There Are The Flowers

There are the flowers
On land so parched and burned
Living on
Everything else was burnt and destroyed by flame
The flowers it did not maim

There are the flowers
Growinbg in a place of cement and stone
Never  ‘lone
Never went
In that place of stone and cement

There are the flowers
A beautiful sight
Poking threw a thick blanket so white
The flowers are so bold
So why can’t people survive the cold

This is no lie
No flood, no drought, no disaster, no weather
Could make your beauty die

1/26/81

 

 

Alexis Adams …

Alexis Adams accuses apes of believing Brahman Buddhists, Chinese carrots, and Demonic Dahomey ducks.

However, every English eldeweiss from free-loading gerbils, harmonious, hyperactive hamsters, indoor Israeli igloos, and/or joyous, jumping Jersey jack rabbits.

Meanwhile, Kirk Knotts from Kookamunga licks lackluster Mesopotamian muumuus, Nepalian nooses belonging to Napoleon and orange orangutans from Ohio, Ontario, and Oklahoma.

In another part of town, purposeful purple Parisian penguins, parochial peacocks, pretty Peruvian poodles, and quartzlike Quebec quails rambunctiously rave and shout while they swear at and twist Tunisian turtles.

Afterwards, they uniquely unify victorious, vibrant Victorian vicunas, wheedling, whitewashed, Xeroxed xerophytes, yellow Yankee yaks, and zippy, zircon, Zimbabwe zebras.

 

 

Short Poems

Found in a navel                                                      
St. Aple

A Horse hotel                                                                       
St. Able

The only part of the chicken I like                 
Dr. Umstick

Hot but bad breath                                                     
Dr. Agon

Boring                                                                                         
Dr. Ag

Gotta Keep Going                                                     
St. Amina

Shock Treatment                                                     
St. Un

Drink up! Hiccup!                                                     
St. Ill

Get run over                                                                       
St. Reet

Make A Hole                                                                       
Dr. Ill

Not wet                                                                       
Dr. Y

Slasher Kill                                                                       
St. Ab                                   

Beat me                                                                       
Dr. Um

Making a Mess                                                                       
Dr. Ibble

The mess left behind                                                     
St. Ain

Let It Go                                                                       
Dr. Op

Needs a shave                                                                       
St. Ubble

Make Me Coffee                                                     
Dr. Ip

Block out the light                                                     
Dr. Ape

Down the middle of the road                                   
St. Ripe

 

 

 

My Hiding Place

My hiding place is the place where I can be all by myself
When things get too noisy everywhere
I go to my hiding place.
When the noise is so bad that I can’t even think to myself
I go to my hiding place.

My hiding place is a place in a clearing of bushes that I know
There I sit and the only thing I can see is animals and plants going on with their natural lives.

There are a few signs of man.
A tin can, a piece of lumber, a few small wrappers.
But I won’t let them stay
Because my hiding place should have only nature and me. That’s all.
Except that is…
If I want to share it with a friend.
Then it’s his hiding place too.

 

 

 

Mike Music bought a Buick, moved to Newark, married Nick, and died quick.

 

 

 

 

Isolation

I was put into a room.
The room was filled with almost everything a person could possible desire.
Even with those things the room was half-empty.
The first few hours were great.
I played practically a million different games. Cooked elegant meals. Observed and tried many different devices including the most intricate pinball machine I’ve ever seen.
I played and ate for hours.
Then all of sudden I was bored.
Why should I be bored?
There’s everything I could ever desire.
Then it dawned on me what was the one things that was missing.
Someone to share these things with.

 

 

 

I’m Lonely

People pass me by
I sit here and cry
I’m lonely

People say they’re my friends
But when I get in trouble
The friendship ends
I’m lonely

I’m teased and hit
There nowhere I can safely sit
I’m lonely

There are people with no names
Who say they love me
But I still don’t know who they be
I’m lonely

I fight to find a true friend
And I’ll fight until the end
I’m lonely

I could start again
But I still haven’t quite made a friend

I’m lonely
So very lonely
I’m lonely

 

 

 

A Modern Tribute To Gorey

A is for Auntie, invaded by ants
B is for Boris, eaten by plants
C is for Chuck, pushed under a passenger train
D is for Dermot, gored by the bulls in Spain
E is for Edward, assassinated by a terrorist
F is for Francine, who ran away and wasn’t missed
G is for Gerald, who crashed in a plane
H is for Henrietta, who went quietly insane
I is for Ignatius, who swallow rat poison
J is for Joshua, whose beaten wife was revenged by their enraged son
K is for Knute, tackled by a linebacker
L is for Lily, strangled by a slacker
M is for Morris, eat by a cat
N is for Nancy, who got squashed flat
O is for Otis, who got swept under a rug
P is for Penelope, mugged by a thug
Q is for Quentin, killed in a hate crime
R is for Ronald, convicted for his lifetime
S is for Sally, who got washed in a mangle
T is for Thomas, who disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle
U is for Uriah, who got burned alive in a heap
V is for Violet, smothered in her sleep
W is for Wallace, who died from a drug interaction
X is for Xavier, who died while in traction
Y is for Yardley, who was buried at sea

and

Z is for Zachary, who was killed for imitating Edward Gorey,

 

 

 

Amelia Beatty caressed daffodils and entirely filled gramophones helping irises join kitschy linguistic marvelous Nairobi owls and paraplegic quartz rubles stirring tirelessly under volumes of war-torn xyloid Yiddish zebus.

 

 

All beleaguered camels depend entirely from general harmonious incestuous junky kangaroos limping melancholically, needing obnoxious Pampers and quietly riveting snowshoes to unusual venomous whales’ xenophobic yawning zoologists.

 

Amelia Beatty caressed daffodils and entirely filled gramophones helping irises join kitschy linguistic marvelous Nairobi owls and paraplegic quartz rubles stirring tirelessly under volumes of war-torn xyloid Yiddish zebus.

 

 

Amelia Beatty caressed daffodils and entirely filled gramophones helping irises join kitschy linguistic marvelous Nairobi owls and paraplegic quartz rubles stirring tirelessly under volumes of war-torn xyloid Yiddish zebus.

 

 

Amelia Beatty caressed daffodils and entirely filled gramophones helping irises join kitschy linguistic marvelous Nairobi owls and paraplegic quartz rubles stirring tirelessly under volumes of war-torn xyloid Yiddish zebus.

 

 

Amelia Beatty caressed daffodils and entirely filled gramophones helping irises join kitschy linguistic marvelous Nairobi owls and paraplegic quartz rubles stirring tirelessly under volumes of war-torn xyloid Yiddish zebus.

 

 

Junk Food

Junk Food,
Gunk Food,
Chewy, ooey, gooey food
Pies, cakes, popsicles, ice cream cones galour
One bit of junk foods make you want
More! More! More!

Gum and Caramel
Cotton candy and such
Is not a very healthy type of lunch

Licorice and gum
Cones and bars
With the amount your eating you could have bought two cars

Sugar and flavor
Cavities and decay
Who the hell needs teeth anyway?

 

 

Prancy Nancy pranced and danced and spurted into oblivion on the peak of Niagara’s stairwell and danced into an equus of the most inconsequential kind. Sally Shoestrings flew through the ear of an elephant in the acquitted forward status of an eyewitness to a rape of cottage cheese and artichokes in the cold breath of a fog Thursday. Meanwhile, Carl calls a cantaloupe with testicles and acne and running out of Kleenex for the Book of the Undead introducing the seasonal friends who are running running running to ruin in the ransacking of rumors in Rhode Island and neighboring Altoona or gums dig into sphinx and ultravixens of death camps strewn through inexorable species of jellyfish rabbits hamsters and fish bowls calls inadventageous writing  fighting sighting lighting sing ting bing bong the bells as they chime above the churches in the belfry.

 

 

 

Hello

Hello.
Hi.
Have you been to a fish fry?
Shalom.
Adios.
How do you do?
Fine.
How are you?
Great.
So.
Hi.
Bellow.
Hi.
Hello.