Give Thanks of the Clock

Let’s talk some real turkey
I ain’t shot down no plane
I appear every year a big symbol of heart
Being thankful the world has not fallen apart
I’m not waxing profane
Although life’s sometimes quirky

As time is a relative stretch of view
Every moment perceived, none a snowflake’s twin
Each day of remembrance tradition holds true
Is a stroke for all folk. There’s no blood that is blue
Again I sigh grateful to look deep within
If more often my outlook would always be new

Time’s a relative who when invited to dine
She savors each morsel of life’s wholesome meal
She won’t leave ‘til she’s full; she ain’t messin’ around
If there’s love to be shared, her good will she’ll expound
I am thankful we made such a holiday wheel
To lay down our thoughts and let feelings align

As this Thanksgiving Day now heads toward a close
I thought I was writing for others than me
Yet deeper within that is never the case
It’s a most selfish process – a way to keep pace
With the times as they swirl like the raging sea
I am thankful that thankfulness readily flows

Candid Candidate

With your plan erected
You’re elected
Then you’ll have your way
Smile, now until November
With a stark solution to dark pollution
Harm they do portray
Smile, so that we’ll remember
It’s fun to look at you folks
It’s a circus within a zoo
It’s done! How your language provokes
A chilling déjà vu
Is your sense of feeling
Worth revealing?
Only time will say
Smile, you’re a party member

Daughters of My World

The Flower of Nature and God intertwined,
The stem of her peace ‘of the masculine thorned.
The war’s none of savvy against master minds.
It’s one of protrusion’s dysfunctional kinds.
Dear daughter of mine, had we all been forewarned
Would your freedom in safety be better defined?

I know not Islam, yet were I to believe
That kids in their twenties killing others their age
Has something at all to do with you
My faith in religion would unravel anew.
You are sacred, young one – my heart’s silent rampage…
Your heart filled with wonder where grace doth conceive

My religion is cool… My back yard’s somewhat safe
But assault on your pureness of point of view
Sends a hellish cold chill up my spine as well.
Were my own teen distressed, in my heart she doth dwell
And, I’d much rather learn about Islam from you
Than from elders or young men embroiled in chafe.

Flag of France

Power Line Church of the Pigeon’s Perch

We are gathered here on this pristine day
With sky of blue above humble ground.
We ain’t here to teach Jack, yet it turns out we do.
We fault Jack’s humanity in this Grand Zoo.
If mankind weren’t around would then balance abound?
Would the Cloud then be lifted from nature’s way?

Turn now in your manuals to chapter four,
First fallopians two, sub-paragraph twelve.
In there you’ll note that you haven’t a clue.
We’d revisit religion if we were you
‘Cause in shallower waters you’re destined to delve
As you fight about God and then try to keep score.

The energy pew yields an overhead view
Of up-righted oddlings who scurry about.
Is one person’s worship another’s to scorn?
We’d say then there’s no sense in being born!
Who are we, though, to confound your deepest doubt?
Just birds of a feather, unfettered and true.

Alighted here, we’re a cooing creation
Not really concerned with your life in our way.
We enjoy the news and the various skews
Of your takes on mistakes as you call them the blues.
And before we adjourn our service today
Our offering to you is a group defecation.

Bazillion Camel Trick Sam

When bible writers concede
To twisting meaning for need
To satisfy human greed

How’s this verse sound?

Just what makes that camel’s delight
Take on wings and sing through the night?
His happiness beams so bright right
Through all negative sight

‘Cause he wears clean human clothes
From his neck to his toes
He don’t care if you stare at his wiggly nose

So when you feel self-conscious
Get off you haunches
And do what doesn’t seem fun
Oops, there goes another needle’s eye done
Oops, there goes another needle’s eye done
Oops, there goes another needle’s eye done

It’s hyperbole, folks.
Jesus didn’t tell jokes
Nor did ever he mean

To dis on Green

When a camel wants to live right
He’ll pray before he rests for the night
He’ll never engage in a kite fight
He is seldom uptight

‘Cause he’s got camel insight
Not much spiritual might
He’s a rich camel man
With a will like a knight
So when some preacher claims
My best Teacher shames wealth,
I’ll head for the door

Oops, there goes a needle virgin no more
Oops, there goes a needle virgin no more
Oops, there goes a needle virgin no more

The Roofs That Maurys Build

I’ll admit, Massa Povich, I’m caught right off guard
In waiting room hostage, eyes locked on a screen
Such excitement and drama, a pinch of delight
Big Baboonish Behavior Barks the Brightest Stage Light
Your Black Rats in a cage are now everywhere seen
Their lives cast in turmoil; their hearts deeply scarred

What the Hell are you doing, you fucking Bastard?
You married a Bitch whom now no one will trust.
Is she blabbing your secrets to folks who don’t care?
If she shits in your face, then just have an affair.
Leave Black Lives Alone, there are worthier lusts!
But, alas, there’s that financial gain you’ll have mastered

You come off quite well faking love and compassion
While mining for gold in the sewers of strife
But some of us know what you really are
That’ll do it for me. I’m exhausted thus far
Having strayed off course and lost trusting in life
Caught up in backlash is not really my fashion

If through Mother Goose or by Nigger Noose
The roof that you build caps a nation secure
In its image of Black folks as troubled and tainted
Old man, that ain’t me! I’ll make sure you’re acquainted
With Blackness Paternal not about to endure
Just keeping my mouth shut amid your abuse

From a Prince to a pauper – a Knight to a pawn
I’ll tell you for sure that the seed that you sow
Will grow to a dark jungle deep on your mind
The shame of it is you’re not one of a kind
Do thank me, you scum bag, for stooping so low
As to borrow your face to blow my nose on!

Don’t Spank Your Monkey For Speaking Its Mind

Minding the Monkey Mind

Monkey Mind’s a behind to mankind; it’s well known
Yet his cover’s been tattered, not being well fed
The thought clinging creature let’s go each with ease
While perusing all Eden’s most sentient trees
Let his reputation be noted instead
As that of a scholar who fears he’s alone

If one just outright ignores a close friend
What’s to expect that that person will do?
Will he curtsy and send a kiss headed your way?
He’d monk with your mind through the night and by day!
It would then serve one right; any heart would construe
Admit he has good points, though spunked without end

The Mind of the Monk’s not a thing to disgrace
The pushing against what one dislikes is futile
If given its daily banana I’m sure
That contrapuntal prefrontal will cure
All the upside down hanging and blowing self brutal…
All erroneous roaming and wandering chase

The Monkey Mind needs direction, that’s all
Though a lulling to slumber will suit it just fine
Don’t curse it or dis it for doing its job
It’s a door to great wealth if you just turn the knob
There’s an interbred kinship among yours and mine
Give life a break; let that Monkey hang tall!

Quadrilateral Bowel Tracks A Hole With A Howl

Quadrilateral Bowel Is Hole With A Howl

Lock on to that hole; do surrend’ it your sight
It’s a moving target deserving attention
Wildly wet blasted touch, such a forceful display
When Nature decides to check in in this way
The mind in Her will does defy comprehension
But follow it, still, even all through the night

…And then on through the day, and then over again
Its meaning thus churning, digestion is sure
Yet, the same old matter ne’er passes away
It just circles the system for day after day
So as the thing dampens we feel more secure
All focus reset for a new now and then

When as innards assimilate ass of eye food
Whom does go last? The hose or the hosed?
When the hole passes this way I will know
Intestinal quickening before solid flow
For a quick selfie I will not have posed
I’d be cut to the chase in excited mood!

Well, Nature’s howl should make news, I suppose
Like any mother, she’ll not be ignored
Whether children act up or they play really nice
Mother Nature’s concern is a throw of the dice
With Her for a mom we are not to be bored
When and how She speaks next, nobody knows

I’m a Happy Hound With My Solid Earth Ground

Solid Earth Ground

Dear Lord, do grant me a Solid Earth Ground
One that is rooted way deep in the earth
Not some cold soldered joint of loose connection
Give me hard-wired harness to ensure good protection
From spurious surges that wreak utter dearth
Upon delicate circuitry where e’er they be found

Isolation, at times, does treat well my device
But that’s only the way my own wiring is freed
Of life’s most continuous spurious static
When I feel some impedance, I break out the schematic
To note any ground in seclusion. Indeed
All grounds well interconnected is nice

Of grounds most agree on a strict trinity
Among Signal, Earth Ground, and Chassis
But for general purpose I’m not up for book theory
The Hum through my sound system drives my head weary
The Hiss messes my mind – makes my eyes crossed and glassy
Of that I can find no worthy affinity

God, Bless my sweet Ground; I adore it as you!
It sucks off the small stuff and sends it it’s way
No more Hiss in my listening; I’m dog gone delivered
I’m a happy hound for whose bone he has quivered
Now that this job is done I am ready to play
Having tide to the Earth with a really tight screw.

Under the Radar’s Razor’s Edge


It’s just another blessed day…
Just hanging out and doing my thing.
I’m at home where I roam of domain with no measure.
In the wildest green stew I will always find treasure
‘Never been caught with my ass in a sling.
‘Wouldn’t have it no other way.

Immune to most danger, I’m a cell re-arranger.
I do this quite well – just as easily as thinking.
I can blend like a bug ground in road rubber rug
But my thinking’s like yours; that bug’s not really snug.
Catch a glimpse of me now while your eyes are not blinking
In an instant I vanish the reticent stranger.

An Enigma ignoble, I am rarely seen mobile
I’m best just to keep my behind really still.
There once was a time long before I found rhyme
I would shun my rare gift for a world less sublime
I’ve an army of pigmented soldiers at will
Making sure I’m not seen beneath ruggeded roble.

The only mail in my Outlook account
Are from folks selling dick oil or digestive aids
I become more estranger; no danger’s in store
As I tread sultry slaying the rich Jungle floor
Until when forever your last image fades
Of me showing all there’s no pride to surmount

Adult Detention

Sorry I’m late getting home, dearest one.
The kids felt I had to stay after today.
It seems I failed a pop quiz this morning.
They had given me ample time and forewarning.
Yet came time to perform, I fell short anyway.
They insisted I needed to learn to have fun.

It’s funny; I’d thought I had joy down pat.
I have you, after all, and a well fulfilled life
In the most gracious land on this planet earth.
Blessings have followed me since my humble birth.
But the children are wise; of good will, they are rife
And quite ready to party that drop of a hat.

Not much interest in math or obeying school rules
Except for the ones that they make on the fly.
The kids these days are atrociously haughty…
Excelling at whatever is silly and naughty.
Life’s a game to them, and today I learned why.
Their lesson provided me wholesome life tools.

The closer one is in time from our Maker
The more one remembers all lessons worth learning.
That means that all babies are wiser than I
As well as all elders soon ready to die.
That does put me at ease. There’s no sense in my yearning.
Of mirth they’re the givers, and I am their taker.

Does The Doggie Go Through A Life Review?

Will My Doggie Go Through A Life Review?

Will my pooch see a Council of Elders by way
Of transition into doggie spirit world?
My guess is he’ll bypass such rigmarole.
The Council need not greet the hip doggie soul.
He returns well-acquainted; his spirit’s unfurled.
He dashes abliss off in spirit dog play.

In benevolent bow-wow they bow and lay grace
Upon spirit dog keepers who await their arrival.
They frolic in fanciful fun-filled finesse.
‘Tis their honor for taking on human earth stress.
Their deeds done on earth anoint Records Archival.
In heaven they assume their most rightful place.

When in hindsight as ass nasty poodle chews, it
Speaks well to Nature’s intention to guide
The often brass spirit of human endeavor.
And, given dog love, they would bless us forever.
They are unconditional; they have nothing to hide.
When the poodle bites, this alone will amuse it.

Come back to earth, dude, I’ll see you again.
There will be celebration and fanfare galore.
My life span is longer; I’ll wait here for you,
And then we will kindle our bonding anew.
I’m indebted to you… You’re no kind to keep score.
So long, pal, and thank you for being a Friend.

Satan Steps Down As Devil

Satan Steps Down As Devil

Just in the news via Karma Control
His despicableness the Devil declared
He’s quite had it with hell. Do understand,
He’s held the same job since time began.
He won’t be remembered as old and grey haired.
So now who’s fit to take over the role?

Seems the Devil’s been rather dysphoric of late.
The smell of burnt souls no longer delights.
He’s seen it occur over and over again.
People kill over God and shout “Allah” or “Amen,”
Yet over Satan, ‘haven’t been many fights.
The position is open. Who’ll take the bait?

Among yourselves, you wreak havoc and terror,”
He said in a statement released just today.
No one here pays much attention to me.
Hell sure ain’t much like it used to be.
When man out does me, I’ll step out of the way.
Somewhere, there’s a metaphysical error

Then the Devil went on to say
He won’t care if his life work should all peter out.
A burnt out bastard is he. Now that fate’s set him free,
Was his infamous apple picked from the wrong tree?
This news rather shocking’s worth thinking about.
Now Hell has a chance to freeze over some day!

Saline Slipshod and Heidi Hoe

There once was a half-bottomed woman named Sal
Which is Saline for long and just S for real short.
Were it Susan or Sandra, Samantha or Sarah
She’d be salty, still, like the sands of Sahara.
Sal had a good friend who would offer support
With salacious sharp shooting and sedate rationale.

Sal got along well with her surrogate pal.
Her name, by the way, was Miss Heidi Hoe.
They’d talk about all that would come to their minds…
Astute on what friends did with bedroom behinds
And about how to sharpen their seeds for the sow
One might guess one is Femme, the other Fatale.

One day Sal and Heidi got together to see
If they could stir trouble among a few friends
Who’d been sharing behinds with others than theirs.
These two loved to meddle in others’ affairs.
Did they serve up some nasty? Well, I guess that depends.
Their friends knew already; their love was quite free.

Now, as Sal and Heidi came to know this was true
Their scheme was deflated; their gas had been passed.
Heidi said to her friend with the voice of a man,
“No Hoe would come up with a Slipshod plan.
Next time I’ll do nasty.  You do things half-assed.
If we’d have done it my way, they’d be without clue!”

“Well, Heidi Hoe, I’m surprised at you!
First of all, had I known you could talk like a man
We’d have never been friends right from the start,”
Said Sal from the pit of her broken heart.
“I shall now call you Stan and concoct a new plan.
Work alone with your own; I can stir my own brew.”

Up the Yin Yang and Out the Wazoo

Now, have I let anyone down just lately?
…Today, last week, or anytime soon?
Someone said someone said I’m the one to call.
‘Guess I asked for it; I’m “the jim,” after all.
‘Seems I frequently manage to appear the buffoon.
Had it I to do over, I’d present myself stately.

I do manage, it seems, not by contract or pact,
To promise a thing I might happen to do,
But by temperament tuned to please people at will.
It’s implied I’ll do all that’ll show off my skill,
And as I do so I most certainly screw
My chances of keeping my pride intact.

“Up the Yin Yang,” folks say when they want to express
A massive quantity of what is concerned.
It’s a curious quip… somewhat rude to the ear.
It implies that the Yin and the Yang disappear
When up them, there’s something each has not learned.
If there’s guilt up my own, I know not to confess.

But if it’s demanded, I’ll comply ‘cause I’m true
To the tune of expressing just who that I am.
There’s no apology; no offense was committed.
Any pretense of shame for me’s not well fitted.
The archetypal sacrificial Lamb
Clears the Yin Yang to engage the Wazoo.

Mercury Retrograde

The sun is in Libra; my twelfth house is a mess.
There’s a square between Saturn and Mars today.
Uranus is transiting; mine is as well.
When life seems a pain in the drain I can tell
Something’s up with my Mercury.  Is there cause for dismay?
Well, it’s retro; it’s not time to fuss or to stress.

OK, so it’s retro; just what does that mean?
One doesn’t go to the baker for meat.
For a horoscope natal, I’ll consult a star pundit.
Yet, I’d have to sell booty in order to fund it.
But for matters of mettle I am willing to greet
An Element Guru whose insight is keen.

Dear lady of old, elemental and sweet,
As you listen to what lays your head to its side
I wonder what dreams of your future hold true
Today as the world now takes hold of what’s new?
I am there where you were, and in that I take pride.
My nostalgia are roses to lay at your feet.

Like globules of quicksilver live on a stage
My memories of simpler times coalesce
Eventually returning to one giant ball
With my heart beating through the ordeal of it all.
Yet the times that will come, I do honor and bless.
In that, I live to embellish the Sage.

Electromagnetic Exhilarator Maintenance

Electromagnetic Exhilarator Maintenance

Sometimes one’s alignment one needs to align.
It happens because there’s just stuff in the air.
The ether is filled with such static and noise.
It also has much to endow one with poise
As we choose which stuff we should give the most care.
Be guided by feeling and then by the mind.

The electromagnetic cosmos is filled
With every thought ever thunk… every feel ever felt.
With each moment we’re conscious we add to the flow
Of inter-cosmo-electrical plasma although
Sometimes we can’t deal with the hand we’re dealt
So it also includes every will ever willed.

Thought makes for feelings, then feeling for thought.
The two leapfrog within a parallel tank.
The resulting vibration from this interplay
Has a frequency matching our mood for the day.
For all this, whom do we have to thank?
It’s our own blessed selves wherein resonance is sought.

We each have a knob or a touch screen or such
Where we adjust our feelings and thoughts at will.
When we do so, we tune into something inside
That lets us know there’s nothing we’re denied.
The station we choose will not send us a bill.
If it does, it surely won’t be very much.

{Inspired by ‘The Teachings of Abraham‘ – – and from my years as a radar tech.}

Smoke Break

Some group once suggested
We should do it in the road.
And if you want to show the road you’re courageous
Why not it do in color? You’ll be waxing outrageous.
Upon you attention will be bestowed.
Let your head be invested.

Cans need breaks every once in a while
Like the tall dark ones who stand up on their own.
Just sit your narrow black cans on the ground.
Make a line so folks know you’re not messing around.
And smoke your asses ‘til the cows bemoan.
Once cans get stoked, they be smoking in style.

Every break is a take on a different scene
And a smoking one sure takes the dull off the day.
When color’s included, life’s a beautiful rhyme.
It don’t have to be rainbow; all colors are prime.
Show your true color now; all people should play
Every break time, even those that are in-between.

If you’re rather young and quite new to smoking
The Surgeon General has made it quite clear.
Don’t smoke in the middle of a busy street.
Your can could get kissed by a tire’s cleat.
You don’t want your break to at once disappear.
It’s been a long time coming. You know I’m not joking.

The Away Mission

‘Left the ship yesterday.
‘Hadn’t been ashore since this time last week.
The stardate’s been logged, now my vulcanoid half
Beams back aboard to join the human in laugh.
My left wing gorilla joke meet the crowd bleak.
I am back home to stay

‘Til the same time next week lest I go out for food.
I so much rather to keep to myself
Only because I can’t know how folks take
My attempts to make funny. Folks seem not awake.
Would I don a pink zoot suit and dance like an elf?
Screw you, club! I don’t like it when you’re so rude.

I don’t give a rat’s ass what you folks say either.
You chatter and bicker and make a mess of my mind.
You asked me to treasure; that much is true.
Why not treat me as if I have a clue?
Our karmas are linked; our souls intertwined
Therefore I appreciate a week long breather.

I take my heart serious; I’m a sensitive old bitch.
My ship is my Fortress. I leave it with pause.
If I had a crew, I would delegate missions.
I’d avoid erroneously derived contritions.
I don’t expect anyone to give me applause
But, damn it, laugh when I say! I am not a sales pitch.

Theta Fuchsia Bactorial

A plane is as sane as a blueberry stain.
Measured backdrop caress inter-parallelled lines
In a land where most variables got their names
From the Greeks whom are wise at playing such games.
Three planes form a corner and from it inclines
A hypotenuse dotted of structure urbane.

A line is one kind of a thing on the mind
Of the gluttons of absolute order of things.
All space is a place where a Theta can live
And perhaps raise a family, then forever give
A reason for mind to perk up and take wings
And pursue all unknowns like a bat in the blind.

The pursuit of Theta’s no quest for the meek
Especially, of course, if that Theta is Fuchsia.
There’s just something about girl Theta; it’s true.
I’ll chase that fine fanny ‘till my brain turns bright blue.
Though just a bit radical, this all’s not to confushia
Well-Infected, I’m a recursively factored antique.

A Piece of Time’s Pi

A Piece of Time's Pi

It’s about time a fool might wonder why
People chose the numerals one through twelve.
Yet the answer comes clear if one doesn’t research.
As the cuckoo bird beams from its house to its perch
Tweeting each hour’s chime, there comes reason to delve
Into possible use of that weird number Pi.

Folks have done this before, so it ain’t nothing new.
I’m no math geek, but this strange faced clock is a trip!
Its circumference empatterned with all versions of Pi
No one could be more bedazzled than I
Would the bonging, then tweeting, its character strip?
What mind would come up with this out of the blue?

A circuit is three hundred sixty degrees
And equals twelve hours sliced up in a way
That puts Pi on a pedestal where it may find pride
As to how to tell time with it’s hard to decide.
When it’s four Pi over three should I then start my day
Or perhaps two Pi after, to begin it with ease?

A Hominid On Hominy

Light travels at the leed of spight
And sound, pretty much, at the seed of spound.
Forecast for tonight is it’s gonna’ get dark
But that doesn’t mean there’s no room for remark
And by the time the sun comes back ‘round
Light returns surely; things are always alright.

A farmer once traded his corn for a kite
Though a special kind where he could fly back in time
Then fly back again with some knowledge on hand
To steer clear of mistakes and increase yield for his land.
He did so, of course, and did not pay a dime
To do it all, thus, he was filled with delight!

A beggar once begged a man for his beard.
It made sense to ask since the beggar had none.
The man said, “Why not? Let us go to the barber.
You’ll have your transplant, and I will have harbor
In realizing facial hair ain’t always fun…
You would know that yourself if you weren’t so weird.”

Little lambs do eat ivy and girl deer all the oats.
There’s eating competing and food fest galore.
If a dude don’t eat didly, there’s a fatter of mact!
He may be allergic to didly, thus his judgement’s intact.
If you come bearing didly and knock on my door
I’ll welcome you gladly. That’s how my cork floats.

To Beat A Dead Fly

Dear fly came by
Wasn’t much on its mind
It just snuck in to visit a while
Perhaps to assess the funk in my style
Or maybe just to unwind
And cop a sigh

Dear fool am I
Engulfed in my madness
Tizzied about and engaged in my Thing
Sharpening what my focus might bring
I often find gladness
In what I try

You’re cool, dear fly
But please don’t get in my face
Don’t buzz nowhere near me; the sound causes terror.
Yet I know that’s my menses; with you there’s no error.
Mind your own business and keep your place.
Avoid my eye!

All sounds good in theory….

Tomorrow I’ll love unconditionally.

[Don’t give energy to what you don’t want.]

Another Shtick In Life’s Craw

Anther Shtick In Life's Craw

Food don’t need MO-DI-FI-CATION.
God don’t need your help at all.
Nature’s doomed to your ‘salvation.’
Doctor, leave them genes alone.
All in all you’re just another reason to moan.
The laws you screw with are not your own!

Life don’t need investigation.
What you do is cheat the game.
Mother Nature’s wrath will haunt you.
When She fights back who’ll take the blame?
All in all you’re like a pit bull on a bone.
You’ll surely reap what you have sown.

If a better world’s your expectation
Then why so few with much control?
Can’t the world’s own population
Solve its problems as a whole?
Human nature is so unnaturally prone.
There will come a time when we will atone.

The Clock Who Was Too Ticked To Tock

The Clock Who Was Too Ticked To Tock

There once was a time (or perhaps there was not,
Since time is a thing mostly gods understand)
When there were no time pieces of any kind.
These were times spent in ignorance of workday grind
There was much time for loving for woman and man.
People lived in the now, thus time couldn’t be bought.

Throughout that era folks had so much fun
And weren’t bothered by schedules nor respondent to chimes
When people felt like it they got their work done
Often long before started, therefore never begun
Children often came up with their own nursery rhymes
Then they acted them out beneath blanketing sun

From whence then this notion of time did appear?
‘Twas a soft spoken face with much tick up its sleeve.
With its tick concealed there, folks assumed it was normal…
Its demeanor demure, though, and speech rather formal.
“If my tick had a voice,” it thought, “I’d achieve
My dharma in life and a stellar career!”

So, this face had some numerals tattooed on his person.
The artist involved didn’t think to ask why.
He just figured a face can do what it wants.
‘Twas not his concern if, per chance, his work haunts.
Sure enough, when this face left the parlor, nearby
People got really sick; as he neared, they would worsen.

Officials then sprayed him with ‘numeral-b-gone,’
As they saw him a threat to the life they had made.
The face complained, “I have tick, don’t you know?
If I were permitted to tock, I would grow!”
But the people felt they were being played.
They made him leave town by the crack of dawn.

Sentimental Clutter

Things close to my heart
Are scattered through my life – some worlds apart.
Like leaves in autumn breeze
The things I gather drift right from the start.
That’s why I’m hanging low;
‘Don’t want no one to mourn when I depart.

‘Cause I know deep inside of the things that I cherish
Some will remain and the rest doomed to perish.
Three score years I have tasted the earth now.
Seems like a dream since my bare-bottomed birth. How

Sentimental Clutter streams, echoing my hopes and dreams…
Fundamental Sputter, mental spun.
Sentimental Clutter flows through my mind before repose…
Set my heart aflutter, Utter One.

If time is on my side
I’ll make amends to those whose love I tried.
To those whom I’ve caused pain
My sorrow deep is but a hope in vain
And as my heart beats true
When we return I’ll make it up to you

I’m not sure if I can keep the promise
Wish I weren’t such a lame Doubting Thomas
What I feel is the urge to remain here
Even though I may drive folks insane. Dear

Sentimental Clutter now entraps my heavy laden brow
Makes my mind to mutter gutter songs.
Sentimental Clutter tell of where I spend my time most well
Temperamental Cutter right my wrongs.

Offer the Wall

I’m off the wall but just a little bit more
Yet not nearly as much as the offest of all
I’m right off my rocker and don’t wanna know how
To get right back on it. I’m in heaven by now.
If someone looks me down, that’s my cue to stand tall.
I am proud to announce I’m a nut to the core.

If earth were a sweet cheek I’d stand on my face.
Since it’s not quite like that, yet, I’ll settle for knowing
Of nothing that makes any sane person’s sense.
Any chaos around me I see as pretense
In theatre of hell where life’s fun and it’s snowing.
Yes, I’m kooky as dookie yet much deeper than space.

This coffer’s a proffer who’s offered to all
In the midst of prevailing winds of change.
As a sensible screwball I note when I see
World leaders behaving as if they were three.
I’m often reminded that I’m not so strange
Compared to most folks on this batty ball.

Otter the Box

Our burgers are otter this world!

We’re Otter the Box. We do otter in style.
We’ve the best tasting otter this side of space-time.
Don’t order your otter from just any old place.
Our otter’s to die for. Our cuisine you’ll embrace.
Our nuggets with sassy sauce make your heart chime.
Prefer roasted otter? ‘Won’t take but a while.

Buy a bucket of otter, then the party’s begun.
We’ve got hairy-nosed, Asian, cape clawless and spotted…
We’ve got your smooth-coated all ready to grill.
Try our sea otter medley with urchins and krill.
You say, “Hold the seaweed.” We won’t get you all knotted.
You’ll have it your way, or our job just ain’t done!

When it’s breakfast, it’s otter spam omelets with jam
Or else biscuits with sea-salted otter brain stew.
We know that your tastes are by now all grown up.
Try our soup made from pre-mature sea otter pup.
Lick your fingers with pleasure; enjoy the view.
Let your hair down, chill out and just don’t give a damn!

Behind the 8-Ball Echo the Drawl

Pay attention when I'm talkin' to ya, boy. This bat - I say, this bat don't come from a cave.

Whatcha doin’ there, boy? Turn around; let me see.
I need to make sure you’re not up to no good.
Do it nice and slow like you do everything.
Any quick move – I just might take a swing.
I’m the bird on patrol in your neighborhood.
Don’t forget who’s watchin’ ya, boy. It’s me!

My job is to keep your kind under control.
Though don’t quote me on that. When I stutter you can.
But if I were you, I’d just keep my mouth shut.
Your complainin’s what’s keepin’ your race in a rut.
Don’t talk back to me, boy. Don’t you understand?
It’s my big mouth and ego who’s on patrol.

There’s no way I’m puttin’ my life on the line.
If you so much as flinch wrong, you’re goin’ to jail.
My patrol car is runnin,’ and my lights I’ll keep blinkin,’
All the better to get your black asses to thinkin’
If you whoop ass with me, my wrath will prevail,
And if you end up dyin,’ with that, I’m just fine.

There’s no problem with race in my neck of the woods.
I keep a tight watch on black life that I see.
After all, black lives matter. Ain’t that what y’all say?
To me, that means screwing you day after day.
If I go to jail, in no time I’ll be free
To resume my pursuing young black men with hoods.

Same Space Marriage

The holy piss holy water when scared shitless.

Holy gross-out, mcdude, I can’t keep my mouth shut.
What a hell of a sight, here, before my eyes!
Has the whole world gone crazy, or is it just me?
Has nature swapped roles for the bird and the bee?
No way, Jose, I will not improvise.
Dude, you cannot marry your frigging mutt!

Don’t matter if it’s pointer or setter.
Don’t matter what the Supreme Court has decreed.
Your love screws with my mind, as well it should.
I will not have your kind in my neighborhood.
I don’t care if you get on your knees and plead.
For you, there’s no living, for worse nor for better.

You want me to cosign your doggie style?
Well, listen up, junior, let me give you a clue.
No dog can give a man fantastic head.
Go find some nice deep throated woman instead.
You’d lick a lab’s loin? Don’t tell me it’s true.
Don’t care if she nibbles your ear all the while.

Take leave of my church. Kindly be on your way.
I’ve married all kinds in my numbered years
Among races and faiths and the various genders…
Pimps and prostitutes, pearls and pretenders
But the gall of you two surely accents my fears.
Please scoop up that poop, and have a nice day.