Truth seeker,
hunting the hunter
or the huntress
eccentric poets
bizarre motives,
but interesting
and fascinating.
Unwrap that string
so tangled in knots,
future teller of
which it brings,
a day seller
a night calmly sings.....
Pretentiously
and weirdly
My poetry
brings fools
to their knees,
Am, I cool?
A fascination,
morbidly
and curiously?
I am the double agent
Don't mess with me
The rings of Saturn are empty.
They smell burning.
Moons which circle planets which are otherworldly.
We forget about them, sometimes.
Venus is catching on fire.
Mercury is always being silly.
Neptune is worried.
Moons laughing about being moons.
The rings of Saturn are tilted weirdly.
No one says anything.
I bet it smells like coffee.
Somewhere in space.
Somewhere in space.
Comets live.
Planets have names.
We think it’s up to us.
Pluto.
Seems lonely but,
Has five moons.
When we think he’s too small to have any.
There lives a gentleman from Luff
Who walks everywhere in the buff
His weeny is teeny
He calls it his winky
A stump that can't fill a cream puff.
Ladies would be left in despair
But he didn't really care
He got what he wanted
Frustrated, they taunted
And decided give him a scare.
They tied him to an 'lectric chair
Placed electrodes on you know where
They pulled down on the switch
His stump started to twitch
It stood bright like a giant flare
You'd think he would very happy
Making a stump long and snazzy
The women were smiling
The man was now crying
Wink shrivelled, weirdly and badly
From that day he always wore clothes
With women he instantly froze
He's fearful of leccy
Winky is now Becky
And parades in yearly freak shows.
25.07.25
I was not always this clever, this funny, this incredibly smart
But it is two a.m. somewhere, and I am hilarious; it is my art.
Weirdly, I was not in any way exciting before I got to this bar.
But now I am unbelievably witty, ask my buddy, his name is Gar.
Aren’t I witty, Gar? Aren’t I pretty? Aren’t I fabulously humorous tonight?
He thinks so, believe me, though he cannot sit upright.
I am getting younger every second, my face is clearing up too.
Hilarity is my middle name; now where is my stupid shoe?
But wait, honey, aren’t I funny? The bartender is closing down the bar.
Whiskey is improving my looks. Now where’s my stupid car?
cobweb on corner
this fence is weirdly brand new
fast acting spider
ART!
He painted my death,
With such dedication I've never seen before.
Every stroke of his brush, on that paper, marking out each curve, twist, and turn my body made
As I writhed in pain.
Premeditated murder, or a death masquerading as suicide, or perhaps just an unlucky soul.
My hands on my throat as I choked to death,
He didn't need to add a drop to my tea to pronounce me dead.
Because every time I brushed his gift to me,
I was gasping and blushing at how beautifully he depicted my death,
And swore that it was breathtaking.
It was really breathtaking!
My body was found lying on the green grass,
Sprawled in a weirdly shaped position, just as he had predicted.
I gave him his last gift:
A live picture of me modeling his artwork, in afterlife.
Who would know that arsenic was the green-dye monster,
But was also made into a painting to die for.
Emer
I deep-sixed toys, games, a bed and a picture book
Our font porch now has a much more organized look
In May I kept hundreds of junk I did not need
Crayolas, pinwheels, and blue petunia seed
Weirdly thinking I might someday need this or that
bent clarinet, torn photo and stuffed bat
knife broken in two, huge bag of red clover
a lesson this hoarder learns over and over
Here comes the uppity bejeweled crow
Carrying her loud beak just so and so
She is wearing a cape as white as snow
Her beady eyes turn on me; they have a glow
Flashing gemstone rings are on her feathers today
She preens and twists, weirdly turning away
Around her neck there is a diamond choker
I heard she won this playing cardinal poker
I have to eat enough.
I opened up everything.
Give them a patch of lawn.
Or maybe a toast.
The first thing I learned.
Inside of cooked shopping trips.
Could be a cookie on the sidewalk.
But then they would hurt.
Shoes are the ones who feel.
Flopping over.
I have to eat more.
The monster is the one who is weirdly smudged.
They told me the dirt lives in this small house.
So do they.
I have to eat pieces.
Underneath.
They left me a snack.
A dirty plate with crumbs.
Eating crumbs as old as this place.
They told me I ate enough.
I almost agreed.
When I write I write in tens
Ten poems per session
Some are insanely silly
Weirdly enough, understood by many
Sometimes commenters write me ten sentences
With suggestions
When I have only written a two-line missive
Bess’s expressions were grotesque
Most usually weirdly cheerless
She is under unusual duress
Her family is an utter mess
Bess is playing poker more or less
Her deadpan expression not needless
A stickler for rules more or less
My watercress-loving friend named Bess
Why oh why asked Old Lady Spry
Do they always die without saying bye?
Her husband Kai let out a loud sigh
Put eggs on high that he was trying to fry
This is a true story, assured my neighbor Vi
Kai’s omelet included warm cheese of brie.
I knew it right away, ‘cause I am sort of a spy.
I can see in their window if I really try.
Their house is a bit of a challenge, a real pigsty.
This is almost the full truth; I rarely tell a lie.
Persnickety Lady Spry winks and always says “hi”.
She gave my husband a Santa Christmas tie.
It was nothing the old hag had to go out and buy.
Repurposed from her deadbeat ex-husband Cy.
Vi then gave us a good-bye, for she had to fly.
Heading to Canada with Ty, her new guy.
He’s super sweet, backwards, and weirdly shy
But I might be in love with this goof-pot said Vi.
She falls in love fast had stated Old Lady Spry.
This is the truth, my friends, for I do not lie.
Looking out of the window,
Staring into droplets of rain
Drawing patterns of emptiness
on my window panes…
I try to comprehend,
The very meaning of life
When all I could think of is
‘Sans,’ ‘sans,’ and ‘sans.”
Weirdly enough,
To my own dismay,
I am content by the very non-existence
of any meaning to life.
The void makes me delighted.
winter is on hold
October feels like summer
Kansas looks like the Ozarks
hills and trees, trees and hills
ninety-two degree day in late October
weirdly no longer abnormal in Kansas
alabaster aardvark allows
banished blue booby
cobblestone cracks
during Dubuque’s disastrous date
effervescent egrets
feel felonious and free
giving giant giraffe gratitude
high-fiving hilarious hyenas
illustrious indigo iguana
jokily justifies
kangaroo’s curious kindness
luxurious llama laughs
mangy monkey mimics
noisy next-door neighbor
ornery oustanding ostrich of Oz
provokes prissy persnickety peacock
querulously quarrels with quick quail
resident rodent rushes
sassily sure-footed and serious
temperate tarantula turns
under universal udder
variegated villainous veins
willingly walk weirdly
‘xciting ‘xacting ‘xtraordinary
yellow yang yaks
zing in zigzag zones, zeroing alabaster aardvarks
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