nothing for the lad

larry snickered ‘handcuffs?’
joey smirked, ‘thanks so much’
i slipped off to die again
my keys upon the hutch

larry ate another
joey ate his kin
i sipped only silence
and that’s cruelest sin.

in the monkey suit beside the bed
I saw the donkey snore his head
and twist the zipper as he said
“I think that I’d prefer mine red!”

in the monkey suit beside the door
i saw a giraffe and giggled more
and took a tiptoe on hardwood floor
unaware I suppose just what’s in store

in the monkey suit beside the book
I saw the Rhino sneak a look
and shake his head as if he’d mistook
me for some half-mad half-bad halfway-crook

in the monkey suit beside the pan
I saw the mommy make a plan
and grind her teeth to understand
what sadly only the good Lord can.

in the monkey suit my dear
there is no room for such things as fear