Degenerate house filled with ancestry
one short hand stretches from statues to shame
pervading loose boundedness within the same
or toward less classical geometry
on this continuous interplay to show
how apotheosis may interchange the crow
this desire between rough designs, I try
to withstand its whirlwind and real rephaim
into flexible modules overclaim
terrain through the abundant baptistery
we have dispersed vital functions for coe
by distinctive architectural doe
we provide few clues from dictionary
this situation contracts markedly beldame
Bah ratcha tas contavalaz
you rase-neflapher’d wagicaud!
Condaver haufin polysnip!
I’ll tell you just where you can stick
your pi-calogin traginine!
You heard me right you doboline.
Go rosigate your dodgisnap
you traginated jollipap!
Xysnerf neflected nillidip!
Take that YOU LILLY ARKABLIP!
COE SNAZE I-CAVIN WAJALLAY!!
BI-ROPKI LISHNIF DOBIKAY!!!
FLANT-AG-LACATED HYBOLEE!!!! ...
Uhm…
Why is everyone looking at me?
There in *SIERRA PELADA *
all that glitters is gold..
if not on the SOIL, but
in the golden toothed mouth
of Mr. Jose Rich Coe'... !
PS Serra pelada mountain MINING in Brazil
He would find he cutest photo of cats dressed as Napoleon or Cher
Throwing them into contests that were always judged so fair.
I laughed aloud when I saw Queen Sheba or Astronaut Glenn.
Jon always found the cutest cats, many of them not a sliver thin.
We entered each other’s contests, and took prizes off each other.
Jon was a confidant, a friend, more affectionate than a brother.
His poems often rose to the place of gold, and I would give it a star.
Not knowing until the end that it was from Jon’s sweet poetic guitar.
Jon and I both had an appreciation for humor, and we liked cats a lot.
We put in HMs often, and my poems often slid into a winning spot.
Comments would get crazy as back and forth we would often go.
I really miss this poetic master, this contest holder, my friend Jon Coe.
He is in heaven now, surrounded by his cat, Zeus, the big meow.
He stopped to get him on the rainbow bridge's joyful brow.
He is probably reading these poems and loving them.
This poem is to say thank you Jon, now rest. Amen.
at the growing flock
including male friends relatives,
minus yours truly, whose presence,
would merely generate a yawn,
though even a distinct black swan
received royal carpet treatment
particularly one named Shawn
encompassing another honorable guest
with illustrious surname Rawn
guests underwritten by Cupid,
whose presence surreptitiously withdrawn
(invitations distributed widely explained,
just beak cuz gerrymandering redrawn)
even provoking deer interest
of stray doe eyed fawn
hence lacking bravado and brawn
this bird den some seedy,
yet dove out crow kissing Avocet
trundled off to parts unknown you bet
far from boys stir russ, raw cuss, diss cuss
ting clacking clique, and thus this solitary fret
full ostracized, rejected, unwanted egret,
who heron there experienced many a let
down, not simply because of stork disparity
with the Aves and havenots,
but I never met
any other species so set
in their ways, hence off
on a wing and prayer
in search of other buoys and gulls,
whom this dodo bird they will coe vet!
JOLIE CHATTE,
LE MEOW !
LE MEOW !
JOLIE CHATTE,
LE MEOW,
LE MEOW !
IMPERTINENTE ALLEZ !
COE SUR SASSY !
COE SUR SASSY,
JOLIE !IGNORE
LE MEOW !
On Iffley running track he made his mark.
An athlete, an icon, this man-is-ter -
rific – a world record in local park !
The man, of course, is Roger Bannister*.
No man before had run the mile sub-four.
Friends Chataway and Brasher kept the pace –
they helped him persevere and win the race,
delight the crowds and make tired spirits soar.
He trained and trained his body and his mind,
a unique character, one of a kind.
Although to him a kind of recreation,
to Coe and Cram, a source of inspiration.
At eighty eight his race is finally won,
immortal hero, still, to everyone.
The Amazing Felicity Coe.
Once upon a time Felicity Coe
helped all in need
she couldn't say no.
She'd pick up the strays
and those who were sick
take them all home
to recover them quick.
Her exemplary caring
spills out from her heart.
Her unconditional sharing
as her love she'll impart.
To any poor soul who's
feeling low.
That's the amazing
Felicity Coe.
better to be back in black
said Brett Boe
Coca-Cola for coy cat
replied Carla Coe
draw the duck down in dew
whispered Donna Doe
fries feed feisty firebugs
claims Frankie Foe
good guys grumble about golf
implies Grant Goe
hairy hilltops hide hat heroes
stated Harry Hoe
jackal junior joined the jazz jam
assured Jackie Joe
kings kneel before koala
declares Karren Koe
lonely lady lies in a lake
spoke Larry Loe
meanwhile muses moan in mud
complained Martha Moe
never nail the night in a nutshell
giggles Norma Noe
pisco for poor pigs in pubs!
shouts Paula Poe
quite quirky for quag queen
blabbed Quincy Qoe
rebel riders rule the roads
stated Ralphie Roe
only silly ships sail south
claimed Sammy Soe
triple taco tripped on telly
said Tammy Toe
violet violins vanish in vain
confirmed Vince Voe
waxy waffles weep on wire
told William Woe
Yeti yells at yummy yaks
asserts Yvonne Yoe
zig zag zone is zipped and zapped
finished Zack Zoe
Sebastian Coe
has recently pleaded just how could he know?
much evidence tainted
that man with the needle who frequently fainted.
It hard to know
Why i was expelled
From the fundamentals of poetry.
Each day
Like a loyal monk
i played my flute
With the basket
Over my head.
As the lemmings
Passed
In quadrangles of coe-eds.
For everything i must remember
Something must be forgotten.
Often the days
Of learning
Have attempted to remove
Both the marrow and my intuition
From my bones.
Learning is to suppress
Creativity within
Like a poor mouse
Dreams of cheese.
In the first graduation
A woman matriculated
From Adam’s rib.
Into my textbook
i stuffed the snowflakes
i have cut kaftless
With my artless intellect.
Learning
Is ego
And i am
Priest of nothingness.
Some times
The best koans
Make ice-cream cones.
Young Guns is a movie about Billy the Kid,
but it is not at all historically accurate.
The movie makes the Kid look like a homicidal lunatic,
when in reality the Kid was very kind hearted.
To quote George Coe, a very close friend of his,
"He would have been a successful man under different circumstances,
but he got a poor start in life with damaging consequences.
He had a reputation for helping the elderly, the poor and the young
and yet despite the Kid's expert skill with a gun
he was always in good humor, ready to do a kind deed for someone."
Anytime I happen upon the Young Guns movie
I want to pick up objects and throw them at the screen.
I learned to write poetry
From those bathroom walls
I even learned about life
From them dirty old stalls
I think one was even written
By Mr Edgar Allan Poe
Wait!, that might have said
David Allan Coe
One poem that I found
Was scribbled in red
Of course I can't really repeat
What that poem said
Some were so funny
They made me laugh real hard
I laughed til I cried
And my lungs were scarred
Here I sit so broken hearted
Was a poem that we made famous
But we never signed our names
In case they ever tried to blame us
Now some say that bathroom poetry
Just isn't very well known
But you just can't help but read some
While you're sitting on the throne
To pee or not to pee
I haven't made up my mind
But you have to admit, bathroom poetry
Is simply one of a kind
Well, I was gonna write a poem
But I can't remember how
I know words are involved
You know, like "thee" and "thou"
And I was gonna be famous
You know, like Edgar Allan Poe
Wait!, I think that was his name
Or was it David Allan Coe?
Yep, I was gonna be rich and famous
Til a friend of mine said
"You can't be rich and famous,
Til long after you're dead"
I knew right then I didn't wanna die
So a mediocre poet, I'd be
And if anybody ever said I was good
I'd say, "Huh?"... "Who me?"
Now words come easy to one like me
Course, I don't really know how to spell
But that just keeps me down to earth
We wouldn't want my head to swell
So if I write a poem that's really good
Don't say, "Great" say, "It's okay" instead
Cause I don't wanna be rich and famous
And I don't wanna turn up dead
next my luster is a buster and a vusting uppence usher.i was told where to go for
my coe of killagraph,did ya laugh at my fat ass?love drew carey.
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