No-Fear Poetry
Today in 1881
One of the States’ most infamous sons
Made a violent escape from jail
His crimes were quite beyond the pale
Two deputies he sent to heaven
His total death toll: 27
He was a murderer and a thief
Whose short career caused dreadful grief
He died around age 21
Brought down by a lawman’s gun
Sheriff Pat Garrett killed Billy the Kid
Not everyone was glad he did
If her guy thought he had sunshine on what was – by his own admission – a cloudy day; and believes May was indoors (say what?); had a swarm of bees on his tail; reckoned his wailing sounded better than the birds in the trees (at least they were outside); and didn’t even have any money or fortune (or grasp of tautology) and no fame to his name (though that was clearly a lie; a little disingenuous, don’t you think?), then I submit his girl was probably better off without him. I know I wouldn’t be tempted.
How does a pope cope with being Pope?
I hope he does not smoke dope
or mope around
or grope the cardinals
or lope about, laughing aloud or lashing out –
so undignified for he who aspired to lead billions.
I do hope he’s nice to his minions.
Does he ever reach the end of his rope
and wonder whether to sever the tether?
But he can’t resign; he can only die
and that’s not a good sign
for enjoying the rest of his life.
He can’t even marry a wife.
He might shout, Nope! I’m done as pope!
I slithered down the slippery slope
and believed the hype
and now I find I’m not the pope type.
I have no time to tarry.
Do not be shocked when I elope
with a defrocked nun.
I’m just so very done.
Spikes in his hands
Skewer in his feet
Spear in his side
The job’s complete
***
You’ll find this and other poems in the free download of my collection, Wholly Man. Click the link.
It makes me sad
when they say, A king was mad
(George the Third, I heard).
It’s lazy to say he was crazy:
it was porphyria,
I swearier.
***
This poem was written before the myth that he had porphyria was debunked. I guess the title was a little more prescient than I bargained for.
A story debunked
Gave me the right hump
I like my poems to ring true
Don’t you?
Died 7 April 1739
Stand and deliver!
Your life or your purse!
Sent for a hanging;
returned in a hearse.
Margaret Thatcher –
You couldn’t match her
Any day in Parliament:
She was too good at argument.
Anthony Blair
Ran here and there
To get us into Iraq,
Then left and never looked back.
***
For obvious reasons, there’s been a lot of discussion lately about Britain’s best and worst prime ministers, so I thought I’d dust off these two clerihews.
For more on the clerihew form, see an earlier post.
what socks (argyle)
lack in style
they atone for with panache
They’re crass
they’re brash
they look like trash
but to golfers
worldwide
they’re so
worthwhile
they’ll take
the public
backlash
and claim,
‘tween you and me,
they fit golfers
to a tee
I figure now is the time
If you like my rhymes
To offer to you
Something new
A whole collection
Of my reflections
If you go to this page, you will find a pdf of my collection Wholly Man, available as a free download.
No parties
No mixing
No deathbeds
It’s vexing
How we citizens
Obeyed the rules
While government laughed
At we dutiful fools
***
Parties at No. Ten while people were denied visits to their dying loved ones.
While thousands spent Christmas and more alone.
While we all obeyed the rules this government set, for the greater good.
This government sickens me.
Poetry Fluff 