Amy, notre amour mort peut-il être ressuscité?

 

When I saw you yesterday, resurrection once again

took place in my heart and in my loins;

all that poignant pain reborn --

from your soul I'm too long shorn.

Have I spent those silver coins

Judas-like on fruitless yen?

Today's Timericks.

 

Chili con carne's the ticket for me/even the French, of it, all yell 'Mais oui!'/The meat and the beans and the fiery gravy/sail down my throat like a nectarous navy/Who cares about vapors that later are fanned/Just gimme some chili that has not been canned!

Ignorance and malice, sowing fields of rancid dreams/now concentrate their ire on the innocent vaccines/These oafs are only happy when their plots diminish hope/and make the people stumble as through sorrow they do grope.

The President's first forum with the press was unexciting/Unlike He Who Won't Be Named -- which seemed more like bullfighting/Normalcy's been gone so long, it's hard to recollect/how to deal with presidents with regular respect. 

 

New Love Poem For Joom

 

The stale coffee on your breath

and dark eyes to which I sank

as I kissed you half to death

and your greedy ardor drank.

Laughing, snapping teeth so white --

would you really truly bite me?

Holding on to what so tight,

since you never had to fight me?

I pushed down upon your hips,

tracing moles upon your back;

as you licked your ragged lips

and I called you 'Heart Attack."

Plucking eyebrows, brushing hair --

doing all that girly stuff;

I would watch you from a chair

and could never get enough.

I last saw you years ago

at the airport in Bangkok.

It was all so allegro;

it made love a laughingstock.

Now the mountains here are white

like the hair upon my head;

I still think of you at night

and could wish that I were dead.

Today's Timericks (with a helping of Van Gogh.)

 

Amazon and unions mix/just like smoothies and chop sticks/Amazon has sent out spies/so workers do not organize/Workers on a sit down strike/make old Bezos feel warlike/But with Democrats on top/unions are sure not to flop.

When a poet disappears/very few are shedding tears/Poets, gadflies, nuts; the same/All are playing just a game/So say ignoramus crowds/who have never ridden clouds. 

The world is an asylum/and we are trapped inside/Anyone escaping/is caught and swiftly tried/Van Gogh escaped so often/and painted what he saw/until he broke the windows/of ev'ry jail bourgeois. 

Photo Essay: The Postcards I Mailed to President Biden So Far This Week.

 

Prose Poem: A Plastic Bag Diet Will Save the World!

 

We all have to make life choices from time to time.

I made one a while ago that I must share with you.

After hearing about all the plastic bags

being found in the stomachs of whales

and camels and cows,

I went on a plastic bag diet.

They are best eaten raw, sprinkled with

 sea salt.

Make sure you get a variety of plastic

bags -- from the grocery, drug store, and dollar

store.

The different kinds of polyethylene they use

on the bags gives them a distinctive

taste and texture.

Don't be tempted to cheat by sneaking

in a few paper bags! They're full of corn

syrup.

And stay away from bubble wrap --

it'll make you flatulent.

Nowadays I snag my breakfast

from a trash can while out

walking in the park.

I meet friends for lunch downtown to

enjoy a plastic bag smoothie.

I usually skip dinner,

although sometimes I'll munch

on a quart-size baggie while watching 

the boob tube.

Why am I sharing this with you?

Because I believe we can end

world hunger, here and now,

if we all work together to provide

enough plastic bags for everyone.

So won't you please bring all yours

 to our Plastic Bags to

End Hunger Initiative

at the White House Rose Garden

this Easter Sunday?

Donations are tax deductible. 

Koszonom!

Today's Timericks.

 

Gun control, that bugaboo/still upsets both me and you/I say ban 'em; you demure/Can there be a useful cure?/Tax 'em like we do tobacco/maybe that will stop a whacko.  

Cereal boxes now contain/shrimp tails and perhaps bird brain/These are prizes I would ban/were I selling Raisin Bran/Rusty nails in frosted flakes/give consumers nasty shakes/I don't want such horrid dregs/and so I'll stick to ham and eggs. 

Sheltering in place did cause/weight gain like old Santa Claus/I was thin and in good shape/Now I'm rounder than a grape/Snacking in anxiety/since there's no society/sure is not a funny joke/next I'll probably start to smoke!

Prose Poem: The Breathing Act of 2021.

 

I'm proud to say I played a small part

in helping to pass The Breathing Act

of 2021.

Too many people are taking advantage of

our liberal and naive breathing policies.

Our forefathers fought for the right

to breathe, for the truth of "One Man, One

Breath!"

We can't let that sacred privilege go by

the boards by giving it away to every Tom,

Dick, and Harry that saunters into town

and demands a breath.

As of this coming May,

no longer can just anyone take a breath of fresh air;

you have to have a valid photo ID,

a birth certificate, a Social Security number,

and a zoning permit.

 Anyone caught breathing illegally

or fraudulently will see the inside of

the slammer pdq.

I know some soreheads complain

that if you can't breath you can't live.

Well, my answer to that is this --

stay and breathe in your own country,

why don't you?

Or if you're a felon hoping to breathe

again, you'd better keep your nose clean

and your hands dirty with good honest

labor -- no living off of welfare.

Then, and only then,

will you be allowed to breathe again.

Rest assured that our Breathing Integrity 

Committee, of which I am Chair,

will leave no stone unturned to see

to it that each breath is legitimate.

Any breath that is in doubt will be

thoroughly investigated, and, if

warranted, nullified.

And needless to say,

we are putting the lid on

absentee and mail-in

breathing . . . 

Today's Timericks.

 

Finding laughs is hard today/Things seem more like shadow play/I believe that hope exists/when you cut away the cysts/of despair and stark fatigue/and believe that no blitzkrieg/can prevail for long if we/place our trust in Deity.

She is dealing with parosmia, a distortion of smell such that previously enjoyable aromas — like that of fresh coffee or a romantic partner — may become unpleasant and even intolerable. Along with anosmia, or diminished sense of smell, it is a symptom that has lingered with some people who have recovered from Covid-19.  NYT.

I smell garbage when I eat/roses now are not a treat/And my lover stinks so foul/I would rather kiss an owl/Tell me, Covid, am I doomed/to never sniff a thing perfumed?

Spring is sprung; mild zephyrs blow/But still asparagus I know/as something green and slimy which/makes my taste buds start to twitch/I'd rather celebrate the Spring/with a pan-fried chicken wing.

In a conclusion that even surprised its editors, the 2021 World Happiness Report found that, amid global hardship, self-reported life satisfaction across 95 countries on average remained steady in 2020 from the previous year. The United States saw the same trend — despite societal tumult that yielded a national drop in positive emotions and a rise in negative ones. The country fell one spot, to 19th, in the annual rankings of the report, which was released Saturday.  WaPo. 

Happiness is what you get/when your troubles you forget/All day long you'll learn to croon/mantras that are so jejune/they will turn your brain to mush/telling intellect to hush/Happiness will come to me/only with lobotomy.  

I see lots of UFO's/I report them, heaven knows/Soon the Feds will validate/all my sightings with great weight/Then I won't be called a loon/when I'm kidnapped by Neptune!

Mormonism, like some other faith groups, requires members to tithe 10 percent of their incomes but is more organized and deliberate about collecting it and understanding why members cannot pay.  Washington Post. 

I have never been strong-armed/or told I should be alarmed/if my tithing I don't pay/I'm not forced to so obey/out of fear or as a bribe/in thrall to some pious scribe/I pay tithing as a way/to thank God for each new day/In return, when I'm distressed/I still know I'm being blessed/God is not a financier/All He asks is love sincere.

Today's Timericks. (Now with German quark!)

 

Senators who like to fib/always making with ad-lib/sheltered by immunity/have the scruples of a flea/Voters who will keep them in/must be drinking bathtub gin.

Milk on walls and bread on floors/these are springtime cleaning chores/Antiquaries so expound/how the old folks messed around/with wood ashes and bedpan/to keep homes real spic and span/Me, I'll stick to alcohol/It makes cleaning quite a ball.

Now when shopping I expect/foreign foods to oft detect/ Fonio and German quark/Nori and chinchona bark/locust bugs from Myanmar/But where is my grape jelly jar?  

Preachers come in many sizes/and some really like their prizes/coming from communion plates/and their pious delegates/Could I stay poor as a vicar/would I worship a stock ticker?/Luckily, I feel no call/to go shopping at the mall.