I never use essential oils/my skin's beyond repair/where there isn't wrinkles/there is gross unwanted hair/I look more like a troll than man/with warts and wattles, too/I'd scare away the bogie man/if my face he could view!
Sightings of the thylacine/are happening now all the time/It's been extinct a hundred years/and yet it still in news appears/People see just what they want/and that's why Trump remains to haunt.
Whenever heavy meals I eat/the thought of napping is so sweet/I lie upon my couch and dream/of further pie and whipping cream/I had a wife who liked to talk/and said that I should take a walk/after heavy meals, not purr/I wonder what became of her?
Time was when a hug did not/ever cause a second thought/People poked and pinched a lot/It never put you on the spot/Now a look that seems too wry/causes such a hue and cry/that I think it's best if we/act just like an amputee.
Team building exercises are a waste of time, I trow/they're either idiotic or a lot of wind to blow/and sometimes they do mimic cultic dramas quite insane/like running 'round all naked while you lug a ball and chain/if people don't know how to work together, it's a shame/but it is not a reason to resort to some damn game.
The day will come when all will feast
with our Lord, the Great High Priest.
A celebration is in store
for scapegoats, outcasts, and the poor.
The high and mighty, though, will sigh --
as they are served with humble pie.
If only North Dakota were closer,
I could walk to it.
Breathe in that scent of watchful waiting;
Hear the quiet hum of icicles fighting the sun.
If only I could get to North Dakota tonight --
I feel certain someone would have a piece of
cud for me to thoughtfully chew on
for the rest of my life.
And people would nod at me,
in a friendly manner,
and not talk very much.
But no -- I'm stuck way out here between
leering mountain ranges;
a victim of encroaching prosperity, surrounded by
cunning do-gooders who want to help me
improve myself.
They never stop talking.
They give me water with special
molecules in it.
Ancient inedible grains
that go down like gravel.
They don't even stop talking to eat.
When I look at them, all I see
is Doris Day.
When I look deeper, all I see
are plastic bags floating in the wind.
They tease me incessantly
to invest in cyber widgets;
they tell me my money will grow
exponentially.
I don't even know what
'exponentially' means.
They want to lave me in essential oils.
Take me into salt caves.
Cure my malaise with a perky smile
and a positive attitude.
They attack my cherished melancholy
like committed terrorists.
If I can't reach North Dakota,
maybe I can get to a western
ghost town.
Sit silently on a hill of mine tailings.
Immerse myself in the fumes
of underground coal fires.
Let my veins fill with alkali.
Which way to Sego, kind sir?
And don't come near me with that
skin moisturizer!
Pastor Stewart-Allen Clark/has now really made his mark/telling maidens plain so shy/that they need to beautify/their dull faces so to rouse/men to want to be their spouse/With no money in his plate/told his pulpit to vacate/this poor preacher now resides/far from any blushing brides.
When you shake the money tree/who cares about trajectory?/As long as I am getting mine/I won't waste breath on some big whine/about the undeserving poor/who also this time 'round will score/a check from Uncle Sammy's purse/I love he's now a free wet nurse!
Reporters ought to know by now/police expect them to kowtow/to their demands to leave a place/or get some cayenne in the face/Though it's their job to cover news/some judges find that's no excuse/to witness what police may do/when protestors have come in view.
The mighty power of the Lord
by men today has been ignored.
But there will come a day when He
will bare his arm for all to see.
The nations then shall recognize
his right to reign and to chastise.
I watched Kirk Douglas in "Lust for Life' on Netflix last night. So today I had to tote my sketch pad and drawing utensils into the great outdoors for some manic/depressive scribbling. Here are the results:
A windy day.
A red No-Parking curb,
crammed with dead leaves.
It all means only one thing --
torticollis.
