Archive | July 2016

My Space

Behold the lone space bar, apparently wide,
But its name appears not, as with all other keys.
It is that way so either thumb can partake
Of the pleasure of thumping for clarity’s sake.
I do fancy a keyboard who’s willing to please
By providing me S P A C E for each word to reside.

Computers have huge hairs up their butts about space.
They ignore it and ban me from using it too.
Must puter-nyms look like a mis-jumbled mess?
I’m not big on word sleuthing.  That much I confess.
In fact, spaces do more than underscores do
Without looking so geeky and lacking in grace.

There’s space within atoms; they’re nothing much more!
If there weren’t space between things, how would the world be?
All mass in the cosmos would then coincide.
The binary digits, with no place to hide,
Would congeal in the plasma for all worlds to see.
My Space is a good place with pet peeves galore.

Istan Bulls Love Constantin Opal

Istan bulls love constantin opal
Just as bishops tend to wax epi scopal
And when kept up high, a tug on a rope’ll
Quick release them precious jewels.

Even fools love all kinds of opal
Clear from Pakistan to Constantinople
And when asked to part, an emphatic nope’ll
Usher forth despite the rules.

You won’t go back once exposed to opal.
Now, if you’re a bull, a glimmer of hope’ll
Manifest without the prickle of nopal.
You just might convince the mules.

When suds are few, a fun bar of soap’ll
Cause the brash young bulls to dash antelopal
So no least of them becomes mis antropal.
We’re as bound as molecules.

Kape Kenneveral!

You can hold a cork under water, but you can’t make it drink.

The flesh of the wine bottle top is akin
To the problem we tackle and wrest to the ground.
The effort it takes gets the job done, for sure,
But it might cause some illness for which there’s no cure.
The weight of the issue misjudged by the pound
Bespeaks the illusion there’s something to win.

I’d a niggardly weed in my yard once ago.
It just would not give pay to superior will.
I yanked it and stabbed it and hurt it quite well.
I drowned it in Round Up and said “Go to hell!”
Yet, the damned thing defied my desire to kill.
I decide who gets cut down and who gets to grow!

One can have any cake and consume it with pride
In a world where one knows when to give it a break.
The limit, as mankind approaches its prime,
Of will power potent enough to stop time,
Is infinite, yet we must learn to awake
To the guidance provided us from deep inside.

Plant Porn

The organs of sex at the top of a pole
Erect and receptive to contact in space
It seduces the eye, and it does this quite well.
It re-penetrates, purely by means of its smell,
The innermost memories of beauty and grace
That are held in the heart and consumed by the soul.

No shame ushers forth from a body so pure

That it shares its love making with creatures that fly.
As soaring and landing as most of us do,
Their partners are many, and ours, but a few.
With no care for clothing they live not a lie.
When they’re linked up with good times our moments endure.

Making funky is lunky for we with our jewels.
Oft’ we break into sweat for the effort involved
But the lily is calm with its stuff in the breeze.
It doesn’t care if it makes some folks sneeze.
Were our issues with intercourse ever resolved,
We’d quit hyper-humping and looking like fools.