Poems

I wonder and wonder

My thoughts charged as thunder

In a lightning-bolt life

Of bleary-eyed blunder

Dabble in truth

Dibble all sooth

In the orchards of

Chauncey Gardner

You're on to something true, robust and high-test

Delving deep to convey secret meaning

You're up to goddamn good, getting oaths off your chest

Forming free verses ready for screening

You're getting the real feel, free and unchecked

Running runes of poetic inkling

You're right where you should be, letting truth reflect

The manna of florid freethinking

I think sitting down with good intentions,

to write poetry about anything or nothing

'tis our worthwhile Homo-sapiens pursuit 

Verses may have no meaning whatsoever,

and convey powerful or harmful emotions

but human art 'tis the mystical taking root

I'd planned on murdering Tucker Carlson,

when he'd gone to the store all by himself

for what reason each and every Thursday, 

he lone shopped while restocking shelves

Shadowing him right over to lunch meats,

a monkey wrench got thrown in my plans

here came face to face with Sean Hannity!

so, I man-slaughtered instead the big ham

Glancing over I saw Carlson's near coolers,

transferring two one-gallon sweet tea jugs

he's staring straight at me and drops them,

so, I shoot him too with the leftover's slugs

Needless to say I won't make it outta there,

off-duty cops in the pickle's aisle had been

no time remaining for reloading any gusto,

so, my blood flows like sweet tea's revenge

Be the black sheep

True to your color

The odd sad man out

Through time interstellar

Praise the black sheep

Loved but forgotten

One blip of quick time

Living large but not rotten

They're like us, don't you know

In a less crazy way

Lost in life, on their own

In that large living way

Let them go, wish them well

That's just how the wheels turn

We had nothing to tell

And so much more to learn

Quite certain if I won millions in a state's lottery,

then you'd take some interest in talking with me

And isn't good enough it appears sending poetry,

which leads to a bad social reflection, apparently

When I sent you an email written in poem form,

'twas me communicating in thoughts about you

although not directly did I ask how you're doing,

I believed it's mention less my reach out 'tis true

When uncles send poems to nephew and nieces

I'd think you could ask yourself what would I do

to be in my sixties and still sending out limerick

while siblings' kids don't seem to care about you

One more poem, one more breath

One more sip of cream and honey 

Then the pain, thoughts of death

I just hope the place is sunny

No more life, no more lark

Gone is gone, in the dark

No more romp, no more roll

Lost is lost, black soul hole

No more fun, no more cum

Dead is dead, done is done

The odds of being born as human me

are about four-hundred trillion to one

Chance of having one human orgasm

becomes zero once lifetimes are done