There once was a pooch
That got hooked on hooch
Would drink on days that end with “y”
He had him a beer
And ‘gan to afear
An air balloon up in the sky
He barked and he woofed
And t’ward it he hoofed
Till his paws were tired, raw, and red
And that’s when he found
He’d just run around
His head, dreaming deep in his bed
I opened the page
And read of a mage
Whose powers were endlessly strong
He killed many beasts
Went to royal feasts
And s’pposedly knew right from wrong
But oft was I struck
By how his good luck
E’er boded ill for all but he
He’d “rescue” a town
Yet hundreds would drown
The carnage there for all to see
“A hero he was!
“Our hero because
“The man killed the treacherous king!”
So many would cry.
(Before they did die)
I know not why for him they’d sing
Yet still he’s cheered on
This storiéd con
I read about once in a book
Some say it’s all fun
To read what he’s done
But I say it’s gobbledygook.
A-running and running and running around
A not-yet-grown pup joyf’ly plays
He smiles and he barks and he rolls on the ground
As if he could run ‘round for days
So heavily, hands lay upon anxious chest
They pull and they push and they twist
I hum and I haw but I cannot them best
I wonder what I could have missed
When growing to be such a worried old wreck
Why can’t I just push them away?
These hands that creep into and squeeze at my heart
Uninvited during the day
Some forty white horses went walking when wet
While waiting for waters to wane
The rain kept on running and, running, the rain
A-ran down, ruining horses’ fete.
Though bothered, bay brayers the rain best abide
And bid the bully a bonjour
But, cant’ring, the crew cursed the clouds’ grey color
And concluded they’d just come inside.
What to write, what to write, what to write?
My upstairs is missing a light
I feel I am blocked
Like I’m locked in a box
Can’t concoct nor conceive, what to write?
When your head’s in a cloud, what to write?
Do I give in, give up, should I fight?
Do I stick it to blocks
Though my brain feels like rocks
Should I run to the docks
Or hide like a fox?
Maybe breathe noxious toxins, make words like “fomboxins”, catch pox, latch the locks, till I barf in my mocc’sins?
Oh Lord, what to do? I can’t write!
There once was a man
Who drove a sedan
And fam’ly was his only love.
He drove it to work
(He worked for a jerk)
And park’d in the garage above.
His car-space was small
And so was the hall
Down which he would go to his chair.
Today the hall lamp
Was being a scamp
And fell toward the man, through the air;
When all of a sudden his small brain was flooding with flashes of lives old and new,
And he did a turn, burn’d the kernel of learning that happened on that day of Tue.
There once was a man
Who drove a sedan….
He woke up confused, with hurt head.
A Poem A Day 