...

I read the news today, oh my
Koo, koo, kachoo
The fox in is charge of the hen house
Gates are secure but the creature is inside
Feathers fly in helter skelter patterns
“You’ve got to crack a few eggs” is heard
as those who hear, scramble
seeking the sunnyside

A dozen or so duck the falling shells,
raining down from straw filled verses,
bland but obviously first in the pecking order,
hoping it all would be over…easy

While down on Broadway a church mouse sings off key
"Grabbed my coat and grabbed my hat,
ate the cheese in seconds flat,"
to a blindfolded audience
waiting to applaud till the curtain goes down,
so not to be seen greeting late arrivals
with luggage and tickets
hoping the next show is not sold out
for this standing room only presentation

Fortunately three, maybe four seats still remain unoccupied
as stale popcorn and sticky floors beckon them to
crushed velvet seating with
back pocket indentations left behind

The lights go down and the band strikes up
a rousing intro to what should be a good show,
at least that’s what the reviews said,
5 stars, Brilliantly directed, The best choice
for your daily intake of culture…

When a tuxedo with a smile
makes its way to center stage
and begins reading backwards,
“I buried Paul”

Boos rang out from the crowd.
“We came here for poetry!” was shouted in unison
But it just kept on, “Number 9, number 9, number 9”
The audience ran for the exit doors (stage left)
and as they hit the streets looking for something better,
“Turn me on dead man” echoed after them

Meanwhile, back at the chicken coop…

.

The morning sky is dark
as I stand in the shadows waiting
on an empty Tuesday disguised as a Monday
Hoping for a happy welcome but finding silent
rejections in unwritten emotions left
elsewhere for those who remember
what it’s like to smile within the
playful intentions shared,
and a frown is all I am left to wear

All I wanted to do was love you and
feel like I was someone you cared about,
not a brittle twig lying underfoot
waiting to be stepped on
as you run to the others
who beckon your heart,
make you feel special,
give to you those things that you need,
unlike what I bring, embarrassment
wrapped in a frilly bow

Still I am here writing to you,
hoping my words, my verses are read,
so you understand how I feel,
all the while knowing full well
I don’t meet up to those who . . .
those who satisfy your needs,
those you can't wait to be with,
those who make you happy,
those who overshadow my sunshine
in a place that is much brighter,
a place where you thrive,
a place that you love,
a place I am not

.

Skiing on snow
that is made out of pepper
Dodging and weaving
though there are no trees
Taking a turn
that is straight as an arrow
Hitting the ground
always causes a sneeze
Feeling the cold
even though it is summer
Sliding much faster
than what I had thought
Nearing the bottom
where dinner is waiting
I’ve got the snow,
can you pass me the salt

please

.
*I’ve not the time nor moments free
to flail about in wayward flow
Or dance the streets in cobbled glee  
with steps that I no longer know

To walk among the falling leaves
in colors painted autumn past
or sail about the seven seas
from ports o’ call yon ships are cast

Traverse a mountain born of stone
along a pathway’s winding spill
of jagged berth in footprint shown  
I’ve not the strength, nor I the will

To paint a fence of acres far
where cattle graze on sunny fields
or stare upon an evening star
enchanted by the light it yields

For every minute I can find
is spent in endless thoughts of you
To swirl about my focused mind
and every other point of view

To use the ink within my pen
and write the words I’m thinking of
In fine poetic verse I send
my promised and undying love  

So please excuse this horrid mess
as others chose to bother me  
They do not hear what I profess
I’ve not the time nor moments free