Her prized first bike
came out of a breakfast cereal competition.
Then sped her around London
from lecture to final examination.

Twenty years on it was replaced
by gleaming white and black carbon.
Bought, lacking in memories
faster, lighter with a baby seat for Bethan.

Fitness, a priority this year
swimming in the pool, open water and the sea.
Clare selected a running coach
cycling home at an ever higher cadence for tea.

Happy, with her performance
in her very first event as a triathlon novice.
A second, saw Clare pedaling faster
to race past fellow competitors with ease.

In her last competition she was pictured lithe
on posters promoting reactive sports glasses.
Winning a new Felt racing bike, seats in the VIP stand
for the Tour de France finish and her fit lasses-****.


My congratulations dear hero...

come all you story readers
be you young or be you old
to the land of sir dolly dimple
were fairytales unfold
not so far away
and not so long ago
lived a boy named dolly dimple
and a horse named dynamo
they lived in a land of tyrants
were fear and greed was bred
yet this boy called dolly dimple
had a halo on his head
he grew to be a decent man
big and brave and strong
he rode the land on dynamo
to put right all that's wrong
he rescued damsels in distress
he put dragons fires out
he made the land a safer place
he was loved beyond all doubt
yet as he grew so famous
so did the boy next door
the wicked tyrant gordon
did evil deeds galore
now gordon was a wicked boy
who grew to be an evil man
to undo the good deeds dolly did
was gordons master plan
now gordon hated good sir dolly
ever since they both were boys
cos sir dolly quite by accident
broke one of gordons toys
so gordon kidnapped all the princesses
and locked them in his tower
to grind down all the corn he grew
and turn it into flour
he crept into peoples houses
to steal kids from there bed
to work in his bakeries
to turn his flour into bread
then he sent out all the orphans
to work on the street
seling his bread
to the people they,d meet
then he bought up all the houses
with the money he made
and doubled the rent
that the poor people paid
now everybody panicked
shouted screamed and bawled
till someone suggested
the mayor should be called
now the mayor listened carefully
and when he heard it all
he picked up his phone
and gave sir dolly a call
he quickly told sir dolly
what was going on
on dolly said dont worry mayor
i,ll be right along
so he dressed in his armour
loaded his pop gun
climbed up on dynamo
and his good deed had begun
he rode up to the tower
scaled the walls of stone
peeped into the window
to see the princesses were alone
when he saw it was all clear
he climbed into the tower
and made a big rope ladder
from the bags that held the flour
so sir dolly and the princesses
climbed down to the ground
and he took them all home safely
except 4 one he found
she was princess of the orphans
princess clare was her name
sir dolly fell in love with her
princess clare felt the same
now sir dolly had a mission
he knew he must go alone
so he dropped off princess Clare
at the mayors home
princess Clare  told sir dolly to take care
he said dont worry i,ll be back
with the wicked tyrant gordon
******* in a sack
so he rode off on dynamo
to the bakery door
so he could free all the children
so they could sleep once more
he kicked down the door
took off every chain
rode them all home
and tucked them back in bed again
then he rode to the orphanage
and hid in bushes by the gate
he knew gordon would come back 4 the kids
all he had to do was wait
first thing in the morning
just as it got light
he saw gordon coming
so he jumped out of sight
sir dolly shouted gordon
we meet again at last
i,ve come to punish you 4 all ur crimes
ur evil days are past
yet gordon was so quick
he turned and as he fled
sir dolly pulled his pop gun out
and shot him in the head
all gordon cud do
was fall with a shout
as the cork from dollies pop gun
quickly knocked him out
so dolly tied gordons hands up
tight behind his back
then picked up evil gordon
and dropped him in a sack
he put gordon on dynamos back
tied him on with his tail
rode him back to town
and threw him into jail
now the whole town cheered
and shouted dolly,s name
and gave him a medal
for stopping gordons evil game
now princess Clare
gave dolly a big kiss
and everybody cheered again
and not long after this
sir dolly and princess Clare
became husband and wife
and lived happily ever after
for the rest of there life

Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die.
— Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934

When you no no want eat Lemmon
'cause it no no not taste sweet
You should not have sugar candy
It's not healthy as can be...Now!

There are new Thai Fruits discovered, in the Tropic Jungle heat!
All them lovely Thailand Fruits! Make you mouth say" Tutti Fruit, Ah!"
All exotic and delicious.. at first one is so suspicious... cause it taste so crazy wild
But, even good for baby child...

Big banana grow for monkey Yes, Thai Fruits tastes so fun funky!
Mango for Bangkok street dancing, All Thai Fruit best for romancing...
GrapeFruit great for big-big ape! Thai Fruit, in my my milk-shake!
Grow head hairy with Strawberry! Dandy Fruit lovely big Cherry!

Melon make wild man go yell... Thai Fruit put you in love spell
Guava flavor in coffee Java yes, Thai Tree found in Bahama!

Now, we eat up all da fruit, lovely-lovely Melon Fruit!
cuase it makes sweet-nectar juice! Cleanse your Healthy body loose!
There are new Thai Fruits we eat discover deep in Jungle heat!
We love spicy Thailand Fruit! Make you mouth feel Tutti Fruit!

"Yum Yum" sez baby child...
Get Fruity Now! Sweet & Sour! Hep Hep Hurray!

Thai Fruit, yum yum yum!
Don't need no *** *** ***!
Feeling Fruity all over, sensation of all flavor...
a brand new taste I now savor .... Mmmmmmmm Deeelicious!
Thailand Fruit is now: what we all Favor !!!!

Thai Fruit Taste, the one we love...
All the many are so nice...
Like Mangosteen herb spice

We all want Thai Fruit now, is the flavor in our mouth...Sugar Chocolate Candy can go south... '
'cause dem no don't tastes as sweet...

Theres the new Thai Fruit we discover in the Jungle fill with heat!
It is the lovely Thai Thai Fruit! Make you go go Tutti Fruit!
It is exotic and delicious.. Now no one is suspicious... cause it taste so yummy wild
We feel like baby child... Yep, it make all go hog WILD!!!

(c) 2009 David Wayne Clare all rights reserved in perpetuity - Intellectual Property use by permission

The chao phraya river song
by: David Wayne Clare

Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella) Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella)

Down By the River, don't dive in, them sharks are real-****-mean but, that's where you'll find me... along with buzzards, ******* and kumoi dope fiends...

Chorus
we love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

now...
oriental Asian Ladies, Thailand's **** Siam queens
I dig them slant-eyed ******,
them sticky cat-faced chicks on Soi 13!

(Miami Hotel)

cause they love that ***** water ...
oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

(Harmonica Solo)

You'll find me trashed one morning (smashed!)
Iced-down in China Town; all crying alone...

One day I'll never leave here (Lord!) Unless an Esan Girl might claim me for her own...
'cause I love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

Refrain

Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...
Buddha!
Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...

Oh, Bangkok, Thailand... you're my home!

(Sharp jumps from river with snied smile... big splash sound...)

(c) in perpetuity, David John Clare Clairvoyant Music BMI

Thailand...

Its fast approaching
Valentines day
So my darling Clare
I,d just like to say
I love you with all my heart

Valentines day again
Our fifth together
Love you more with every year
I,m so glad were together

I,ll get you a big card
And a cute little cuddly toy
Just to say I love you
And I,m glad to be your boy

I,ll fill it full of verses
And hearts and kisses too
I,ll even write a sloppy poem
To prove my love is true

So never leave me darling
I don,t know what I,d do
If I had to spend my valentines day
Without my love so true

So happy valentines day
And thanks my darling Clare
For giving me a valentines day
That me and you can share

Shadows dance on subway walls
Through crowded bars and pachinko halls
I came equipped for fun and play
You dont have to tip but boy you pay

The night runs deep when you miss the train
After this trip you're never the same
I fell into forbidden zones
Ancient temples turned into internet shops dial for *** to her cellular telephone

Step to the beat invent your own way
If you can't dance you've got two left feet
What's the difference let your hair down its time to play and dance the...

Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no
Don't dance the...
Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no

Down the street there's a ceremony on
It's a cinch when the pink lights on till dawn
Get to grips with a ancient kind of street dance
Kissing cherry lips or grape or mango
Do every dance but NOT the Tokyo Tango

Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no
Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no

Zakuza dance

Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no
Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no


D. Clare

written in Tokyo

Tu semper amoris
  Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago.

  VAL. FLAC. ‘Argonaut’, iv. 36.


Friend of my youth! when young we rov’d,
Like striplings, mutually belov’d,
  With Friendship’s purest glow;
The bliss, which wing’d those rosy hours,
Was such as Pleasure seldom showers
  On mortals here below.

The recollection seems, alone,
Dearer than all the joys I’ve known,
  When distant far from you:
Though pain, ’tis still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,
  And sigh again, adieu!

My pensive mem’ry lingers o’er,
Those scenes to be enjoy’d no more,
  Those scenes regretted ever;
The measure of our youth is full,
Life’s evening dream is dark and dull,
  And we may meet—ah! never!

As when one parent spring supplies
Two streams, which from one fountain rise,
  Together join’d in vain;
How soon, diverging from their source,
Each, murmuring, seeks another course,
  Till mingled in the Main!

Our vital streams of weal or woe,
Though near, alas! distinctly flow,
  Nor mingle as before:
Now swift or slow, now black or clear,
Till Death’s unfathom’d gulph appear,
  And both shall quit the shore.

Our souls, my Friend! which once supplied
One wish, nor breathed a thought beside,
  Now flow in different channels:
Disdaining humbler rural sports,
’Tis yours to mix in polish’d courts,
  And shine in Fashion’s annals;

’Tis mine to waste on love my time,
Or vent my reveries in rhyme,
  Without the aid of Reason;
For Sense and Reason (critics know it)
Have quitted every amorous Poet,
  Nor left a thought to seize on.

Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard!
Of late esteem’d it monstrous hard
  That he, who sang before all;
He who the lore of love expanded,
By dire Reviewers should be branded,
  As void of wit and moral.

And yet, while Beauty’s praise is thine,
Harmonious favourite of the Nine!
  Repine not at thy lot.
Thy soothing lays may still be read,
When Persecution’s arm is dead,
  And critics are forgot.

Still I must yield those worthies merit
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit,
  Bad rhymes, and those who write them:
And though myself may be the next
By critic sarcasm to be vext,
  I really will not fight them.

Perhaps they would do quite as well
To break the rudely sounding shell
  Of such a young beginner:
He who offends at pert nineteen,
Ere thirty may become, I ween,
  A very harden’d sinner.

Now, Clare, I must return to you;
And, sure, apologies are due:
  Accept, then, my concession.
In truth, dear Clare, in Fancy’s flight
I soar along from left to right;
  My Muse admires digression.

I think I said ’twould be your fate
To add one star to royal state;—
  May regal smiles attend you!
And should a noble Monarch reign,
You will not seek his smiles in vain,
  If worth can recommend you.

Yet since in danger courts abound,
Where specious rivals glitter round,
  From snares may Saints preserve you;
And grant your love or friendship ne’er
From any claim a kindred care,
  But those who best deserve you!

Not for a moment may you stray
From Truth’s secure, unerring way!
  May no delights decoy!
O’er roses may your footsteps move,
Your smiles be ever smiles of love,
  Your tears be tears of joy!

Oh! if you wish that happiness
Your coming days and years may bless,
  And virtues crown your brow;
Be still as you were wont to be,
Spotless as you’ve been known to me,—
  Be still as you are now.

And though some trifling share of praise,
To cheer my last declining days,
  To me were doubly dear;
Whilst blessing your beloved name,
I’d waive at once a Poet’s fame,
  To prove a Prophet here.

The onion, now that's something else
its innards don't exist
nothing but pure onionhood
fills this devout onionist
oniony on the inside
onionesque it appears
it follows its own daimonion
without our human tears

our skin is just a coverup
for the land where none dare to go
an internal inferno
the anathema of anatomy
in an onion there's only onion
from its top to it's toe
onionymous monomania
unanimous omninudity

at peace, at peace
internally at rest
inside it, there's a smaller one
of undiminished worth
the second holds a third one
the third contains a fourth
a centripetal fugue
polypony compressed

nature's rotundest tummy
its greatest success story
the onion drapes itself in it's
own aureoles of glory
we hold veins, nerves, and fat
secretions' secret sections
not for us such idiotic
onionoid perfections


Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak & Clare Cavanagh

Aka
The Hang mans Rap     Ghost Town Version and Mix    

By, David John Clare

Take off this noose, Im on the loose, like a double deuce spruce-goose
Your gallows is to shallow for me, its only for your own in home abuse
Dont crush my hand, cuz you cant understand the plan
She and me need to be free, Mr. Law man
Shes not your daughter, dont doubt her, Ill dote her, Miss Senorina, with my *** gun
Give us water and feed, we're the Wild West creed, of a new century seed
So concede and give heed, were gone like a tumble-****, off to breed
Like a slow-blizzard-breeze, get on yours knees please, you cant seize these mysteries
Hangmans Rap, (its the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangman Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
Im hanging out at the beech, far from your long arm reach, Ill be back cuz Im planning my attack, like a One Eyed Jack, Marlon Brando cant be catched, no deputy dog can claim my ******, so watch out when you fall thru own hatch
Ma Baker and sons, like the undertaker, are the new setting sun, movers and shakers
Annie get your gun, were on the run, get on your high horse, were born to run, break every law like a saloon-brawl, here come the Sheriff after us all y'all...
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
(Marlin Brando cant be catched)
Loving like we cant be dead in a Western ghost-town, its all your head, give us this day our daily butter and bread, its like I said move slick or live in club Fed...

Gun powder blast, shattered glass, Im riding the range like a social-outcast, were on the run, having fun, you tub o-guts, Ill grab my scatter gun....  so hide the girls, Im heading for the hills, no thanks doc, I aint taking no pills, what you want from me? my whole life history? Or, a bottle of wine of Dubonnet on this Valentines Day, dont act stupid, go ask cupid to shoot you with his arrow in the court room with a Clarence Darrow, stay on the straight and narrow, its a harrowing call, to be a Too Tall Jones, outlaw yall
Hangmans Rap, (yeah, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
(Marlin Brando cant be catched)
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, it's  hangman rap, like a One-Eyed Jack yall

Heed to the call, the-call-of-the-wild, Im the blazing-trail child on the way to my home on the range, some think Im strange, no matter at all, Im the lonesome-ranger, trying to avoid all kindsa danger, thats all
Hangmans Rap, (tiss, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack                                                             ­                                           
Hangman Rap, (oh, the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, like some **** One-Eyed Jack yall

So, get back from me, Im on a quest and where I go you cant plainly see I aint no toy, try to catch a glimpse of the real vision in me, ok cowboy?
Hangmans Rap, (yes, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack

Hangman Rap, (just, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, ****! a One-Eyed Jack yall

Im hanging out at the beach, far from your long arm reach, Ill be back cuz Im planning my attack, like a One Eyed Jack, Marlon Brando cant be catched
Hangmans Rap, (do the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangmans Rap, (****, that hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall

Take off this noose, Im on the loose, like a double deuce spruce-goose
dem gallows is to shallow for me, its only for your own in home use
Hangman Rap, (wo, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangman Rap, (yeow, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
There he go

D. Clare   Clairvoyant Music/BMI     copyright in Perpetuity      all rights reserved

There was a Young Lady of Clare,
Who was sadly pursued by a bear;
When she found she was tired,
She abruptly expired,
That unfortunate Lady of Clare.

The chao phraya river song
by david john clare

Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella) Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella)

1 Down By the River, don't dive in, them sharks are real-****-mean but, that's where you'll find me...

along with buzzards, ******* and kumoi dope fiends...

chorus 'cause we love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're our home !

2 now...Oriental Asian Ladies, Thailand's **** Siam queens

I dig them slant-eyed ******... Them
Sticky cat-faced chicks on Soi 13! 'cause they love that ***** water ...

oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

(Harmonica Solo)

3 You'll find me trashed one morning (smashed!)

Iced-down in China Town; all crying alone...

One day I'll never leave here (Lord!) Unless an Esan Girl might claim me for her own...

'cause I love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're our home !

Refrain

Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...

Buddha!

Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phrya River, Chao Phraya River...

Oh, Bangkok you're my home!

(Big smiling shark jumps from river with switchblade knife in between teeth...)

fin

(c) in perpetuity, David John Clare Clairvoyant Music BMI

Thailand...

The short-order cook and the dishwasher
argue the relative merits
of Rilke’s Elegies
against Eliot’s Four Quartets,
but the delivery man who brings eggs
suggests they have forgotten Les fleurs
du mal and Baudelaire. The waitress
carrying three plates and a coffee ***
can’t decide whom she loves more—
Rimbaud or Verlaine,
William Blake or William Wordsworth.
She refills the rabbi’s cup
(he’s reading Rumi),
asks what he thinks of Arthur Whaley.
In the booth behind them, a fat woman
feeds a small white poodle in her lap,
with whom she shares her spoon.
"It’s Rexroth’s translations of the Japanese,"
she says, "that one can’t live without:
May those who are born after me
Never travel such roads of love."
The revolving door proffers
a stranger in a long black coat, lost in the madhouse poems of John Clare.
As he waits to be seated,
the woman who owns the place
hands him a menu
in which he finds several handwritten poems
By Hafiz, Gibran, and Rabindranath Tagore.
The lunch hour’s crowded—
the owner wonders
if the stranger might share
my table. As he sits,
I put a finger to my lips,
and with my eyes ask him
to listen with me
to the young boy and the young girl
two tables away
taking turns reading aloud
the love poems of Pablo Neruda.

intro . . .
Have you ever noticed how many wild-guys out there through-out the world-over who have a wild-streak that are named Jim or James or Jimmy?
I mean take a look at the personalities of the many famous and not so famous men who are just a bit left-of-center and rebellious in nature.
For instance Jimmi Hoffa or take wild guitar man Jimmy Page or the great actor James Cagney or James Mason. Now consider Jimmi Stewart or James Garner.
What about everyones favorite spy James Bond. The wild genius of Jim Carrey. The old time character vaudvillian master Jimmy Durante. What about the historical
Jimmy-The-Greek. The rebellious outlaw Jesse James. What about the many musical legends like James Taylor or Jimmy Buffet. Who isn't amazed by the one and only
James Brown? What about Jim Morrison of The Doors or one-of-a-kind Jimi Hendrix. Then there's the wonder of James Dean himself - the ultimate hellion.
Well I wrote a song for them all... it's an original number called...  

Jimmy Rebel

by:  David Wayne Clare   aka David John clare

Hard Rockin' Country  (Rebellion Theme)

You've been upset for so long, at your dad, and at your sister
We heard your mom, she run and gone, well you're not sure to where but you know you'll miss her

Fed up with all the lies, never found true family ties
Not much, to leave behind, got some friends, but theyre not your kind


Well... Jimmy Rebel, meaner than the devil
His world is so hard to understand
Whoa... Jimmy Rebel, you got a score you got to settle
Youve taken all you can, stupid kid . . . brilliant man

You dont get pushed around, though people put you down,
Yeah, some would even throw rocks at you
You were born to speak out loud, without making any sound
Known by some ***** looks, a collection of scars, lifes true tattoos
You've lived the black and blues

Whoa... Jimmy Rebel, badder than the devil
This world's so hard to understand
Jimmy Rebel, you got a score you got to settle
Come on you know the plan, ugly boy... **** man

Feels like everybody hates you, yet you never run and hide
You're from a broken mobile home; yet your heart is double -wide
No matter how strange youre made to feel, you wont get pushed aside
Standing tall in a cruel crowd, not many a man could out survive
Out survive...

Jimi Rebel, stronger than the devil
some say...
Hes got the master plan
Jimmi Rebel
Gotta score you gotta settle
Now he knows they cant understand just what it is...
Yet I can...  yet I can... yes I can understand

Jimi Rebel

Stranger in a strange land
Viscous one deserves a medal
He knows they cant understand, just what it is...

Yet I can, Yes I  can, yes I can
YES... I  Can . . . .

D. CLARE   (c) In Perpetuity  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
JET-SET  21ST  CENTURY  PRODUCTIONS
Clairvoyant Music / BMI

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightening of flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully-grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you'll park or capture it
More thoroughly.  You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open

An immigrant from County Clare
brought to this harsher clime-
Phoebe Prince, an Irish lass,
a gentle heart and mind.

First used, and then discarded
by one boy, then another.-
Object of the mean girl’s scorn
the consummate "outsider"
 
On her last day alive                                                            ­                                                                 ­                           
They hounded her from school.
The girl they called the “Irish ****”
disgraced and played the fool.

Her sister, Lauren, found her body
hanging lifeless in the hall.
Befriended by nobody
Phoebe chose to end it all

And on the day they held her wake
Those monsters held their dance
A debutante cotillion
for a troop of soulless tramps.

She’s buried here in County Clare
because the Ocean's waves
protect her from the harpies
who drove her to her grave

(truck-drivers, bar-boozers, loser-bar yokles, blue-collar rednecks will all love this smash hit song!!!)

Rockin country genre

"Big Mouth Surgery"    
  (by david John Clare)

(rockin' country drunk hick juke-box mix)

Wow!  She sure does talk a lot... could almost cause a riot

But we don't get... just what she's trying to say

We could hear her fine before... when she used to be quiet

Guess all them new school-words get in the way

We took her to see... a gypsy-psychic-magician

But he wanted more... than we could pay

So we took her down to see... our local town physician

And here's what old doc... had to say

Boys...

"She needs Big Mouth Surgery"

Her tongue is on the blink

She just talks, sqwacks and talks some more

'Cause she don't know how to think

So please don't be stallin'

Her brain is now corrupt

Can't you see that she has fallen'

And she just can't ''shut-up!"


Big Mouth Surgery

Cause no pills seem to work

Hurry please now doctor

Before she drives us all berserk


Big Mouth Surgery

But will it work without a doubt?

Better make it a lobotomy

Before she starts to shout!


(solo)


Our reputations are expensive

While her talk is **** cheap

You just can't tell her nothin'

'Cause a secret she can't keep

No one seems to know

What the fuss is all about

We're just waitin' for her brain

To catch up with her mouth


She needs Big Mouth Surgery

Her mind is on the blink

She always talks, talks and talks all day

Why can't she just please stop & think?

So please don't be stallin'

Her head is all corrupt

Can't you see that she has fallen'

Her fat-mouth can't shut-up!

Big Mouth Surgery

We need to find her a shrink

Hurry please there doctor

Before she drives us all to drink

Big Mouth Surgery

She's heard north, east, west & south

Who gave her brain a laxative?

Got diarrhea of the mouth!


Big Mouth Surgery

No pill can take effect

Hurry please now doctor

She is a mental wreck

Our minds: she made us loose

Her words: just seem to ooze

It's so hard: to take a snooze

We just drown all-day in *****

Beer, Whisky, Wine & ***** . . .

To wash away our ear-ache blues!


Yip Yip Zip Lip!  ...Yee Haw!

(c) 2009    David Wayne Clare

CLAIRVOYANT MUSIC / BMI

all rights reserved

in perpetuity

Here we go...

ooh ah ooh ooh ah ooh ah
ooh ah ooh ooh ooh wah ah

Wah ooh wah ooh

***!

Wah ooh ah ooh ah ooh ah ooh

You're my only dream-desire
Heat my body in your fire
Just don't ever walk away
Our's is a love that's meant to stay

I can feel in your special kiss
Your's is the one face that I'd miss
I love everything you do
I go crazy when I'm not with you...

Cuz I think that...

I, I, I... I adore u

You're the one I dream of, I adore u
The only one that I love, I adore U
I need you so much, I adore you

Oh I uh

I adore u, I always love when you're near
I adore u, This attraction's severe
I adore u, So baby come here
I adore U

I adore U

I adore U

You're the one I'm waiting for
The only one I do adore
A warm and truly specail love
Heaven sent you from above

I'm not this use to letting go
So now it's best to let you know
You tell me this is what you feel
This time I know love is for real...

Cuz I think that...

I, I, I... I adore u

You're the one I dream of, I adore u
The only one that I love, I adore U
I need you so much, I adore you

Oh I uh

I adore u, I always love when you're near
I adore u, This attraction's severe
I adore u, So baby come here
I adore U


ooh ah ooh ooh ah ooh ah
ooh ah ooh ooh ooh wah ah

Wah ooh ah ooh ah ooh ah ooh
--

(c) In perpetuity  All Rights Reserved

David John Clare  Clairvoyant Music/BMI

--

Il dio è il miei testimone e guida, Sister Maria, the refectorian, had said, Sister Teresa remembered walking passed the refectory, touching the wall with her fingers. God is my witness and guide, she translated, feeling the rough brick beneath her fingers. She stood; turned to look at the cloister garth. Sunlight played on the grass. Flowers added colour to borders and eyes, she thought, letting go of Maria's words as if they were balloons. Ache in limbs; a slowness in her movements. Age, she muttered inaudibly. The war had taken her cousin's sons in death. Two of them. Peter and Paul. Burma and D-day. Three years or more since. She brought hands together beneath the black serge of her habit. Flesh on flesh. Sister Clare had touched. Not over much, not over much. Papa would lift her high in his arms as a child, she mused, her memory jogged by the sunlight on the flowers. Higher and higher. Poor Papa. The spidery writing unreadable in the end. She sniffed the air. Bell rang from church tower. Sext. She looked at the clock on the cloister-tower wall. Lowered her eyes to the grass. So many greens. Jude had lain with her once or was it more? She mused, turning away from cloister wall and the sight of grass and flowers. Thirty years since he died. Blown to pieces Papa had written. Black ink on white paper sheet. Flesh on flesh; kiss to lip and lip. She paused by church door; allowed younger nuns to pass; so young these days, she thought, bowing, nodding her head. Placing her stiff fingers in the stoup, she made cross from breast to breast. Smell of incense; scent of wood; bodies close; age and time. She walked to her place in the choir stall, bowed to Crucified tabernacled. Kneeled. Closed eyes. Murmured prayer. Heard the rustle of habits; clicking of rosaries; breathing close. Opened eyes. Sister Clare across the way. A nod and a smile, almost indiscernible to others, she thought, returning the same. Mother Abbess tapped wood on wood; chant began; fingers moved; sign of cross; mumbled words. Forty years of prayer and chant; same such of fingered rosaries; hard beds; dark night of soul and such. She sensed Papa lifting her high in thought at least; Mama's touch on cheek and head. Jude's kiss. Embrace of limbs and face. Il dio è il miei testimone e guida, she recalled: God my witness and guide. Closed eyes. Sighed. Sister Clare had cried; had whispered; witness and guide; witness this and guide, she murmured between chant, prayer, and the scent of incense on the air.

Live through me vicariously...

My rich neighbors got upset
Sycophantic ******* pretentious jet-set

I am the pariah the iconoclast blasted by rumors, iron-curtain of suburbia hurtin' tuff darts pointed at me

Think young it's only the vicissitudes
That control your mood and attitude

Am I gay? Your wife doesn't think so!

Go ahead live through me vicariously...

D. Clare

Let's watch the fights see who wins
***** politicians quack doctors spin
I will sue you in court of law
My sneaky lawyer will find a flaw

Get off my property or I call the hoggs
Then you get bitten by my cyber dog
You wanna arm wrestle or fight **** or dance?
I'll show you who wears the pants

My car is faster than your old stage
Drive you in the ditch in a bout of road rage

Rockem Sockem Robots will soon be the contagion of hate in the coming age...

D. Clare

By: David W. Clare

The bad ones are good 
The good ones are bad 
I've been had... Philippines Girl!

So easy to be with 
So hard to leave 
Feels right to love them 
(The *** ain't for free!)

She knows my desire tempestuously
Her slave I became for her sick hungry greed...(Philippines Girl)

She's love starved tonight 
For the money she'll cry
I'm flying through clouds to that blue Asian sky...

Up for the lust of a Philippines girl
And desire of the tropical whirl... whirl... whirl... wind...
(Philippines Girls!)

The bad ones are good 
The good ones are bad 
I've been had...Philippines girls!

So easy to be with 
So hard to leave 
So wrong to love them
(Their charms aren't for free!)

She's hungry tonight 
For her love I will try
I'm hungry right now for some sweet cherry pie...

She's all I desire tempestuously
Her slave I became for her sick hungry greed. 

She was love starved that night 
When I said good-bye
I'm now far away from that dark Asian sky

All for the lust of Philippines girls
Wanting so real
That tropical world!

D. Clare

(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks

Written in Bangkok, Thailand SE Asia, Siam

a.k.a. "Skype Love"  a.k.a.  "Skype Life"  a.k.a.  "Skype Fun"

The Skype Theme Song      "The Skype Song"

written by: David John Clare    

     

(Sci-Fi Techno Music)

Verse 1

Feel the shock, hear the buzz,   Turn-on your screen, so you can see what it does

Tells you who's there, finds you a date,   Friendly webcam faces: how they radiate

Never be bored, Skype gives us something to do,   Her electric eyes to watch me in my view

Lightning filled hands, good tingling sensations,   Skype runs the world: on a single cosmic vibration

Chorus 1

Skype Love: an on-line chat with a new friend I know, Skype Life, You sound so good, feels so good to me

Skype Fun, It's me Oh Yeah!, always on the go, Skype Me Now! ... makes it so easy like: 1-2-3

Verse 2

How it works so well: nobody knows,  It's more than simply just 1's & O's

Skype don't lie, no it's not science fiction,  A very clean high, our one and only addiction

Brand new friends, new loved ones too, In every country a cool rendezvous

 

A lovely Chat? Well it gets better than that!  If you don't Skype, then you don't know where it's at!

Chorus 2

Skype Love, It's my computer on video, Skype Life, You sound so good, look so nice to me

Skype Fun, It's us Oh Yeah!, always on the go, Skype Someone now! ... it all so easy as 1-2-3

Bridge

Go feel the magic on-line,  Someone now: is as close as your hand

Now finally every thing's fine

The World is now: at your command, command, command ...  (**** Pow!)

Chorus 3

Skype Love: an on-line chat with a true-friend I know, Skype Life, It's great, always there for me

Skype Fun, You sound so good, it's so cool to go

Skype !  Sign Up Now! ('cuz), It's for free, for free,  for free,  for free,  for free... (echo-fade)

© In Perpetuity written by:  David w. Clare  Clairvoyant Music / BMI

all rights reserved by the author


Skype: xendavid

email: [email protected]

By: David John Clare

The bad ones are good 
The good ones are bad 
I've been had by Philippines girls 

So easy to be with 
So hard just to leave 
Feels right to love them 
But the *** ain't for free

She knows my desire tempestuously
Her slave I became for her sick hungry greed.

She's love starved tonight 
For money she'll cry
I'm flying in clouds to that blue Asian sky...

Up for the taste of a Philippines girl
And for the love of a tropical whirl...

The bad ones are good 
The good ones are bad 
I've been had by Philippines girls

So easy to be with 
So hard to leave 
So wrong to love them
Her charms aren't for free 

She's hungry tonight 
For her love I will cry
I'm hungry right now for some sweet cherry pie...

She's all I desire tempestuously
Her slave I became for her sick hungry greed. 

She was love starved that night 
I was hungry for pie
I flew away from the clouds of that dark Asian sky...

Just for the taste of a Philippines girl
And for the love of a tropical world...

D. Clare

(c) 2016 in perpetuity all rights reserved by the author 

(p) FilmNoirWorks publishing BMI
Las Vegas, USA

''We Still Want You Bad (Michael)''
by: david wayne clare


Didn't think that this could do it, do it, do it
Didn't think that it would ever do it, do it, do it
Didn't think that life could do it, do it, do it
Yeah, we want you, we want you back bad

We remember the times and the hits our ears would taste
You let your love-sound shine; now time has let it go to waste
It's seems no matter when, life can fool you

His skin-deep charm we hadn't relished like oh so before
Not really thinking we just jumped up and walked out your door
The pain we just cant bear, we have no one else to tell
It drives us mad to think we feigned and now were compelled

Convinced ourselves of no second-chance and we thought it was through

Dont you think were insincere; the world has changed its point of view
We know we were to too coy, all acted so demure
Now this: the price we pay for being so unsure

Cause!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad-boy, for you were our fave thrill!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our fun thrill, thrill, thriller

Oh, we are so, so all alone

When you left from our caress we said our sadness grew
We never before confessed, we guess you really never knew
We thought the times we had, was really ours to keep
Emotion twists and turn; the pain of it: always will run deep

Where are his love tunes that will never make it in the book?
If they can fill the empty ages, well its worth a second look
We thirst the touch of love that hides in Michaels fantasy
The kiss of his goodbye was never meant to be

Cause!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our big thriller!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our best thrill, thriller, thrill

We always will remember the times and your ever-changing lovely face
You let your love light shine; youve gone and let it go to waste

Don't want to be branded, seems no matter how, life can fool you
We all feel a so very stranded, It's as if you've always known

It's a question of what we want: we want you bad!

Cause!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you boy bad, for you were our favorite thriller!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our fun thrill, thriller, thrilla


(c) 2010 David Wayne Clare Clairvoyant Music / BMI ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Hello Sam my name is Sam too
How do you do?
Sam means same in Sanskrit which means we are on the same script

Signs signals books music communication everywhere
We are brothers from different mothers
So then why don't we understand each other?

D. Clare

By: David W. Clare

When it comes to shopping here's your key!
Don't bother walking Targets
aisle number three...

There is no competition anywhere!
Whether you need a loaf of bread, tools or underwear...

Walmart is around every corner just for you!

24 hours and a dozen smiles easy to see...
Prices so low; it's all almost free!

Toasters, fans, beds, loafers, bikes... Clean bathrooms open up for you all day and night...

Walmart offers parking under a big spot light!
Friendly attendants will treat you right...

The best security anywhere around!
Why bother shopping at any other place in town?

Crock Pots over on aisle 17!
...the best way to save money I've ever seen!

Walmart, Walmart!
Now you're shopping smart!

Your right at Home at Walmart !


(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks

Better stop and think, you should watch your step
be careful what you say, don't want to get me upset

just button your lip, no need to leave a tip
time to dummy up, go away now and get yourself hip

better pack it up, go live with your mom
the life i choose is a bit too strong

take on a wild girl like me, the kind they say many just hate us

a **** i couldn't give, hey boy i'm not your waitress

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your inflatable dolly or sweet lovely waitress"


i'm sick and tired of your simple mind

can't you tell by now, you're a waste of time

dont push me around, the envelope you've stretched it


my name's not Natalie Step and Fetch-it

this kinda of scene is ill for mental health

you want something? then go get it yourself

take on a power girl like me, the type they say many only hate us

a crap i couldn't give, hey boy i'm not your waitress

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your waitress"

i'm sick and tired of your idiot mind

cant you tell by now, to me you're a waste of time

dont push me around, the envelope you've stretched it


please dont grab at me or slap my hot **** ***

im not interested in you, an old poor white stupid trash

too bad, you look confused and so hungry fool

i wouldn't serve you well: it takes more than any money can do

listen up!

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause no no no ... i don't work for free
"I'm no not some cheap waitress"
no oh whoa ...
"I'm not your missy prissy kiss kiss kissy  wa wa wa waitress"

fa fa fa fug-off jocko ****!

"I'm not your waitress"
hey, get your eyes off me
"I'm not your mommy"
don't touch me. cause i don't work for free
"I'm no not some **** doh doh waitress"
 no no oh oh whoa ...
...I'm not your waitress!

© 2009 david clare  clairvoyant music / BMI    all rights reserved

"How one behaves will determine what one behalves."

D. Clare

Doggerel

The limerick is one of the most common and most popular forms of doggerel. This is one of my favorite limericks:


There was a young lady named Bright
Who traveled much faster than light.
She set out one day,
In a relative way,
And came back the previous night.
―Arthur Henry Reginald Buller


I find it interesting that one of the best revelations of the weirdness and zaniness of relativity can be found in a limerick! The limerick above inspired me to pen a rejoinder:

***-Tronomical
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein, the frizzy-haired,
proved E equals MC squared.
Thus, all mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my *** declared!



These are "subversive" poems of mine, pardon the pun:

Bible Libel
by Michael R. Burch

If God
is good,
half the Bible
is libel.

I came up with this epigram after reading the Bible from cover to cover at age eleven, and wondering how anyone could call the biblical God "good."



What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch

What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to **** and Plunder?

For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!

When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,

when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?



A Child’s Christmas Prayer of Despair for a Hindu Saint
by Michael R. Burch

Santa Claus, for Christmas, please,
don’t bring me toys, or games, or candy . . .
just . . . Santa, please,
I’m on my knees! . . .
please don’t let Jesus torture Gandhi!



***** Nilly
by Michael R. Burch

for the Demiurge, aka Yahweh/Jehovah

Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?
You made the stallion,
you made the filly,
and now they sleep
in the dark earth, stilly.
Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?

Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?
You forced them to run
all their days uphilly.
They ran till they dropped―
life’s a pickle, dilly.
Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?

Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?
They say I should worship you!
Oh, really!
They say I should pray
so you’ll not act illy.
Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?



Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch

I’m living in low-T hell ...
My get-up has gone: Oh, swell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have ***,
and my love life depends on a gel!

Originally published by Light



Door Mouse
by Michael R. Burch

I’m sure it’s not good for my heart—
the way it will jump-start
when the mouse scoots the floor
(I try to **** it with the door,
never fast enough, or
fling a haphazard shoe ...
always too slow too)
in the strangest zig-zaggedy fashion
absurdly inconvenient for mashin’,
till our hearts, each maniacally revvin’,
make us both early candidates for heaven.



The Humpback
by Michael R. Burch

The humpback is a gullet
equipped with snarky fins.
It has a winning smile:
and when it SMILES, it wins
as miles and miles of herring
excite its fearsome grins.
So beware, unwary whalers,
lest you drown, sans feet and shins!
​


Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch

the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain



No Star
by Michael R. Burch

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.
Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll be wearing lederhosen.



tRUMP is the **** of many jokes.—Michael R. Burch



Golden Years?
by Michael R. Burch

I’m getting old.
My legs are cold.
My book’s unsold and my wife’s a scold.
Now the only gold’s
in my teeth.
I fold.



Less Heroic Couplets: ****** Most Fowl!
by Michael R. Burch

“****** most foul!”
cried the mouse to the owl.
“Friend, I’m no sinner;
you’re merely my dinner!”
the wise owl replied
as the tasty snack died.

Originally published by Lighten Up Online and in Potcake Chapbook #7

NOTE: In an attempt to demonstrate that not all couplets are heroic, I have created a series of poems called “Less Heroic Couplets.” I believe even poets should abide by truth-in-advertising laws! And I believe such laws should extend to Creators who claim to be loving, wise, merciful, just, etc., while forcing innocent mice to provide owls with late-night snacks. ― Michael R. Burch



Animal Limericks

Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: "I’ll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I’m dressed.
I wouldn’t change even one spot."



Stage Craft-y
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can’t sing,
but now, here’s the thing―
just think of the tunes you can carry!"



Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride?"
"Nevermore!" bright-eyed Raven replied.



The Pelican't
by Michael R. Burch

Enough with this pitiful pelican!
He’s awkward and stinks! Sense his smellican!
His beak's far too big,
so he eats like a pig,
and his breath reeks of fish, I can tellican!



Nonsense Verse about Writing Verse

The Beat Goes On (and On and On and On ...)
by Michael R. Burch

Bored stiff by his board-stiff attempts
at “meter,” I crossly concluded
I’d use each iamb
in lieu of a lamb,
bedtimes when I’m under-quaaluded.

Originally published by Grand Little Things



Other Animal Poems

Lance-Lot
by Michael R. Burch

Preposterous bird!
Inelegant! Absurd!

Until the great & mighty heron
brandishes his fearsome sword.



honeybee
by Michael R. Burch

love was a little treble thing―
prone to sing
and sometimes to sting



Kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’
by Michael R. Burch

Kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’
the bees rise
in a dizzy circle of two.
Oh, when I’m with you,
I feel like kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’ too.



Generation Gap
by Michael R. Burch

A quahog clam,
age 405,
said, “Hey, it’s great
to be alive!”

I disagreed,
not feeling nifty,
babe though I am,
just pushing fifty.

Note: A quahog clam found off the coast of Ireland is the longest-lived animal on record, at an estimated age of 405 years.



Baked Alaskan

There is a strange yokel so flirty
she makes ****** seem icons of purity.
With all her winkin’ and blinkin’
Palin seems to be "thinkin’"―
"Ah culd save th’ free world ’cause ah’m purty!"

Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Burch
from Signs of the Apocalypse
all Rights and Violent Shudderings Reserved



Going Rogue in Rouge

It'll be hard to polish that apple
enough to make her seem palatable.
Though she's sweeter than Snapple
how can my mind grapple
with stupidity so nearly infallible?

Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Burch
from Signs of the Apocalypse
all Rights and Violent Shudderings Reserved



Pls refudiate

“Refudiate” this,
miffed, misunderstood Ms!―
Shakespeare, you’re not
(more like Yoda, but hot).
Your grammar’s atrocious;
Great Poets would know this.

You lack any plan
save to flatten Iran
like some cute Mini-Me
cloned from G. W. B.

Admit it, Ms. Palin!
Stop your winkin’ and wailin’―
only “heroes” like Nero
fiddle sparks at Ground Zero.

Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Burch
from Signs of the Apocalypse
all Rights and Violent Shudderings Reserved

I wrote the last poem above after Sarah Palin compared herself to Shakespeare, who coined new words, rather than admit her mistake when she used "refudiate" in a Tweet rather than "repudiate." The copyright notices above are ironic, as the poems above were written and published before 2012.



Nonsense Verse

There was an old man from Peru
who dreamed he was eating his shoe.
He awoke in the night
with a terrible fright
to discover his dream had come true.
―Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch



There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride?"
"Nevermore!" bright-eyed Raven replied.
― Michael R. Burch



Dear Ed: I don’t understand why
you will publish this other guy―
when I’m brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!

Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who’s dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!):
since he’s plagiarized Unknown, I’ll wager!
―"The Better Man" by Michael R. Burch



The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable ...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable.
―"Of Tetley’s and V-2's," or, "Why Not to Bomb the Brits" by Michael R. Burch



Relativity, the theorists’ creed,
says all mass increases with speed.
My *** grows when I sit it.
Albert Einstein, get with it;
equate its deflation, I plead!
― Michael R. Burch


　
Hawking, who makes my head spin,
says time may flow backward. I grin,
imagining the surprise
in my mothers’ eyes
when I head for the womb once again!
― Michael R. Burch



Hawking’s "Brief History of Time"
is such a relief! How sublime
that time, in reverse,
may un-write this verse
and un-spend my last thin dime!
― Michael R. Burch



A proper young auditor, white
as a sheet, like a ghost in the night,
saw his dreams, his career
in a "****!" disappear,
and then, strangely Enronic, his wife.
― Michael R. Burch
　


There once was a troglodyte, Mary,
whose poots were impressively airy.
To her children’s deep shame,
their foul condo became
the first cave to employ a canary.
― Michael R. Burch



There once was a Baptist named Mel
who condemned all non-Christians to hell.
When he stood before God
he felt like a clod
to discover His Love couldn’t fail!
― Michael R. Burch



The Humpback
by Michael R. Burch

The humpback is a gullet
equipped with snarky fins.
It has a winning smile:
and when it SMILES, it wins
as miles and miles of herring
excite its fearsome grins.
So beware, unwary whalers,
lest you drown, sans feet and shins!



Door Mouse
by Michael R. Burch

I’m sure it’s not good for my heart—
the way it will jump-start
when the mouse scoots the floor
(I try to **** it with the door,
never fast enough, or
fling a haphazard shoe ...
always too slow too)
in the strangest zig-zaggedy fashion
absurdly inconvenient for mashin’,
till our hearts, each maniacally revvin’,
make us both early candidates for heaven.



Ding **** ...
by Michael R. Burch

for Fliss

An impertinent bit of sunlight
defeated a goddess, NIGHT.
Hooray!, cried the clover,
Her reign is over!
But she certainly gave us a fright!



Be very careful what you pray for!
by Michael R. Burch

Now that his T’s been depleted
the Saint is upset, feeling cheated.
His once-fiery lust?
Just a chemical bust:
no “devil” cast out or defeated.



The Flu Fly Flew
by Michael R. Burch

A fly with the flu foully flew
up my nose—thought I’d die—had to sue!
Was the small villain fined?
An abrupt judge declined
my case, since I’d “failed to achoo!”



Hell-Bound Hounds
by Michael R. Burch

We have five dogs and every one’s a sinner!
I swear it’s true—they’ll steal each other’s dinner!

They’ll **** before they’re married. That’s unlawful!
They’ll even ***** in public. Eek, so awful!

And when it’s time for treats (don’t gasp!), they’ll beg!
They have no pride! They’ll even **** your leg!

Our oldest Yorkie murdered dear, sweet Olive,
our helpless hamster! None will go to college

or work to pay their room and board, or vets!
When the Devil says, “*** here!” they all yip, “Let’s!”

And yet they’re sweet and loyal, so I doubt
the Lord will dump them in hell’s dark redoubt . . .

which means there’s hope for you, perhaps for me.
But as for cats? I say, “Best wait and see.”


Menu Venue
by Michael R. Burch

At the passing of the shark
the dolphins cried Hark!;

cute cuttlefish sighed, Gee
there will be a serener sea
to its utmost periphery!;

the dogfish barked,
so joyously!;

pink porpoises piped Whee!
excitedly,
delightedly.

But ...

Will there be as much glee
when there’s no you and me?


Anti-Vegan Manifesto
by Michael R. Burch

Let us
avoid lettuce,
sincerely,
and also celery!


Rising Fall
by Michael R. Burch

after Keats

Seasons of mellow fruitfulness
collect at last into mist
some brisk wind will dismiss ...

Where, indeed, are the showers of April?
Where, indeed, the bright flowers of May?
But feel no dismay ...

It’s time to make hay!

I believe the closing line was influenced by this remark J. R. R. Tolkien made about the inspiration for his plucky hobbits: “I've always been impressed that we're here surviving because of the indomitable courage of quite small people against impossible odds: jungles, volcanoes, wild beasts ... they struggle on, almost blindly in a way.” Thus, whatever our apprehensions about the coming winter, when autumn falls and fall rises, it’s time to make hay.


How It Goes, Or Doesn’t
by Michael R. Burch

My face is getting craggier.
My pants are getting saggier.
My ear-hair’s getting shaggier.
My wife is getting naggier.
I’m getting old!

My memory’s plumb awful.
My eyesight is unlawful.
I eschew a tofu waffle.
My wife’s an Eiffel eyeful.
I’m getting old!

My temperature is colder.
My molars need more solder.
Soon I’ll need a boulder-holder.
My wife seized up. Unfold her!
I’m getting old!



A More Likely Plot for “Romeo and Juliet”
by Michael R. Burch

Wont to croon
by the light of the moon
on a rickety ladder,
mad as a hatter,
Romeo crashed to the earth in a swoon,
broke his leg,
had to beg,
repented of falling in love too soon.

A nurse, averse
to his seductive verse,
aware of his madness
and familial badness,
searched for the stiletto in her purse.

Meanwhile, Juliet
began to fret
that the roguish poet
(wouldn’t you know it?)
had pledged his “love” because of a bet!

A gang of young thugs
and loutish lugs
had their faces engraved on “wanted” mugs.
They were doomed to fail,
ended up in jail,
became young fascists and cried “Sieg Heil!”

No tickets were sold,
no tickets were bought,
because, in the end, it all came to naught.

Exeunt stage left.



Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch

the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain



No Star
by Michael R. Burch

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.
Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll be wearing lederhosen.


tRUMP is the **** of many jokes.—Michael R. Burch



Doggerel about Doggerel

The Board
by Michael R. Burch

Accessible rhyme is never good.
The penalty is understood―
soft titters from dark board rooms where
the businessmen paste on their hair
and, Walter Mitties, woo the Muse
with reprimands of Dr. Seuss.

The best book of the age sold two,
or three, or four (but not to you),
strange copies of the ones before,
misreadings that delight the board.
They sit and clap; their revenues
fall trillions short of Mother Goose.



Longer Doggerel

When I Was Small, I Grew
by Michael R. Burch

When I was small,
God held me in thrall:
Yes, He was my All
but my spirit was crushed.

As I grew older
my passions grew bolder
even as Christ grew colder.
My distraught mother blushed:

what was I thinking,
with feral lust stinking?
If I saw a girl winking
my face, heated, flushed.

“Go see the pastor!”
Mom screamed. A disaster.
I whacked away faster,
hellbound, yet nonplused.

Whips! Chains! *******!
Sweet, sweet, my Elation!
With each new sensation,
blue blood groinward rushed.

Did God disapprove?
Was Christ not behooved?
At least I was moved
by my hellish lust.



Happily Never After
by Michael R. Burch

Happily never after, we lived unmerrily
(write it!―like disaster) in Our Kingdom by the See
as the man from Porlock’s laughter drowned out love’s threnody.

We ditched the red wheelbarrow in slovenly Tennessee
and made a picturebook of poems, a postcard for Tse-Tse,
a list of resolutions we knew we couldn’t keep,
and asylum decorations for the King in his dark sleep.

We made it new so often strange newness, wearing old,
peeled off, and something rotten gleamed yellow, not like gold:―
like carelessness, or cowardice, and redolent of ***.
We stumbled off, our awkwardness―new Keystone comedy.

Huge cloudy symbols blocked the sun; onlookers strained to see.
We said We were the only One. Our gaseous Melody
had made us Joshuas, and so―the Bible, new-rewrit,

with god removed, replaced by Show and Glyphics and Sanskrit,
seemed marvelous to Us, although King Ezra said, “It’s Sh-t.”

We spent unhappy hours in Our Kingdom of the Pea,
drunk on such Awesome Power only Emperors can See.
We were Imagists and Vorticists, Projectivists, a Dunce,
Anarchists and Antarcticists and anti-Christs, and once
We’d made the world Our oyster and stowed away the pearl
of Our too-, too-polished wisdom, unanchored of the world,
We sailed away to Lilliput, to Our Kingdom by the See
and piped the rats to join Us, to live unmerrily
hereever and hereafter, in Our Kingdom of the Pea,
in the miniature ship Disaster in a jar in Tennessee.



Doggerel about Dogs

Dog Daze
by Michael R. Burch

Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler;
he really is one of the best.
Sometimes in bed
he snuggles my head,
though he mostly just plops on my chest.

I think Oz was made to love
from the first ray of light to the dark,
but his great love for me
is exceeded (oh gee!)
by his Truly Great Passion: to Bark.



Oz is the Boss!
by Michael R. Burch

Oz is the boss!
Because? Because ...
Because of the wonderful things he does!

He barks like a tyrant
for treats and a hydrant;
his voice far more regal
than mere greyhound or beagle;
his serfs must obey him
or his yipping will slay them!

Oz is the boss!
Because? Because ...
Because of the wonderful things he does!



Excoriation of a Treat Slave
by Michael R. Burch

I am his Highness’s dog at Kew.
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
―Alexander Pope

We practice our fierce Yapping,
for when the treat slaves come
they’ll grant Us our desire.
(They really are that dumb!)

They’ll never catch Us napping―
our Ears pricked, keen and sharp.
When they step into Our parlor,
We’ll leap awake, and Bark.

But one is rather doltish;
he doesn’t understand
the meaning of Our savage,
imperial, wild Command.

The others are quite docile
and bow to Us on cue.
We think the dull one wrote a poem
about some Dog from Kew

who never grasped Our secret,
whose mind stayed think, and dark.
It’s a question of obedience
conveyed by a Lordly Bark.

But as for playing fetch,
well, that’s another matter.
We think the dullard’s also
as mad as any hatter

and doesn’t grasp his duty
to fling Us slobbery *****
which We’d return to him, mincingly,
here in Our royal halls.



Bed Head, or, the Ballad of
Beth and her Fur Babies
by Michael R. Burch

When Beth and her babies
prepare for “good night”
sweet rituals of kisses
and cuddles commence.

First Wickett, the eldest,
whose mane has grown light
with the wisdom of age
and advanced senescence
is tucked in, “just right.”

Then Mary, the mother,
is smothered with kisses
in a way that befits
such an angelic missus.

Then Melody, lambkin,
and sweet, soulful Oz
and cute, clever Xander
all clap their clipped paws
and follow sweet Beth
to their high nightly roost
where they’ll sleep on her head
(or, perhaps, her caboose).



Updated Advice to Amorous Bachelors
by Michael R. Burch

At six-thirty,
feeling flirty,
I put on the hurdy-gurdy ...
But Ms. Purdy,
all alert-y,
kicked me where I’m sore and hurty.

The moral of my story?
To avoid a fate as gory,
flirt with gals a bit more *****-y!



On the Horns of a Dilemma (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn is so ***** it lofts her thus?

I need an artist or cartoonist to create an image of a male rhino lifting his prospective mate into the air during an abortive kiss. Any takers?



On the Horns of a Dilemma (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn deforms her esophagus?



On the Horns of a Dilemma (III)
by Michael R. Burch

A wino rhino said, “I know!
I have a horn I cannot blow!
And so,
ergo,
I’ll watch the lovely spigot flow!



The Horns of a Dilemma Solved, if not Solvent
by Michael R. Burch

A wine-addled rhino debated
the prospect of living unmated
due to the scorn
gals showed for his horn,
then lost it to poachers, sedated.



Less Heroic Couplets: Word to the Unwise
by Michael R. Burch

I wanted to be good as gold,
but being good, as I’ve been told,
requires something, discipline,
I simply have no interest in!



Villanelle of an Opportunist
by Michael R. Burch

I’m not looking for someone to save.
A gal has to do what a gal has to do:
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.

How many highways to hell must I pave
with intentions imagined, not true?
I’m not looking for someone to save.

Fools praise compassion while weaklings rave,
but a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.

Some praise the Lord but the Devil’s my fave
because he has led me to you!
I’m not looking for someone to save.

In the land of the free and the home of the brave,
a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.

Every day without meds becomes a close shave
and the razor keeps tempting me too.
I’m not looking for someone to save:
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.



Less Heroic Couplets: Shell Game
by Michael R. Burch

I saw a turtle squirtle!
Before you ask, “How fertile?”
The squirt came from its mouth.
Why do your thoughts fly south?



Helen Keller
saw more than the stellar-
visioned
and the televisioned.
—Michael R. Burch



Antsy kids of the world, unite!
You don't like facts, so fight!
Call them all “haters,”
those cool, calm debaters,
then your mommies can tuck you in tight.
—Michael R. Burch



Ireland’s Ire has Landed

The luck of the Irish has failed:
Trump’s landed and cannot be jailed!
From Killarney to Derry
the natives are very
despondent and bombs have been mailed.

Donald Trump has alarmed Country Clare:
the Irish are crying, “Beware!
He won’t pay his tax,
his manners are lax,
and what the hell’s up with his hair?”

The Donald has landed in Doonbeg
(Ireland). Why? For a noon beg:
he’s running real low
on cash, so you know
he’ll fit like a freakin’ square peg.

The luck of the Irish has faltered.
Trump’s there and he cannot be haltered.
From Killarney to Derry
the natives are very
insistent his visa be altered.



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

Trump pulled a stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he’s the **** of bald jokes:
“Is he coming, or going?”
“Eeek! His diaper is showing!”
But it’s all much ado, says Snopes.



Limerick-Ode to a Much-Eaten ***
by Michael R. Burch

There wonst wus a president, Trump,
whose greatest *** (et) wus his ****.
It was padded ’n’ shiny,
that great orange hiney,
but to drain it we’d need a sump pump!



On the Horns of a Dilemma (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn deforms her esophagus?

On the Horns of a Dilemma (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn is so ***** it lofts her thus?

On the Horns of a Dilemma (III)
by Michael R. Burch

A wino rhino said, “I know!
I have a horn I cannot blow!
And so,
ergo,
I’ll watch the lovely spigot flow!

The Horns of a Dilemma Solved, if not Solvent
by Michael R. Burch

A wine-addled rhino debated
the prospect of living unmated
due to the cruel scorn
gals showed for his horn,
but then lost it to poachers, sedated.



A Possible Explanation for the Madness of March Hares
by Michael R. Burch

March hares,
beware!
Spring’s a tease, a flirt!

This is yet another late freeze alert.
Better comfort your babies;
the weather has rabies.



Voice of (T)reason
by Michael R. Burch

Love is the highest, the greatest, the grandest!
Love has us all and our lovers in thrall!

Love, but don’t fall.

Love is the coolest, the truest, the Yule-est!
Love is sage Andrew’s Marvell-ous ball!

Love, but don’t fall.

Love is the sweetest, the deepest, the fleetest!
Yes, that’s the problem – a pall over all.

Love, but don’t fall.



Final Ballad of the Unhappy Camper
by Michael R. Burch

I’m low on ****,
lost my fizz,
out of biz.

Flabby and *****,
morose and mourny,
gals’re scorny.

Friggin’ Low T Hell!
Unable to swell!
"More sleep"? Do tell!



Less Heroic Couplets: Weird Beard
by Michael R. Burch

for and after Richard Thomas Moore

C’mon, admit—love’s truly weird:
why does a ****** need a beard?

Should making love produce foul poxes?
What can we make of such paradoxes?

And having made love, what the hell's the point
of ending up with a sore, limp joint?

Who invented love, which we all pursue
like rats in a maze after sniffing glue?



This is my randy version of a classic limerick originally published by Arthur Henry Reginald Buller in Punch on Dec. 19, 1923.

An incestuous physicist, Bright,
made love at speeds faster than light.
She had *** one day
in her relative way,
then came on the previous night!

There was a young **** star of Ghent
whose get-up just got up and went.
Too sleepy for ***,
her fans became ex-
subscribers, and no checks were sent.
—Michael R. Burch

Fair Elle was an eely lover
who squiggled beneath the covers ...
She was hard to pin down!
When I did it, she’d frown,
then wouldn’t do none of my druthers!

There once was a camel who loved to ****.
Please get your crude minds out of their slump!
He loved to give rides on his huge, lordly lump!
—Michael R. Burch

I wanted to live like a sheik, in a harem.
But I live like a monk without gals ’cause I scare ’em.
—Michael R. Burch



Mouldy Oldie, or, Septuagenarian Ode to Cheese Mould
by Michael R. Burch

I’m getting old
and battling mould —
it’s growing on my cheese!

My phone’s on hold
to report the mould —
my life is not a breeze!

I pray and pray,
"Send help my way —
good Lord, I’m on my knees!"

But truth be told,
it’s oversold —
that’s it, I’m done with cheese!



Wonderworks
by Michael R. Burch

History’s
mysteries
abound
& astound,
found
(profound)
the whole earth ’round,
even if mostly
underground.

I wrote the poem above after discovering an article about the aptly-named Wonderwerk Cave in an ancient (March 2016) falling-apart issue of Discover that I rescued from my car. The cave in question lies in South Africa’s Northern Cape province, around 300 miles southwest of the “Cradle of Civilization.” Artifacts discovered in the Wonderwerk Cave appear to be even more ancient than the Cradle’s. According to the article, “The density of stone artifacts in the region is staggering.” The use of fire may now date back as far as 1.8 million years.



The Procrastinator’s Creed
by Michael R. Burch

It’s always, “Tomorrow, I’ll do it.”
Work? I eschew it.
I never collect money I’ve loaned
and the rest of this poem’s been postponed.



WHEN MAN IS GONE
by Michael R. Burch

When man is gone
won’t the sun still rise?

Will anyone care
that he isn’t there?

Will the porpoises
lack purpose,

the marigolds
fold?

Will the doves and the deer
weep bitter tears?

Or will life continue,
glad to be off his menu?



That Mella Fella
by Michael R. Burch

for John Mella, former editor of LIGHT

There once was a fella
named Mella,
who, if you weren’t funny,
would tell ya.

But he was cool, clever, nice,
gave some splendid advice,
and if you were good,
he would sell ya.



One for the Thumb!
by Michael R. Burch

Counting rings, the counters come,
marching to the same sad drum:

“Your GOAT has two, but ours has four!”

“Our GOAT has six, and six is more!”

“One for the thumb! Our GOAT’s the best!”

But Robert Horry’s not impressed.

Jim Loscutoff is trying on
the mantle of the GOAT, anon.

Frank Ramsey laughs himself to tears:
since he won seven in just nine years.

Tom Heinsohn, K.C. Jones, Satch Sanders
and Hondo all have eight, ring ganders.

Sam Jones has rings to fill both hands
(that’s ten for all math-challenged fans),
won in twelve years, as truth demands.

Meanwhile, the only GOAT we know,
Bill Russell, has one ... for the toe!



Mating Calls, or, Purdy Please!
by Michael R. Burch

1.
Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle *****),
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy ...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.

2
Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me “daffy” and “sappy,”
and that was before the gal heard me!

3.
It was early A.M., ’bout two-thirty,
when I enquired again with the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, “It’s LATE!”
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?

4.
At 3:42, I was feeling blue,
and so I dialed up Miss You-Know-Who,
thinking to bed her
and quite possibly wed her,
but she summoned the cops; now my bail is due!

5.
It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I’m her boarder,
the restraining order
freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder!

6.
It was nearly twelve-thirty
when, in need of something skirty,
I rang up (to bang up) the reclusive Miss Purty ...
She hung up the phone
so I banged off, alone.



Hot Cross Buns
by Michael R. Burch

Lexi, Lexi, Lexi,
so lovely and perplexy,
please meet me for a meal
spicy and Tex-Mexy.

Done with hot fried fritters,
bend over, show your knickers;
then, as your *** cheeks redden,
ignore the public snickers.



New Year’s Dissolution
by Michael R. Burch

The year draws to a close ...
Who knows
where the hell the time goes?

I’m up to my nose
in ill-fitting clothes!

They canceled my shows!
My corns grow in rows!

And yet I’ll survive ...
Perhaps ... I suppose ...

So let’s ring the New Year in
with tonic and gin
and greet the foolish Babe
with an even-more-foolish grin!



Her Whirlwind Life
by Michael R. Burch

for Tallulah Bankhead

“Never slow down
or someone’ll catch up.
Virgins are boring,
give me a ****.”

“Male or female,
it really don’t matter.
Life is too short
to live it in a halter.”

Keywords/Tags: doggerel, nonsense, light verse, light poetry, humor, silliness, limerick, jingle, jangle, mrbepi