Yes Spring has come to the land,
Mother Nature has shed her coat,
time to get off the couch and do what matters most. Live and have fun!
So I am out catching up on the chores and second duty, granddaughter watch,
prune here, rake there, now where has that little tike gone?
Perhapes if I give these little hands something to occupy,
why the best thing is a little water, yes that will bring a smile.
So here is the battle ground as  the scene unfolds.
She has a little pail, I have the garden hose.
Her duty, quite simple,place some water on the plants,
end result however, water on PawPaw's pants!
So only to even the score, mind you no harm intended,
was to give the little tike a squirt and the battle would have ended.
Oh no, not today! This little tink has got some guts!
Why with every squirt I give that girl, I get a pail of slosh!
So of course, being the elder here and quite mature I say,
I give that girl her monies worth and let out a real good spray!
Soon the chores are all forgotten and the plants need water no more,
end of the day I can say she may have even tied the score!
Wow how much water do these pampers hold?!

Children ask the most funny things
and you better give the answer a think,
you're sure to hear it more then twice.
Said yes there were plenty of times
when being scared was on the line,
I can recall a time or two.
There was the time ,way back before you,
I was scared of my old, dark room
but I had to learn to sleep there by myself.
The time your Aunt Jo fell out of that tree,
I was so scared I got down on my knees,
asked the Good Lord to help her heal.
The time I was sent to do somethings
the good folks here did'nt know where I went,
till they all read about it and saw it on the news.
Course I was scared when I Asked your MawMaw
for her hand,
did'nt know if she would take a man
like your PawPaw was back then.
Remember how my hands all shook,
the day they brought your Mama in the room,
so tiny and full of lifes demands.
Yes, Little Tink, I've been scared a time or two.
I was beyond scared when you came along,
it had been all so long,
since we had a little tike like you in the house.
So I guess when I talk to to you of being scared,
well, PawPaw knows what he's talking about.

Only those who have used an outhouse would appreciate this.
The Outhouse Poem by unknown author

The service station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick
Piled shavings on the ground.

No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.

"Where is the ladies restroom, Sir ?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.



With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.

With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.

She missed the foot log - jumped the stream
The owner gave a shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on a sassafras sprout.

She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.

Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.

A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.

He'd wait until the gals got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.

And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
"Will you please use the other hole,
We're painting under here !"

Palm trees sway in the breeze as waves crash on the beach. The sun sets low over the horizon as the boat gently rocks just off of the shore. Paradise to some an escape to others. Cabanas are decked with blinking lights as people dance to the sound of the steel drum and the Mandolin. Coconut drinks are mixed with local spirits to bring good cheer. Dark and White *** are the mixers of choice as fish bake on open coals and ***** boil in a ***. Gifts are exchanged by the light of Tike torches and  bon fires. The moon rises over the ocean and a starry sky is beset like jewels in the night. All is at peace with a tropical Christmas .

little tike,
kite thread,
strung out
pulling hands, body, fear
into sky, clouds, air,

beyond

chicken skin chill
wind shiver cold
fear

stop! mama! scream

little older now,
kites, dreams, birds, feathers
flights, mountain crags
song, soar

mama, now, screams
rolling, plywood floor
no kite, big hand man
grab, spit, roar

tears heave breath
face, mama hands
cry, side, no more
said to floor

metal fireplace
hot, don't touch,
arrow poke fire,
heavy hurt stick
**** big hand man
make mama scream
stop thumping body
slap, flesh, red burn

heavy arrow stick
fall down, thump
face, floor

big hand man
take, this or that
hot scrap belly
bone, angry kite
throw living-room
bed, heavy hands
burn bones, dreams
eyes

morning light
mama scoops
legs, arms, teddy

"we're getting out alright"

*subject matter partially stolen from http://hellopoetry.com/-peachy/

Trayton Marvin this
Trayon Martian that

All this talk but don't know Jack

little punk got pluncked
When he stood his ground

Lil heathen went out
With a ground pound

And what?
A mexicant have a Jew name?

Your stories are lame
And all the same

Television drones
Fat and tamed

Little tike knew enough
That when you buff up
And play rough

You can get plucked
For the littlest stuff

Like showing what your made of
Even when it's made up

Even when a fake ****

Even when snuggled up
In the tug of a green heart
Plugged from the rugged start

Just another stupid kid
All skittles and *******

Lying dead

The Lord keeps me quickened
With His burnin wine blood.
Sinner gets Word he's sickened
'Cause their fate is the flood.
Wickin your idols like wicker
This Word that protrude is sure ta
Make knots out of your nickers.
While I heard you is a rude *****
No flippin bird. I'm a Jigga,
One of them scotch sippin Jewish ******
Switch the first lettas in Jew and *****,
What you get is New, Jigga

Go figure

Yourself out, and what you're about.
No need to tout your ego and shout.
Like go ahead call me a ****,
I can't hear ya when your talk is trite;
Words don't cause me tantrums tike.
Little one the end has just begun.
Put down your gun, since before the beginning His Son has already won, before you were even sinning;
In a sense, innocense.
His Immaculate timing is waiting for the start of your pitiful whining
For mercy from the Lord you still curse G.

Oh look how sweet he is
oh what a little Cute
he's playing with his toy cars
wheels running over all those ants

We best not disturb him
the naughty little tike
oh look he's leaving his cars
he's going to finish them off with his bike

Never seen him in killing fields
but yet I think he belongs there
our little psychopath
our little boy with his toys


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

You are such a fearless thing
in your twenties now and still alive
when I got that bike seat for you and me
to travel around on the back for all to see

Man I peddled fast on busy streets
with you cooing on the back seat
you loved the speed
so fearless indeed

Then that day that we were on our way
for your mothers to mine
down that steep hill with all the ramps
of many gradients unkind

We hit that rather big speed bump
and with an unnatural clunk
I knew something was amiss
I stopped, got off, goodness the seat was junk

There you were learning over
one of the supports were broken and gone
yet you smiled at me, my non plus tike
my sweet baby on my bike

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Happiness is a yellow bike
Ridden by the small, smiling tike
Happiness is the best of taste
Unlike rotten fruit or swallowed toothpaste
Happiness is the sport you play
That you perfect and work at all adapt
Happiness is my smile in a hearty home
Where I intend to finish this poem

there is a whole bunch of steps,
maybe more than you can handle,
but you can't stop climbing
because That's The Way It Is.

the first floor is labeled BIRTH.
it's covered with sweet smelling blood,
you roll in the blood until you've ****** enough nourishment from your mother, then you begin to stumble.

the second floor is labeled TIKE
and this floor is fun.
the walls are covered in bicycles and scabs, grass stains and ketchup, and you don't tire of climbing the stairs this floor holds.

the third floor is called MIDDLE SCHOOL and you experience anxiety for the first time. climbing the stairs begins to feel like a chore but at the end of each flight you are rewarded with letter grades and a feel or two up a skirt.

the fourth floor is called HIGH SCHOOL and it smells like beer and vaginal excrement and you spend half your time crying and the other half doing homework and yet you somehow manage to remain Hopeful.

the fifth staircase us called GAP YEAR and it's reminiscent of the second flight of stairs except now you have Privelage to go along with your Responsibility. These stairs smell like your favorite lake and magic mushrooms and Monty Python. They feel fulfilling yet wasteful, encompassing yet misdirecting.

attentive reader, I just signed up for college 600 miles away from home, I know the next staircase is called College and it smells like beer, but I know nothing else. Wish me luck, please, I think I'll need it.

Salvation Army who helps people who think they are alone
Representatives with intervention who let it be known
It’s the season to give
A time to open one’s heart
It’s the holiday cheer in making its mark
Turning winter into warmth
Turning cold into shelter of behold
Serving hot food to homeless and watch as it unfolds
Holiday spirit put into homeless cheer
Never be alone nor have fear
The star of Bethlehem in the trademark in helping homeless preserver
Putting clean clothes on the homeless from previous
A time for all to be rejoice
A moment to share in what we have
A tike to reflect and be thankful
It doesn’t matter if you are young or old
It is a matter of sustaining life and take hold
It’s have determination and be bold
It’s about giving and sharing
The mission is about caring
The Salvation Army having a mission of their own
As the snow falls and holiday songs being the call
Joy to the world and Peace on Earth
The Salvation Army being hope, and enriching Homeless with a new everlasting and encouraging birth.

I would rather not have frowned at the frau
She was my friend
Slatternly, frowzy, bedgraddled gal
I always wondered how and why she liked me
Like a boy who could be psyched out by bosoms.
I wasn't
I felt it peasant like.
Like a tike feeling in the dirt for flukes and rakes
Rake, she said she thought what I was.
Which would mean I could make her heart buzz
and would mean we could be one another.
Another life left to lonesome fevers in panting fogs.
I matter, so does she.
Dark matter.
Slathered in holes, stolen goals.
God we were the same.
It's a shame we were the same.

It was one thing
To see the back of your head
When I was toddling around
As a wee young tike
Because my little legs couldn't keep up  

But now I'm older
And I still watch the back of your head
Because you don't care to talk to me
You're a man on a mission
And I'm quiet enough
I'm certain you would almost forget I existed
Despite the fact that I'm your own daughter

How long would it take you
To notice I was gone,
if I tripped and fell
But couldn't cry out
Would you look back,
Or would you carry on?

I've learned to hate the back of your head
With that tuft of hair leading
To the bald spot in the center
Leading the way
Like a man should

But a man
Is supposed to protect his little girl
And care to know she's okay.
But you don't,
So I walk behind silently...

And on the bough of grate arrest
Sat a lady with toweled unrest
And with it a notebook
Black as soot
Parched and swollen
Stomped, a black boot
And through the Pandemic she wrote and she wrote
About fears of her body being crushed by the throat
With it came sorrows when her family was good
Surrounded by friends online and much food
Surrounded by parents by brother the like
Still she felt trapped
Still she sought light
In a dungeon of her own making
Born of sweat, slime, and drink
Harrowed and shaking
Ghastly to think
That this isn’t the end
Nay, only beginning
Stuck in her bedroom like a warped castle hanging
Velvet ropes shuttered her eye
And garden troves shuttered her thigh
And brains pumped by news
All of the time, er, all of the time
So she shut out the world
As impeachment enclosed
Across the country
Dead justice rose
Not zombies nor corpses not copses the like
Send her the script of a worn phantom tike
She once was a child, now she airs thirty
In ere few years, will she be worthy
Of the spite and malice
Of the spit and chalice
Of the whirlwind that adulthood becomes,
Leering its awful tight grin
Pale teeth embedded into her skin
She wishes, oh she wishes she ere a child again!
How many a time now has she dreamed of escaping
Lockdown, social distancing, shelter in place, resisting
Once a grand circus, now deserted incased
Once crisis inverted, now heavens did race
The lady waited
The lady prayed
The lady wished, and hoped and brayed
The Albatross which was wrapped round her neck
Not by rope but by feathers
So weary and pecked
The actual bird wrapped its corpse round her throat
But she slayed it, sliced the dead bird clean off!
And let it sink into the dirt and decompose to rot
There goes the rhyme
Blessed and recoiled
Well in her prime
She feels so old, so boiled
But the Albatross
A great wanton flight
Unusual, still
That mates for life
And carries no strife
Still, she swung in the knife
And released its rolling sore
Now it burdens her no more
And then the lady mariner saw the light!

The Highest Prize

I am not intelligent;
IQ middling, slow to think
(except when I’ve had caffeine’s drink))
I know people whose vocabulary,
Skills in math and history
Outdo, surpass and outshine mine
By kilometres miles,
Eclipsing talents, each outrivaling  
My wiliest of guiles.

And yet, and yet
I lie or sit
And never quit
Creating verse.
My biggest blessing, little-lest curse
To (all the time) be struck by phrase
That never hazes,
Never dazes or confuses.
Simply takes my life and uses it.
Perhaps fusing the parts, (I hope)
Unjoined or compromised or *****.


Of course, being the seated type
That learned to type when just a tike,
I snap things up and write them down,
Typing up and clipping to with paper clip
Each page of quip and deepest scrip
While taking ownership of ideas wise
And ideas definitely dippy.*

I admit, without self praise,
That I’ve been blessed with artist-joy.
(A gift I didn’t have to buy
It being given me for free).
The gift to knock together, forge concoct,
Then synthesise chords, words, whatnot…
The highest prize I could’ve got.

Perhaps intelligence is overrated.
One can feel complete and sated
By a zillion other qualities:
Not sensory but definitely
Meeting needs:
Ones that feed the world as well.
All other prizes, as you know,
Gone to the hell of false impression’s phantom spell:  
Of no importance whatsoever.

The Highest Prize 9.30.2018 I Is Always You Is We; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Nover Corwin

(written certificate)
*(scatterbrained, silly or eccentric).

Stinkin' Robin Williams was a wicked hillbilly who deserved to die
from poison-ink tattoos like pig Mike Tyson, who took tike mice in

Any time you come around
To heal us father
We will be here waiting
For you
Please make us a favor
And come first thing in the morning
Because we will be up by then
Some of us suffer from Ms
Others like me
Suffer from depression
And also it is very hard
To live with depression
We all tike medication for depression
And we just hate to take medication
Every night and day
Also the medication we take
Is narcotics
And also a shoot of abilify
Yes father we know that
The winter is finally
Ending
And we can’t hardly wait
For the Spring to be hear
By then  the birds will return here

Any time you come around
To heal us father
We will be here waiting
For you
Please make us a favor
And come first thing in the morning
Because we will be up by then
Some of us suffer from Ms
Others like me
Suffer from depression
And also it is very hard
To live with depression
We all tike medication for depression
And we just hate to take medication
Every night and day
Also the medication we take
Is narcotics
And also a shoot of abilify
Yes father we know that
The winter is finally
Ending
And we can’t hardly wait
For the Spring to be hear
By then  the birds will return here