Can’t you see the stars falling? Can’t you hear the angels calling?
Absolutely enthralling to be at the edge of the Cosmos, to touch
The universal hedge; to go beyond, so near the end, my friend.
And we can dance in the sun, party spun, and never be burned
Nor ever turned away from the cacophony of celestial symphony,
With comets playing drums on the moon; too soon to cry or die!
The party’s just begun … at the edge of the Cosmos and beyond.
Can’t you hear the clouds hissing? And see the dæmons pissing?
And what a wonderful world, indeed; hurled through space and time,
And we ain’t got a dime for the boreal jukebox, auroral machine
Making music; an oral reminder to the asteroids not to quarrel,
And we get to dance, you know! And prance on moonlight beams,
And streams of sunshine, while we dream all our dreams — cream
Of active imaginations that never grew up, but forever grew out…
To the edge of the Cosmos and beyond…
Note: This light hearted, somewhat humorous poem was first published in December 2015, now being republished for (hopefully) the enjoyment of many new reader-followers. Blessings to one and all!
He’s a big fish in a small pond, swimming proudly and loudly;
He’s critically acclaimed, you know? Well, if not, he’ll show you!
He’ll walk you down his promenade with his trifling accolades
So you’ll be sure that he’s really somebody after this grand tour;
And if he offers you a tidbit of his talent, you should sit in awe
And return many thankings else he’ll give you a good spanking;
If only you knew, he’s been published and received his reviews!
What does it matter if the sea knows not that he even exists?
He has his small pond, you see, and so he persists as a big fish,
And will dish out his importance to all of the minnows around
With boundless pride and arrogance . . .
But will anyone know when he has died?
He’s a big fish in a small pond, swimming proudly and loudly!
Just a big fish in a small pond, swimming proudly and loudly!
There was a poet with nothing to say
As he sat at his worn-wood desk all day,
Then a birdie chirped in his ear
A silly tune only he could hear
So then he wrote a funny sing-song play!
Reality can be a real drag
While all the details nag
And folks wag the tongues
And you have to zig-zag
But you still lag behind
With ne’er reason to brag
Well, then . . . get messy and dance!
Whirl and twirl, prance and dance!
Just get downright goofy ‘n dance!
Just take that break
For your own sake
And have some cake
Along with the steak
And add a shake, too!
Just don’t you be blue!
Now, then . . . get messy and dance!
Whirl and twirl, prance and dance!
Just get downright goofy ‘n dance!
Yeah! Be messy ‘n goofy and dance!
Note: For this joyful, playful piece I thank my blogger friend, Tanya, specifically her most recent blog, “Oh my. . .”
You chew through the wall of sanity
To try to fit in with an insane world;
Is crazy the norm? Bizarre the new form?
Is upside down, inside out now the way
Of the day? Has all sense gone astray?
You see the moon rise in the morning
So soon after night as some warning:
Our sun has retired, all light expired,
And all of the stars have taken flight,
And the planets have changed places
Altered their faces, slowed their paces
In the new glow of a wild cosmic show,
And you wonder if you’re the only one
Who’s noticed as you blunder through
An altogether outrageous existence
In persistent search of just one church
Of reality only to hear the banshee
Scream by the black tree as she holds
In her gnarled left hand the latchkey
To the cathedral with the upside-down
Steeple . . . and you now have to wonder
If cracking your head, landing you in bed
Has anything to do with the new world
To which you are bound all around you?
Or perhaps the fall was all you needed
In order to notice how bogus the cosmos
Was in which you thought you lived . . . ?
He’s made his excursion and enough exertion for the day;
Yeah, you can bet he broke a sweat, so now he’s here to stay;
After one hour of exercise at the gym, it’s time to hit the shower,
Then he’ll put on his nighty-tighties and t-shirt, though it’s mid-day,
Plop down to play the T.V. while consuming colas and chocolate granolas;
After awhile he’ll whine and grump at his fine, hard working wife
Because he’s bored and needs to score a few points in argument
To augment his rather bland existence in which he insists to persist…
And really, Mother Earth must practically taste the waste of oxygen!
(Did I just say that?) But couldn’t our fair planet better use the air?
(Did I just ask that, too? Miserere mei, Deus!)
Here come Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,
Sound the trumpets and beat the drums,
And the President will be who?
Neither one can fill the shoe,
So just laugh and cry while Nero strums!
Note: A limerick is a humorous poem consisting of five lines. The first, second, and fifth lines must have seven to ten syllables while rhyming and having the same verbal rhythm. The third and fourth lines only have to have five to seven syllables, and have to rhyme with each other and have the same rhythm
One day is up, and another day down,
Sometimes I want to run around town,
Other times I’d just as well drown;
One day is lazy, another day hazy,
And sometimes I feel like I’m crazy,
And sometimes I just wanna frown;
But one day I’ll wear my shiny crown
At no price, and won’t that be nice!
There once was a man with only one shoe,
Who prided himself that it was so blue,
Then someone took it away
And made him quite sad that day,
Not for the shoe but for loss of his blue!
Note: This is my first attempt at a lemrick. A limerick is a humorous poem consisting of five lines. The first, second, and fifth lines must have seven to ten syllables while rhyming and having the same verbal rhythm. The third and fourth lines only have to have five to seven syllables, and have to rhyme with each other and have the same rhythm
How they met and married must have been the result
Of some fiendish bet, for no two people could have
Been any different than this woman and trepid man;
She was quite agrestic, in fact, not at all domestic;
He was nothing spectacular, being an homuncular man,
Both in size and spirit, whose laconic nature provided
Something of a tonic to cure the recurrent histrionics
Of his hoyden wife, whose natural constitution seemed
So kitsch-laden! No wonder, then, that this poor man
Was perpetually languorous, which was a bit dangerous
To his fragile health; but crude and rude as she could
Sometimes be, she was linchpin to their shared wealth,
So damn his health! He was famous for being almost
As abstemious as an ascetic while she was indulgent
And quite ebullient in diet and riotous socialization,
Which counted a great deal toward his languid station
In a life rife with hesitation, defined by truncation;
So his persistence in existence was largely defined
By frustration built upon the foundation of ill-fated
Consummation pre-planned in hell to be his damnation;
But what is he to do but smile and wile away the time?