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Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
I’m not quite right today.
I’ve a thoroughly gasted flabber.
The milk of human kindness
Seems to have begun to clabber.
I got plussed but now it’s minus,
I’m so chalant I am nearly flat.
I am almost as spaced out
As a modern day Schrodinger’s cat.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

I was once a pillar of immunity
But lately I am wagging a scally.
But somewhere along the line
I became a cat in some alley.
I‘m at five sixes and sevens
I lost the war and the battle.
My creek is totally full of ****.
Here I am without a paddle.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

My last leg hurts a lot, and
My pooch is rather *******.
I’d say I am a bit ******,
But then, that would be lewd.
I’m a scant one barrel short
Of being a real son of a gun.
My **** has started whiffing
And is no longer much fun.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
You’re turning me on, now.
I don’t know what to do with it
If you’re not going through with it.
Now that I am burning up
You know that I’m really not
Confused about you being hot.

I am burning here inside
There is nothing I can do
The cure for my condition
Is completely up to you.
I’m burning, I’m turning
Into a shivering being.
And you are the reason
For visions I am seeing.

I’m smoking and I’m choking
From the smoke you are emitting.
A night I won’t soon be forgetting.
My ego is getting a stroking.
It’s like an internal bell is sounding
It’s only my heart that is pounding.

I am burning here inside
There is nothing I can do
The cure for my condition
Is completely up to you.
I’m burning, I’m turning
Into a shivering being.
And you are the reason
For visions I am seeing.

No doctor can ever help me
The cause for it all is you.
You are the only thing possible
To fix what I’m going through.
I’m stumbling and mumbling
I’m stammering and stuttering.
I am experiencing the feeling
Of an ecstatic kind of suffering.

I am burning here inside
There is nothing I can do
The cure for my condition
Is completely up to you.
I’m burning, I’m turning
Into a shivering being.
And you are the reason
For visions I am seeing.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
Love is so very much more
Than a funny paper cartoon
It’s more than nursery rhymes
About June, spoon and moon.

Everybody needs love
Love is a word like God
And it is used every day
So you may find it odd,
It can be used by a friend
And you will both agree
You know what it intends
But really don’t, you see.

We hear the words love or God
And we act as if we both know
The feelings the words mean
And we behave as if it were so.
But, each word has so many
Meanings and feelings and thus
It is a comforting thing to say
The words calm and gratify us..

Love is so many good words
Of things that warm our heart.
It’s so many wonderful things
We hardly know where to start.

We love having holidays off,
We love our puppies and cats.
We love cheesecake and pie
And other sweet things like that.
We love well composed music
And a lovingly created movie.
Or saying things like ‘whatever’
“BFF, “The Bee’s Knees and “groovy”.

We loved new boots and shoes
And love opening our presents
On Christmas in the morning
With our family and our parents.
We love sledding and sliding
On snowy days in the winter,
Tree climbing but not the splinters.

Love is gold at rainbow’s end.
Love is our dreams come true.
Love is everything perfect in life.
Love is me, and of course, you.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
Where were you when you heard
First heard some legendary song?
Does it get permanently hooked
To that time in life as it went along?

When I was twelve years old
I was coming home on the bus
A car radio playing Elvis singing
That’s “All Right Mama” passed us.

Freezing my *** in a weapons plant
When I first heard “Everybody’s Talking”.
I had no money and no good car
But I almost started walking.

All the time I was driving
“Light My Fire”, was always playing
With that bridge you couldn’t ignore.
I always link going west on I-40 to
My introduction then to the Doors.

T’was almost fifty years ago today
Sergeant Pepper and his band did play.
I was working as fry cook in KC
Wishing I could afford to run away.

I heard Yes singing “Your Move”
In Hollywood on Sunset and Vine.
I had no idea who that group was
I only knew they were new and fine.

Bopping down Hollywood Boulevard
And fashionable in Frankenstein shoes
I was styling with my pleated bells
Singing “Staying Alive” as I would cruise.

Music changed for me again, for the better
With the opening of Yellow Brick Road.
Elton made that dramatic opening bit
Opposite of a country *****-backed toad.

Barbra and Donna in great duet called
Were wailing out “Enough Is Enough”.
I was thinking finding a better team
Than those two divas would be tough.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
Pusillanimous polecats
Practicing perfidy
Plan parties and
Parse probabilities proudly
Partially putting past
The paltry populace
Pornographic postulations
And potboilers
Pointing poisonous
Proclamations publically
Pitting proper people
To pathetic programs
Promising the penurious
More poverty.
Often posthumously.

Pitiful people plead
Putting need over posture
Putting parents out to pasture
Promising, but passing on
Proper placement of
Propriety and parity
Planting nothing for posterity,
Prizing prosperity
Politicizing with polemics
Post-mortems on politeness
Placing pandering
Higher in practice
By perpetrating
Practical party politics.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
Congressmen, police and ministers
All can be particularly sinister
When they take it upon themselves
To think of us as shoemakers elves
Fairytale beings who then madly
Exist only to work for them gladly;
Drudges to work for them out of sight,
Creatures that give in without a fight.

A sense of privilege causes this.
As fate is always rather hit and miss
It’s not granted by common sense,
More like a caprice of something dense;
A dark deity that is impressed by wealth
Without regard to someone’s right or health.
And the scary people the malady infests
Seems unaware of the evil it ingests.

Limelight and spotlights are the energy
That often drives their ***** perfidy.
But just as often, these fools don’t care
Who knows of their arts, no need to share.
They while away at greed and perdition
And certainly need anybody’s permission.
They only live to gobble and acquire
And never need anyone call them ‘sire’.

The most frightful of these lustful ones
Are those who ply their will with guns.
They decide the good from enemies
And few seem good to these entities.
They only plot their murderous plans
Without regard to the rights of man.
If you get in their way, you are foe.
That is as far as their thinking goes.

For that is the point here, after all.
These creatures ignore propriety’s call.
And the same with society, it is true.
Those needs, for them, will not do.
They work sorcery behind the scenes
And create acts that are truly obscene.
It matters not what is wrong or right
They are ever-vigilant, day and night.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
I dated a girl, a pretty gal
I dated her and her pooch pal
You had to like her dog Pogo
You had to, or it was a no go.
She took the thing everywhere
And never in a pet carrier.
It was sort of a turnoff to me;
A kind of no-intrusion barrier.

Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t  get no *******.
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.

She had the ugliest mutt
That I ever saw before
Like a brown **** rug
That was left outdoors.
It snuffled through teeth
That were hideously parted.
I thought it was stuffed
Until the creature farted.

Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******.
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.

I got nothing against animals
And I really do like dogs
But they should look like pups
Not chimera or warthogs.
I’d overcome the boundaries
Whenever I got the chance
But that ugly canine lump of fur
Put the kibosh on romance.

Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******.
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.
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