I’m going to the fair with Hercules And we might take awhile For the Scarborough Fair is far away, One hundred and twenty miles. There’s so much to do and so much to see, A glass hill and an apple tree. We must sew a shirt without one stitch And clean all the stables with naught but a ditch. We may not even get to the fair Or come back after going there Because, my friend, the whole trip’s ……
Christ Almighty, when the girls get all flighty, Flinging globs of black goo on the blogs, It’s really quite amusing to read all the abusing Brought by misunderstanding—what a mob! I really couldn’t tell you just in which specific milieu Where I witnessed all these “screw you” whiny rants, But I felt it needed knowing, all this ill begotten rowing, So I penned this pretty poem on my stance. And my stance, by chance, is this, I fear: it’s nowhere,…
A spotted pup, A plain pup, They’re all very cute, High breed, Mixed breed, Alaskan Malamute, A Maltese pup, A Samoyed, A Sheltie, too. They’re all very different, But they all love you. [I was 10 years old when I wrote this.] Share this post:
He looked so lonely and the field so vast, The crow too far for a quick repast. I took the shot with my trusty zoom And never once felt a bit of doom. (Burma Shave) Share this post:
I spent St. Patrick’s evening at a poetry reading. The last time I’d been to one I was still in college, where—for a grade—I’d been forced to go to such events and keep a poetry journal of my own. I say “forced” because every other poetry reading I’ve ever been to was maddeningly dull. The readers take themselves really seriously, and they let their voices, the perfect cure for insomnia, drone on and on until I’m a blank stare with…