If the earth is flat as a pancake,
how come the sun and moon, and pretty much every other celestial body, are round like a Belgium waffle?

If the moon landing is some giant hoax of trick photography,
who did it? and how?
I mean, Industrial Light & Magic didn't get it's start until nearly a decade later!

Come on!

I could never be a skyscraper,
never an airplane.

I could never be the Space Needle,
never the Eiffel Tower.

I could never, ever be Mount Everest,
never a California redwood.

I've a fear of heights, you see,
space and motion not my thing.

"Confront your fear," they say.

But let's face it, I just can't face it.

"Do it for me," she said.

Well, if it takes climbing the sky
to prove my love for you,
I guess I'll die trying.

Literally.

So long as we don't talk about
my even bigger fear of widths...

Nice try,
My didactic friend.
Only the foolhardy would use
A can opener
To pry back the lid to their soul.
If even such a thing were viable,
Which, for the record, no es posible.
But let's say it was,
In a fluffy, touchy-feely kind of way.
Performing surgery
On the immaterial
Makes as much sense
As being a ghostwriter for
A blind man's alphabet soup.
Id doesn't make sense.
Could be the hemlock
Is talking back now.
So drop the act, you gadfly,
And take up cycling.
You might as well enjoy
The scenery along your mind trip,
Sharp turns and all.
Your over-the-counter philosophy
Is quaint, but comes with a price:
Fisher Price.

There’s a part of me that say’s I’m jealous
Another thinks my golfing friends just zealous,
Whilst I crave fresh air and healthy motion
They’re busy slathering on the lotion
Before they mount some little cart
That with intent they simply point to dart
At breakneck speed from hole to hole
The putting of that little ball the goal.

Then there’s the clubs, that myriad bunch
The choice of which for them the crunch,
To make the shot or fail once more
Blaming each for that bad score.
Tortured, ruffled, discontent,
They soon repair to that drinks tent
To then replay the whole long game
Masterful excuses quickly turning lame.

But here’s the crunch and my dilemma
The doubt that heightens my antenna,
What are they hiding, sharing not a bit
Of why such torture never makes them quit,
Instead they plan and scheme each waking hour
For that free day the calendar they scour,
When they once more may hold that special club
With surging will some dainty green to stub.

Where were you when they assassinated Mark Zuckerberg?
I was having a crap and using Facebook
I was promoting this book in ****** groups
The ******* blocked me from posting
Because my book is a rude one
Full of well written adult poems
Which feature varied *** and intimacy
I guess my book isn’t for the Zuck
So **** the Zuck and all he stands for
I won’t miss him or his smug ways
I read that his death was a slow one
And that they cut off his *****
Then r*ped his **** wife and shot her
It said she enjoyed the ***
But don’t believe all you read
Is the Zuck really dead?
**** him and his site
I’m off for a beer

I’m confused
At times bemused
By the turn society’s taking,
Sexuality so complex
Gender needing further context
All my preconceptions breaking.

Are cows good
On this we brood
Carbon footprint the new quandary,
Should we fly
Or cycling try
A simpler world I recall fondly.

Left or Right
The current fight
Politicians all grandstanding,
Little caring
Overbearing
Of our hearts and minds demanding.

To take part
Is quite an art
Every word now needing measure,
Opinions rue
So fast to sue
No surprise the past I treasure.

“Comrade Bernie's in full swing
Arms flailing, fingers pointing,
Like a possessed puppet on a string
To his legions never disappointing.”

“We're a movement young and strong
Forward thinking, kind to all,
They call us mad but that's so wrong
Such a thought takes quite some gall”.

“We in turn look on bemused
The Stars and Stripes turning to the Sickle,
To put it mildly we're confused
Democrats floundering in a pickle.”

“Little do they understand
Momentum's on our side;
From our crusade we'll never bend
We march united like the tide.”

“Yet Trump's laughing with great glee
Re-election firmly in his sight,
Bernie's pitch a hollow plea
Republicans itching for the fight.”

“They may mock us, underrate
Wait and see, watch and learn;
Our revolution simply fate,
Love the man, feel the Bern.

Who is wrong and who is right
In this battle for our hearts,
One thing’s sure it will be tight
Once we get through all the barbs.