Forever isn't really long,
We call it Love in a two minute song.
I've witnessed it in my cat's jaws,
Saw a dove impaled on eagle's claws.
It's a moment in grasslands and water,
A flash of colour, then the slaughter.
It's a nanosecond at conception,
It's a blitzgried in insurrection.
It has no width, length or depth,
It continues the second of our last breath.

Our children stay
Forever young,
When they stay
At home.

Who would call them losers
Because they couldn't stand;
We lifted when they moved about
On worn out knees and hands.

We didn't call them fools
Because they didn't talk;
We oohed and ahhed with all their sounds
When they stood free and walked.

We heard a blend of letters spew
Like spilled out alphaghetti;
Raving with their oral prowess,
Like roars on the Serengeti.

As years passed by, and they were graded
(And most certainly not by us);
They might return with D's and E's,
But we never judged or fussed.

This is how we treated them,
Our children that we raised;
I pray that our changing world
Will forgive, forget and praise.

We'd never call them losers
Because they couldn't stand;
We'd lift them up from off the ground
On worn out knees and hands.

We'd never call them fools
Because they wouldn't talk;
We oohed and ahhed with all their sounds,
And they did it as they walked.

We heard a blend of sounds spew forth,
Like spilled out alphaghetti;
They roared with oral prowess,
Like lions on the Serengeti.

As years passed, and they were graded
(And most certainly not by us);
They might return with D's and E's,
We'd never judge or fuss.

This is how we treated them,
Our children that we raised;
I hope that our puzzling world
Will forgive, forget and praise.

Be secure with some peace.
There's no cause for your fear;
History assures us,
Bad will fail.

Weeks from now,
Today's terrors are gone,
Predictions confirm
Goodness prevails.

The bad can't escape.

Cold comfort, I hear,
But what of today?
The nows conflict
With our joys, you say.

This too will pass.
Fade like lover's breath;
So seldom brought up,
Soon laid to rest.

Good lives on,
The bad's with past sorrows,
For Goodness sake,
Let's get on with tomorrow.

We'll do another year, for now,
Know moments of anguish and triumph,
Know, too, that years are all alike
Riding on lapses of
Comfort in between.

Sometimes, I see heads sharing shoulders,
Or bodies close around a table
Looking at framed winter scenes.

Sometimes, there are piano keys,
And promises of music.
At times, I see a landing, gently,
That leads to a small smile of satisfaction.

In the morning we continue with the
Morning good-bye kiss.
We must greet each other again soon
In friendship and loving service.
It takes us forever to understand
Our witnessing of taste and touch,
But most of all, feel.

For now the instant becomes you.
Still each day
Replaces memories, for now.
As we, in the now and the is,
To the greatest degree of love.
As I love you - All.

I don't recall year one of life,
But I'm here now,
So they got it right.
Yet I remember being one,
On a mattress, in the sun,
The smell of bacon and farm odors,
Were part of me as I grew older.

But I never asked to grow up.

I walked first steps
In my father's shoes,
Blathered blissfully when I was two.

By the time I turned three,
I was sure youth suited me.

I could reach the outside door,
When I grew to the age of four.
Now the world's mine to explore.

But I never asked to grow older.

Then by five I tried to hide
From the travails of an older child;
The digging, weeding, painting, work:
My escape to school was my re-birth.

But I never asked to grow older.

I didn't ask to turn six,
Seven, eight, nine or ten;
I shuddered at our  portends,
I didn't like how my world ends,
I finished fishing with Amens.

But I never asked to grow older.

I made twenty years ago,
When decades moved ever so slow;
Thirty came, forty gone,
And fifty didn't last that long.

But I never asked to grow older.

Since I must,
Please remember,
Dip my soother in Irish whiskey,
Include me if you solve the mystery,
And reference me and my life's history.

St. Joseph's Church rang out the  Angelus this morning.
You can't beat bells,
So I've been told.

For You: Walls will tumble,
Temples crumble,
Crowds grow humble,
Proud people stumble,
And the loud will grumble.

For You: Brooks will flow,
People will show,
Gardens will grow,
Clouds will snow,
And breezes blow.

For You: Birds will sing
With love on the wing;
Bells will ring,
Bees not sting,
And sonnets will spring.

For You: Tables were set,
Appetites whet,
Eyes were met,
We had no debt,
And I could forget.

For You: Candles were lit,
Children would sit,
Boulders would split,
Fingers would fit,
And time would shift.

For You: Masses were said,
Promises wed,
We shared bread,
Covered our head,
And remembered our dead.

For you were all of these,
For me.

If you've lost someone,
Check out the Personals.
Keep your eyes to the ground;
Only tourists look around,
There we'll find the jetsom
Of someone's empty pocket.
A book of Vegas matches
With the middle ones missing;
Neither left or right-handed.
You'll not be found.
There are tissues,
Stained with mascara,
Lying
Beside beads from a broken necklace
That gilded your skin.
You'll not be found.
Blowing across the path
Are shreds of paper
From the note she wrote,
Swirling towards the river.
Chase them to the bank,
Watch them float
Towards the falls.
The meaning is smeared, blurred
Then lost.
This is what finds me out.

I love the number three
In all its numerology.
The universe,
Yes, every atom
Builds paragons,
With protons and
ons and ons...
Three illustrates our progression
As the sum of all before.
Our music finds accord
When three notes
Blend to chord.
Love and all we deem
Of worth,
Is here,
Third planet,
Earth,
Where life gives birth
To you and I and us,
Dependant on
Animal, ore and vegetation
To ensure regeneration.
We grew, grow and nurture
In past, present and future.
Our words, thoughts and deeds
Are civilization's seeds
For a wholesome, safe and peaceful life
With Faith, Hope and Charity.
My favourite three priorities:
Andrea, Maggie and Kathleen.
Now,
With the birth of Aine,
I'm in love with four.

Your small town
Has four corners
Across the road
From your house.
When the time comes,
Choose a road,
North, South, East or West,
And follow it fervently
To the end.
If all goes well,
You find yourself
Back in your small town
Sometime down the road.

Fourteen billion isn't big anymore.
For some, it's chicken feed.
When big business and governement
Talk finances, it's chump change.
It's smaller now.
Why only fourteen billion years ago
We exploded, were carried by stellar winds,
Along with every atom for every star;
For every one of us together,
Equal and indestructable.
We travelled, unknowingly, at light speed,
With family, friends and strangers,
To unknown destinations,
Through the dark,
Into the light,
Into life.
Fourteen billion years is really nothing.
There are no atoms in boundary lines.
We shouldn't let a few billion years
Come between us.

Francie really is my name.
Uncle Francie has the same;
Uncle Francie is to blame.

Francis is my legal name;
But I was never called the same.
Francie is the one that stuck,
Don't talk to me about Irish luck.

But when I turned twenty-two,
I introduced myself as
Fran,
Sounding more like a man.
I got tired of re-repeating,
Francie, you know, rhymes with Nancy.
I was exhausted of always hearing,
Could you spell that for me Dearie?

When I drove a limosine,
Clients called me Francois.
When I faltered, when I drank,
I told the cops
My name was Frank.

I believe I'm the same
No matter what I'm called by name.
And even though
My ego's fraying,
I'm pleased to turn
If you call saying,
It's good to see you well, Francie.

Francie* is
An odd boy's name;
Uncle Francie
Has the same;
Uncle Francie
Is to blame.

Francis
Is a real boy's name;
It's on documents.
Yet Francie
Is the one that stuck.

But when I turned twenty-two,
I introduced myself as
Fran,
Sounding more like a man.
I got tired of repeating,
Francie rhymes with Nancy.
I got tired of hearing,
How do you spell that, Dearie?

When I drove a limosine,
Clients called me Francine.
When I faltered, when I drank,
I told the cops
My name was Frank.

I believe I'm the same
No matter what I'm called by name.
And even though
My ego's fraying,
I'm pleased to turn
To someone shouting,
*Hey, Francie,
You're **** good looking.

They said Frank was lying in his field,
While the milk cows lowed,
The hungry sows squealed.
The midday sun and absorbent dew
Aroused the bachelor close to noon.

They said Frank was lying in a ditch,
His bike was bent, he'd need a stitch,
But there he lay in the early morning,
The lorries roared by,
Frank moaned and snored..

They said Frank was lying in a bed,
When two p.m. was still too soon.
He has missing teeth and window panes,
Lay on a mattress of mortal stains.
His papered walls like sun-burnt skin,
Peeling away and blistering.
His blankets are like stable covers,
Shared his thunder mug with his mother.
Starlings nest inside his house,
Blow flies light where his mother lies.

I'm the average
Upstanding citizen,
And ecologically wise:
I'm the one to re-cycle,
In boxes near curbside.

You wouldn't know me
By my refuse,
Those empties,
Truly, aren't mine.

     I never dranka drop.
     I've long since been a sop.

Whistling, cycling
On his rounds,
Comes the blue box scavanger,
Looking, knowing
I don't have
Empty bottles of liquor.

     But I had my Irish cousins visit
     And we've left the empties here.

I had a driving need to explain:

     I never drank one drop.

The metal peddler heard my claim,
Shook his head,
Said with dismay:
     Freeloaders.
As he rattled along his way.

A scurry of munks
Are eating my garden;
To you they're cute,
But my heart's hardened.
They chirp at the trough
Of my labored crop;
Like double-dippers
They pouch and they run,
They sound like they're laughing,
Like they're having some fun.
I curse and complain,
But the munks keep returning,
Like a recurring refrain
Of free loaders and hoarders.
Should I feel such disdain?
After some thought,
We're much the same.

The Sixties were hip.
Perhaps too hip with the ****** revolution.
It seems today's allegations of ****** misconduct
May spring from that mind-expanding era.
The fingers are pointing back to then,
And who knows what who was doing with whom,
Listening to Purple Haze
Through clouds of smoke, shared needles, and blotter;
Bra burning, card burning, flag burning.
The things one remembers after
So many years of clearing the cobwebs.
Did I get a ***** back then and kiss a girl?
Did I invite a girl up to my room?
Did I touch a girl while dancing?
(OK. I probably snuck a *****, but hey, so did she)
I'm lucky I didn't get into politics or acting.
It turns out free love was like lunch.

Free will
Comes with a heavy price.
Spend it wisely.

From baby
to sitter
in sixty flat;
Ozymandais,
Try speaking to that.
But I am here,
And He?

Her smile,
And drip
On my knee:
And then,
She looks up
At me.

Heretics.
Bolsheviks.
Lunatics.
Kleptomaniacs.
All fronts.
Pretend fronts as
Friendly
Guises to disguise
Wiley acts of terrorism.

All tics like
Parasites
Stealing and *******
Fleas on festering
Flesh.
Breathing carrion
Breath.

Why inject your
Games with
Ungainly success.
Why such primitive
Unleashing of frustration
And repressiveness.

The sun shoots
Ray drops
Like bullets through
The clouds;
Coming at the speed
Of light,
Bathing our exposed world.

I can't slather lotion
On mountains, lakes and trees,
There's little to prevent the scorch
That's reddening our streets.

We're under hats,
We've covered skin,
The shade from leafs
Is growing thin.
The executioner's leaking in.

We live a greenhouse life
Beneath umbrellas,
On towels on sand;
We're being fried
On the land;
Stirring the ***
With  sun-cracked hands.

I will remember her.
This I can guarantee.
She was the one
Who gave me love,
Took care of me,
So I can take care
Of her.

She will remember me.
This she can guarantee.
I was the one
Who planted the seed,
Took care of her
So she'll take care
Of me.

Who will remember you.
There are no guarantees.
Were you the one
To rely on,
Was weak when strong,
Shared your song to sing,
So we will remember you?

Start and stop
Up the street,
Turn 180,
Repeat the beat.
The gurus on
Confessional wheels,
Absolve our sins,
Emptying bins.
I swear
They swear
A solemn oath
Never to
Disclose the truth
Found in our garbage
By the brethern,
Garbage stinking
To high heaven.
Bottles, syringes,
Boxes, bones,
Peelings, plastics,
Old cell phones,
Discarded trash
From our homes.
Wrappings bleeding
Seeping ****:
*By our garbage
Ye shall know us.

I'm not unhinged
To consider gates,
And which side I'm on;
Who's allowed in, or out.
If a gate's open,
Do we rush or seep in?
Uncle Frank's gate leads to his plush meadow.
That's how I envision the Pearly Gates
With a slight squeak as they slowly close
On all the lies outside;
Souls sticking a foot between the gate and the post
While banging on the bars.
But the toes don't lie.

On this day
We share the notion
That a Child
Born long ago,
Called us home
To live as children;
We hear our name,
We're not alone.

          Gather round,
          Sit at our table;
          Stretch your arms
          Increase, expand.
          Bless our children,
          Bless our parents,
          Count our Blessings
          While we can.

For today
We share believing
That the Child
From long ago,
Called us home
We are the children,
We heard our names,
Never alone.

          Gather round,
          Sit at our table,
          Stretch your arms,
          Increase, expand;
          Bless your children,
          Bless your parents,
          Count your Blessings
          While you can.

Borne on the promise
Of a notion,
On the promise
Of a seat;
By our Love
And our Devotion
To the Living Son,
Our Living Feast.

That girl held dearly,
Soon crawling  in the yard;
Eating grasshoppers like Einstein,
Might change our world.

That boy slurping soup
With no thought of seasoning,
Spooning ferociously.
He'd pass Edison's test of reasoning.

Your teen may dwell on video screens
With keenness as he shoots;
Fischer was the same, I hear,
When mating his pursuits.

Our youth mould with nuance
Unknown or heard;
Like Beatles when they sang their story,
Changed our world with words.

You see that child with quiet demeanour,
Shy, wise and independent;
Misunderstood and fiercely inner,
Strong-willed and confident:
How could that child hurt himself!
She might think of suicide!
What is it that we recognize
Only when they've died.

Sometimes the precocious go on display,
The kind kind, not the snide,
They reason well, abstractly think,
Still, they're lacking pride.
Although this child loves the test,
She'll play piano with the best.

Nose in the shelves or cheering,
Joining clubs or donning jerseys,
This one belongs to many groups,
Can “stand one” in the pub.
Friends get a wink or inside joke.
Their loyalty counts when they vote.

The flower vender didn't know
When selling flowers to Van Gogh,
His flowers would always grow.

The orchard worker had a flaw,
He left the apples far too long.
Now we've Newton's Law.

In the bar fight, glass was broken,
Swept out with the rubble.
Copernicus saw that glass that day
Now we have the Hubble.

We know parents rarely see
The true presence of a genius;
But we live in fortunate times
We get it when we see it.
Like sitting in a Hawking's lecture,
Having Cohen sing to us;
Some who voted for Gandhi,
Can still watch Messi play.
Old men fish with Hemingway
When they read his book,
We can watch a Hitchcock,
When brave enough to look.
We sit through Lear
And hear Shakespeare,
Or tour St. Paul's with Wren;
Stand and stare at  Dali
Until the world unbends.
Or just walk Rome.
You may even find one
Sitting at home.

Rely on natural ability.
Persistence precedes reputation;
Provide the extras and common sense,
And love will lead to eminence.

Children breathe our same air,
But  exhale differently;
Genius can be found right here,
Before posterity.

The geosynchronous
Geppetto One
With us orbits
Round our sun;
Blinking down,
Ringing up,
We're on lines
Like marionettes;
Transmitting selfies,
Receiving otheries.
Time to be Pinnochio,
Cut some ties,
Get up and go,
See eye to eye
When toe to toe,
Watch how small
Our noses grow.

My Voice*
Hey, what happened?
     I haven't a fecking clue.
Well, you'd better
Get a hold of it,
Before it gets a hold on you.
     I still have my mind,
     The lump came in benign,
     I'm not always blind,
     My organs aren't on line.
     I haven't been committed,
    Though I really don't know why.
     I'm not in a cell,
     Or queued heading to hell.
You haven't got a clue?
     I know what to do.
     I'll get a hold on it
     When I've got a hold on you.

I forgot the present.
I went back,
And watched a flower open yesterday.
Imagination turned real.
There was banter and banging;
Strumming and keying.
I witnessed a chick, hatching,
Breaking through.
After the picking and pecking,
Their scratching and scolding,
I paused in need of help:
Get Out.
No one is that good.

When setbacks happen,
I get on with life.
If I didn't make the cut,
I moved on;
Sometimes continuing along the same path,
With renewed determination;
Or, find a road less travelled.

                                       I crossed the parquet tiles,
                                       Before a thousand eyes;
                                       She gave a polite rejection,
                                       Her friend took great exception,
                                       Before taking my hand in her's.

There were numerous interviews,
When we two weren't the right fit.
I would move on,
Finally finding my hand and your glove were one.
There are no options, but to move on.

Then we got on.

Then she got on.

Then I got on...

Get on with your life

No problem.
Now, if I can only get along
With my life.

Getting older
Means
Hear today,
Deaf tomorrow.

At Christmas, when I was five,
I got a nickel to go and by
A candy bar for my mother;
A special present that pleased us both.

As a young man I gave a special woman
A cats-eye ring for Christmas.
For her it was all things.

Then I gave my life and love
To my endearing spouse;
I thought I gave her all I had,
And glad to give it too,
But she also got the house.

Mammy had a cauldron of stories,
And Mammy never lied;
Strange tales about the living,
Still touched by those who've died.

She spoke of a friend who read the leafs:
When babies died, she heard banshees;
She foresaw the cornice collapse,
Saved me when I was three.
She whispered these tales
Through pressed lips,
Would pause to sip her tea.

Seers told her of her one-legged mother
Standing guard at the foot of her bed,
Long after she was dead.

One prophet spoke of an open door,
A one-way trip to a foreign shore,
And agonies she'd bend to endure.

For me, these stories rang so true,
For mothers wouldn't lie to you;
Yet Father said she was a sinner,
Spinning yarns against God's will.
That's not the story in Bethany,
Or the fairy homes beneath the hills.

Are there ghosts under our beds,
In the closets in our heads;
Hovering over marked graveyards,
Abandoned houses and Tarot Cards?

When the unknown night tore at me,
I'd been told I could pray
To the Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Now they're the ones I fear the most,
They're the stories she often chose.

She gave me a stone,
And her turkey wish-bone,
She'd been saving.
Then presented a pen
She'd hid in her sock
Under her bed,
In her special box.
These are her gifts;
They're all that she's got.
Gifts from a child,
Giving and smiling.
She's not eccentric,
To her they're aesthetic;
If I'm worthy,
Tomorrow,
There's a blue-ribbon stick.

Warning: Explicit*

If you've read
Boys With Toys,
It should come
As no surprise,
Girls talk
Just like Guys.

Having drinks,
And having fun,
The girls
Discard the curls
To think of rhymes
For naughty lines:

You make my ****** rumba;
You make my ***** clammy;
You make my **** taut;
You make my ****** latch;
You make my **** spit;
You make my box rock;
You make my canoe coo;
You make my ****** *** sooner;
You make my **** fluff;
You make my slit submit;
You make my cooch smooch;
You make my **** swim;
You make my flower shower;
You make my toe glow.

And when the last drink
Has been drunk,
The shy girl stands
Raises her glass,
To proclaim proudly:
You make my **** grunt.
And they did.

Many of the world's greatest Leaders throughout our tumultuous history have;
Many of  the insightful Revolutionaries in stink hole and glory hole countries have;
Many of the oppressed, disenfranchised and cheated also have.
Look to Lenin, Mandela, Gandi, Nehru, Havel, Bhutto, Ceausescu, Charles I, Papadopoulos, Lady Jane Grey, Louis XVI, Marcos, Milosevic, a pile of Mohameds, Mussolini, Nicholas II, Pinochet, Saddam, Marie Antoinette, Pope Clement V, Selassie, Baghdadi, Duvalier, and, let's not forget the author of Mien Kampf, Adolph the Tenderizer.
And what do they all have in common?
Some, before they became boldly notorious, and others, after they became criminally notorious.
Some, looked out their window and saw platforms being erected.
Others witnessed gallows, guillotines. posts and walls.
They all got some time in:
PRISON. GAOL. JAIL. COOLER. LOCKUP.  DUNGEON. KEEP. PEN. BASTILLE. CLINK. STATESVILLE. SLAMMER. STOCKADE. THE BIG HOUSE.
You get the idea.
His time will come.

On this side of the bridge,
Between time and eternity,
A foothill to the Necropolis,
Rises the cathedral.
The remains of St. Kentigern
Maintain it, the founding Father.
The spire tops the cruciform
Pointing the way to Glorify.
Within, walls are embedded
With plagues, standards and swords,
Praising foreign campaigns
And distant expeditions
Of long lost brave hearts.
Pilgrims stand silently;
Tourists nod quietly,
Pointing at remarkable achievements
Of Empire, and the young,
Beatified on distant lands.
The fading banners protest:
For this I gave my all, my best.
The stones are cold,
The windows stained:
In the crypt, St. Mungo lies,
The foundation of all
That died.

Just picked up my thirtieth pair of glasses
(perhaps you call them eye glasses).
Progressive, photo-chromatic, temples with wrap around cables.
Same round frames since I was sixteen (first saw them in How I Won the War).
I don’t mess with what works. We fit. No need to look further.
Had my eye on the prize.
They give me perfect sight. And I waited years to get perfect sight.
Always needed glasses. Finally got them when I was eleven.
Big family. Immigrants. No health coverage. So, no glasses.
Couldn’t see the forest or the trees. A genetic thing too.
Several sisters and brothers are as myopic as moles.
Mammy and Daddy never wore glasses (which is not to say they didn’t need them).
All granny glasses are wire rims with a golden finish.
All of mine were. These ones are round black wire rims. I’m being so adventurous.
I remove them (singular is a monocle) to shower and go to bed. I never ask to try on someone’s frames, and I never loan mine for a second (Period)
I also have a face that has grown so accustomed to glasses, that my eyes have surely deepened into my skull. I don’t recognize myself on my driver’s license, health card or passport (Why do they insist on that? I’m never asked to remove my glasses upon surrender of any document for visual verification).

I’ve yet to regret the wealth I’ve spent.
Their cost could pay the rent
For a third world family for years.
It would feed and clothe a village, I’m sure.
I'm not blinded by how good I've got it here.

Worried? Are you happy?
Anticipation for my number to be called.
Waiting for the I, 65, that stays in the basket.
For the hearse to pass in a weirdly somber parade;
For my children to be home;
Waiting for the lake to freeze;
For the lake to thaw;
Waiting for release;
For the question and the answer.
A thought just popped into my head.
From where?
What's my brain telling me.
I've never told it anything.
It has a mind of its own.
These quotidian thoughts, like memories, ideas, pictures and songs.
Rare thoughts and self chastisement.
Common anxiety with no controlling redundant backup.
Where does the ocean begin? At the lapping of the water,
Or an inch beneath the surface sand?
Does the forest start with the leaf twirling in the wind,
Or with the roots under the asphalt?
Be happy... don't worry.
Glib!

I enjoy the hot tub
After my treadmill.
Whilst sitting,
Throne-like,
One notices the thousands of bubbles,
Swirling, twirling, spinning, colliding,
Spreading out like spiralling gallaxies.
Naturally, I play with them,
Briefly, temporarily
Re-direct their path;
But it's pointless.
I recall my dark hour;
When God removed his hand.

****!
I just ran over a toad
On my way home.
Am I right to assume
Godzilla or UFO's
Don't exist?

I have a slow leak of faith
In humanity.
I'm heartsick,
Funky, *****,
My soul is spewing chunks.
At first, it was only a slight rise in temperature,
Followed by a rash of diatribes,
Then hot and cold wars
That produced the shakes.
Our world could use cold compresses;
Polar ice-packs are symptomatic.
The ailment is hereditary.
Patient Zero is low on the tree,
With roots entangling us,
Like veins filled with bad blood,
Encircling the body politic.
We are the carriers,
The un-quarantined green monkeys
Swinging freely, infecting
With a disease that will not skip
A generation.

She's raised high
On the podium;
Pool water drips
With sodium;
She clearly sees
From lofty height,
Her training
And her sacrifice.
Our shining Penny
We behold,
Won Bronze, then Silver,
And now struck Gold.

The training has been a dry run
For three years,
And I'm up for the challenge.
My corner is ready and supportive.
I volunteered to meet my Goliath.

I mirror spar with him.
Shadows,
Boxing me.
His shadow is long.
His reach is longer.
Has a knock-out punch.

We were besties during
My Philistine years.

My camp has removed the bucket and stool;
They mix with the spectators,
Clenching fists, cheering,
Teeth gritting their resolutions,
Heads shaking in surety.

I have accepted my shortcomings
And the power of this giant.

As I enter
Familiars will cheer;
The litter bearers tip their hats
In recognition,
Waiting patiently to get to work.

I belly-up for the bell.
Ding.

Goliath never
Praised his wife,
Never said
He loved her.
He came up short
Of his intent,
She felt more worthy,
Had to vent,
So stole off from
The Philistine camp,
Crossed the sands
Like a vamp,
To join Israelites
Preparing
For the final fight.

A challenge
Came
From the Giant,
To send out one
To die defiant.
David rose
In shepherd's clothes,
Goliath's wife
Lay near.
When David reached
For shield and spear,
She handed him
A bra.
Her over the shoulder
Boulder holder
Had Philistines guffaw.
Her Double D's,
Once there to please,
Brought Goliath
Grovelling
To his knees.
He lopped off
Goliath's head,
Enjoyed the same
Back in bed.

The lesson taught?

It doesn't matter,
Tall or not,
Be sure to
Tell your wife
She's hot!