Dudley does to Pauline,
He does her right.
Dudley does to Pauline
Day and night.
Dudley does to Pauline
Til he hits the floor.
Dudley does to Pauline
Til he can't anymore

Dudley, Dudley, Dudley
Dudley Do-right.

Dudley never meant
To make a mess.
Dudley never asked Pauline
To wear that dress.
Dudley never needed
To hear her groan.
Dudley would have offered
To drive her home.

Dudley, Dudley, Dudley
Dudley do-right.

Dudley gets the mop
And a soapy pail.
Dudley wouldn't like
To go to jail.
Dudley is relieved
There's no-one to tell.
Dudley is so sweet,
Who'd believe the tale?

Dudley, Dudley, Dudley
Dudley Do-right.

Dudley, a black country town
the birthplace of the industrial revolution
where foundries thumped
and coal and limestone pumped
A ghost town ****** dry
by Merry Hill
a commercial giant
treading on local enterprise
killing it's trader's hope
until they couldn't cope
John Dudley from his grave turned
as his castle was raised to the ground
by parliamentarians in a coup
a ruin, now turned into a zoo!
A suffering town screaming for survival
not taking a nap for a place on the map
The home of Aynuk and Ayli
mythical characters who *****
in famed colloquial dialect kitsch
The museum packed with bold
black country tales
from glass blowing bubble
to blacksmith's trouble
The ayle, the doorstep sarni's
cow pies and canal barges
Salt of the earth men
who often pen
poems from their working class den
A concrete town
grey, dank into practicality sank
but if you get the chance to meet
any of the inhabitants
you'll be in for a treat
as the warmth in their hearts
will melt any thoughts of revolution
and cleanse your soul
of all pollution.

I see in you a man full of strength and stature.
  A character with character,
  I would gladly shake your hand
  and spend time with you.

A melding of the OC maroon and the Tennessee orange,
  You are part guide and part scholar
  who faithfully bridges the gaps
  between young and old,
  church and community,
  scholarship and practice.

Your appearance is one of a big kid
  who is known and loved by all, yet
  displaying a confident purpose and intensity
  that can only come from years of service
  and a wisdom that comes from
  loving the one who loves
  all of us perfectly.

Thank you for what you do,  and
  may you continue spreading
  His loving message
  of hope and reconciliation
  to future generations
  as you enjoy the continued
  favor of your God and fellows.

sunken in couches at coffee shops
have been loved too much
by too many

cushions gone lumpy
legs that can no longer support weight
coffee stains that will never come out

though there’s been many that have loved it
there hasn’t been one that has loved it enough

LISTENING TO LIZ

( for Liz Berry )

We all felt
as if our collective mind

had fallen
and grazed a collective knee

so to speak
and that Miss Berry

with her lovely Dudley accent
would say" "Oh and did you fall

you poor little thing?"

And we all wailed: "Yes...
yes...we falled!"

And Miss Berry soothed so
our mind that

we felt better
just because of her

mind gently so gently
touching our mind

tears drying on our collective face
as she read

and that she was the best teacher
we would always forever remember.

Darl Dudley was a pud with a swelling in his nipper.
Shaving, he forgot to zip his zipper.
The morning was great, he was cheerful and able.
He decided to set the breakfast table.
Seeing the adelaide boots he became unstable.
Yanking at his crotch, before he was aware,
Yiks, he had caught a lot of hair.
Then he broke the zipper off and ashamed, began to swear.
His love entered the breakfast room
saw his bent over form and thought it was a dare.
Darl stood up and held his crotch, his pants slipped down
a notch; red faced he howled a prayer.
"My darlin," she exclaimed. "You seem to be in pain.
Let me help you get your trousers off."
Darl let out a heart felt sigh. Just wanted to cry.
His dinger, hot and swollen with a badly bruised side.
She bent down for a moment to see about his fly and
and ended up with a sharp poke in her eye.

Egalitarians of a smaller world
with forks for fingers
chew loudly on the gravy train
of poor boys paper thin paychecks
spit me out cause I got no cash
better to be on the street with
a shoeless shuffle
than trying to capture a seat
at the silver spoon table....

Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud
the graves of American dreams they spoiled
the song of their voices in unison
is a terrible dirge and a
strange romancer that keeps
one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams
hope....

Dudley Do Right is a little man
in his little office
acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be
just pennies on the pound for his cold soul
a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

all these flavorless fools
pay to play on the great machine
where the crowds call for ever more
salacious parody of what should be
where the almighty buck stops here
twice a day
all day Sunday
preacher man
baker, solider, liar, thief
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

© 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my
exclusive property and all rights are reserved

LISTENING TO LIZ
( for Liz Berry )

We all felt
as if our collective mind

had fallen
and grazed a collective knee

so to speak

and that Miss Berry
with her lovely Dudley accent

would say" "Oh and did you fall
you poor little thing?"

And we all wailed: "Yes...
yes...we falled!"

And Miss Berry soothed so
our mind that

we felt better
just because of her

mind gently so gently
touching our mind

tears drying on our collective face
as she read

and that she was the best teacher
we would always forever remember.

I have watched you cheat and swindle.
I’ve listened to your shallow lies.
I have seen what passes for integrity
In the avarice that shines from your eyes.
You don’t seem to be able to talk much
Without over-exaggerating the truth.
You speak like the infamous cookie-jar kid,
But, you don’t have the advantage of youth.

It doesn’t take long to recognize
That you are just a fake and a crook.
You can’t avoid exhibiting behavior
Of every villain in the story books.
All you need is a handlebar mustache
And a damsel to rope to the tracks
For us to know exactly who you are;
That Snively Whiplash is back!

But alas we have no Dudley Doright
To come along and vanquish the foe.
The heroes have all died out, it seems
And we only ever had eleven or so.
The rest are cowards, covering ***
And hiding behind wimpy excuses
That let the gang leaders do their worst
And heap on us further abuses.

As always the way with dictators
They need the people to lie down
And let themselves be driven over
By a huge car driven by a clown.
Those are the wimps, and the marks
Who quit learning in elementary school
Who can’t tell a statesman from a crook
And applaud when listening to a fool.

But not all of us are hornswoggled;
Some of us can read the danger signs.
We scream and shout all the way through
To idiots that seem deaf and blind.
In vain we insist of those not too bright
That the leaders should go by the book .
No matter how stupid you think we are
We’re not all as dumb as you look.

Kirsten; like any wicked step mother you’d read about in children’s story books.
Her presented facade dissolved quickly with days passing since we arrived to reside in her home.
Ample kindness mixed with my first real impression of what narcissistic personality looked like.
Classically she had no children of her own at the time she was exactly the age I am now as I pen this unpleasant memory.
Oddly enough our body types are nearly identical though she was taller with short curly hair often chemically relaxed and dyed a darkened shade of red.
She was the only example of a plus size woman I’d ever interacted with; with a large chest I wished to resemble  when I grew up.
I was eleven at the time and extremely flat chested though I’d developed rosebuds when I was five being the overweight child.
Kirsten loved us- or she pretended detrimentally.
We bonded over the two plump tabby cats she owned though I detested doing the litter- being guilted into it because she had multiple sclerosis although argumentatively she’d have done the litter herself long before I came along.
Adult excuses though whereas her illness was real she didn’t really do much of anything after we came along.
Normalcy was just that at first- family sit down dinners around this white table with cylindrical chairs specked grey and white cushions.
I’d always be yelled at for crossing my one leg under my rear as I’d sit.
“You’ll break the chair that way, stop it” they said on the regular as I’d never remember.
Truthfully that position was comfortable and the chairs never broke.
One resided in my fathers empty home till a week ago- as strong as back in 2001.
Dad and Kirsten were heavy smokers at that point, chain smoking regularly in the front room of Dudley street though the smell would seep through the crevasse and deposit itself remarkably amongst the house.
She’d buy me identical clothes to her- one pink and white fuzzy sweater in particular then berate me for copying her. After all, a very narcissistic thing to do with me being  ******* eleven.
I loved that woman more than I’d care to admit.
She was my first motherly figure after being removed from the home of my severely mentally ill birth mother- she was still a form of normalcy though our relationship deteriorated unrealistically quick.
Before the family split up; we had a sit down dinner though Kirsten wasn’t present.
Having an MS flare I asked how she was when she trapped past the kitchen table toward the washroom.
Innocently enough, I was not prepared for the extremely violent outburst directed toward me- 12 at the time.
For the life of me I don’t recall the words though something like how much she did for our ungrateful family and I ran off to my bedroom without dinner crying from this unwarranted attack.
Everything changed after that point.
That was one of the only times my father emotionally soothed me; their life deteriorated into nightly fights and our fairytale life traversed into a puff of dust.
Kirsten was a dangerous reoccurrence for years after though the veil of particular wonderment was long forgotten.
I needed a protective female presence though I received a covert narcissistic *******.
C’est la vie.

1044.  BC
King.  David.  Writes. On the. Run from Saul
". Keep me. Safe. O. Lord in you I  take. My. Refuge."
The. Year. 1338.  
A.  Pestulance. Lies. Untouched.  for. Hundreds. Of. Years. Suddenly. Awakens. .
  China.  The once. Great.  Mongolian.  Empyre   Finds. a. Gateway to the. West,
Only to become. Ravished by. Sickness.  ,.
Cappas. Catapult  corpses. ,
Cappa. S.  Merchants. Flee. On. Death. Boats. Set. For. England ,
Prosperous. England's.  Green fields.  ,  
A. Monks. Prayer  
". Dear. Lord. Keep. This. Sickness. Away from these. Green  fields. "
Yet.  Flanders.  Ships. Sailed. ,
Port. To. Port. The. Merchants.  Sailed .
Fear. Stalked. the. Deckhands. ,
Stay away "  
Stay. Away ". Cry. After. Cry. , untill
The. Ghost ships. Deadly. Cargo.  Of.  Fleas. , and. Rats.  Sailed. Into. The.  evenings. Sun.
Airborne !,!!!  
Boils
Fever,
The. Spewing ,
Dead. In. Six. Days.
They. Danced. The. Macarbra. ,  ..
Mothers.  Abandoned their children. ,
Fields.  Lay. Empty. Of. Harvest ,
Death. Stalked. England's. Green. Fields. Like. a. Table. Cloth set. For. Tea .
  
God. Is.  Love. ,
God. Does. Not. Condem.
Those. He. Loves.  To. Damnation. For their sin.
All. Will. Be. Well.  do not. Fear.
For. All. Will. Be. Well. ""
Julian of. Norwich. Had. Seen a. Great. Vision
Burn.
Her. Manuscript. Must. Go. To. The. Flame"
The. Reformers.  Came. .
With. Pitchfork and. Intent.
Yet. They. Found. Nothing.  
Nothing but. An impenetrable   Fortresses of. Love.
Ashford. In. Middlesex.    Twenty. Sixteen.  
Dudley. Road. Sunday. Morning  ,
God. Forgives our sin.
and. Heals. Our. Deseses. ""

There's a Church that stands between Dudley road and Clarendon ,
a Church with a foundation stone where time has eroded.
It's  a. Capstone built with firm foundation ,
and a. King of Love  , who speaks out through written word has given his life for me ,
A. Crimson light ,
A   lampstand. Of Gold , with two olive trees flanked on either side ,
An endless stream of olive oil to keep the lamps light .
Before me a preacher and  an uncomfortable truth .
Behind the preacher lay a feast set for a King ,
That we may love him a little and pray we should with all our hearts draw near
and love him more .

Yet  how easely our lives become dissembled , and
Integrity bought for a penny .
Our beloved friends ,
Loves,
quickly become Ghosts of our past , present and future
For Loneliness. And fear flee ,
Forgiveness forever waltz with grace .
Enginuity meet with the fire flys of our day ,
Dragons that unite this England ,
Fiery monsters that **** Englands green and pleasant land ,
and unite its people .
An Iron Horse of steel , Pistons of smoke bringing hope
And entegrity to these green fields of home .

It ain't gonna be me the stinking state pigs will be a-cuffin' because
I ain't licensed at nothin,' not even bakin' a sweet, California muffin
with big raisins, orange sprinkles & whatever else I feel like stuffin'
so as not to yank out prematurely before I gets more than enough in
Sometimes I cry as pigeons peck my *******, other times I just tell
them to stop it & not to do it ever again because I don't like it much
Fattened cows ate our tomatoes & starving pigs then ate our posies,
so don't you dare take a huge, reekin' **** on our colorful tea cozies
'cause lovin' you's like fressing cherry pie from a gal with 1 bad eye
while I sit cocked sideways needing a yardstick 'cause I ain't so shy
Mary Ellen Judy Norton Taylor Walton your ******* are too flabby,
so I will go down on your furry tuft below, that I jokingly call tabby
as Judy suffers from, & is afflicted with, an obtusion of farm senses
that interrupt her monthly charges regardin' normal-flowing ******
For Hef's ******* Judy was feverishly hot on a bear rug naked bare
after flinging aside T.V. pretend bro' Jim Bob's farm-boy underwear
that he wore when they rocked the house in grandma's rockin' chair
1 day I was viewing The Keiser Report starring ugly ol' Max Keiser
which would detract from my sexiness yet make me so much wiser,
& cause great-toe-jammin'-pecker stiffness & irritate either eye sore
while grindin' down 4 canines, 8 premolars & a middlemost incisor
I'll sing 8 days on the road in my big truck like I'm ol' Dave Dudley
running from Jesus God and hiding with waitresses as I rave studly
of a manly prowess using stiff asphalt laid thickly to pave mud free
like the wife support payments forked over by singer Neil Diamond
that would be burdensome to a poorer Jew like the shill Neil Simon
Boldness & beauty, blackness & blue, I am stupid, just not like you
'cause as my cornflakes sog in milk, I don't sell my nuts for a *****
anywhere where life spells death there is a cloudy heaven to pursue
It was hard push, yank & pull, talk ***** to me don't talk ***** to me
I like you or likely I love you, I try too much, better just wait & see,
while I give up at changing you into the woman I long for you to be
in the image that schmo Bobby Darin wanted for ****** Sandra Dee
whose big ******-numbed ******* nursed Bobbie's raw-milk brutality
pitched on a bowling lane of broken-leg bone & severed-hand ****
what made him stolidly 910 million times more serenely handsome
under the guilty shadow of the gay Bruce Jenner gender switcheroo

that could very well be his surgical whoops slip up Waterloo before

he would sexcite sike **** Hillary Clinton's homosexy affairs anew
whilst his hot peas thawed, hair pack jelled & old girl caught a clue
beyond clues given for cows driven to spit up cud for another chew
in kingdom halls where witnesses disfellowship guys seen fartin' &
queer-drunk on Mexi-gasser beans poured from a lime-green carton
that was endorsed by ******-ball Dino Crocetti A.K.A. Dean Martin
who liked pancakes, hotcakes & flapjacks with blackstrap molasses
as he denied hotcakes for burnt pancakes, griddlecakes & flapjacks
& proctologic exams for nothing that probed his chafed crap cracks
that looks like a flounder, that with a *** cleaver, a crazy *** hacks
at my red wiener, warty cucumber, candle stick & old orange carrot
as witnessed by my chimp, quokka, gerbil & clipped African parrot
that is so selfish with gooily-raw rat meat that he'll not even share it
with the hack Bob Browning & his ***** monkey Elizabeth Barrett
****** hid her vaginal emptiness from Richard Cory, Kyle S. Bruce,
Daisy Lou & Garett Hobart's lost nephew whose quarry tile is loose
You screamed like an unwashed **** when I pinched your lard ***,
I can't stomach your sister, because she is such a whining, hard lass
conjuring up old Crowley occultism, but what makes her the worst,
she wants me to sign a ****** suicide pact that states that I die first
as self-****** is a sin & she cares little about my soul being cursed
in realms that count not among its angels William Randolph Hearst
& Marion Davies & accused wife-snuffin' millionaire Robert Durst
whose hunger for Malay tail was sadder than greasers dyin' of thirst
I slumber in greenish ***** ill puked hard *****-woozy & drunken
too sick to down gooey, greasy doughnuts I shoplifted from Dunkin
'cause I purloin cream topping & jelly filling better than anyone can
now o' when Smith, of the fake Titanic, knew he was a man sunken
to televise (tele advise me telly television tele-visionary uncle Ken)
my nose from the vantage point of me red **** is funky-funk funkin'
or my ear from the fall-off point of a thin *** sins funky-funk funkin'
or brow from the terminal point of **** lips is *****-punk punkin'
or toes from a tiny point of 2 **** tips that're chunky-chunk chunkin'
& triggered at the apex of ******-**** ***** for a clunky-clunk clunkin'
once ragged atop the peak of Clinton's ****** of dunky-dunk dunkin'
& crap beyond a holt of pretty ******* to ***** a bunky-bunk bunkin'
My ultra-favorite, back-******* monkey loves me me me but
I love my bonnie Bonnie who lives across the ocean & over the sea
in a palace with Sparky Marcus who spreads a cruel, spooky mucus
over a toady staffer popularly known as crazy Luke or kooky Lucus
whose stratospherical id raced far beyond whatever Sparky ever did
long after Henry McCarty & William Bonney became Billy the Kid
Confess & grovel before the Lord, for on asphaltum your ***'ll skid
because dark spots on my shaded parts means that I got a headache,
that's got more killin'-power than a Malaysian/H.A.A.R.P. seaquake
I know that what you now know is on a need-to-know basis, and so
I counted them twice to I see that you amputated my left largest toe
to **** foot-bred animalcules unfelt as my atrophy trots paraplegical
in ****** labs of agriculturalists, whose studies are parthenocarpical
I love the challenge of a chic freak as it makes my pocked **** tired
7 days in a usual Haitian work week like quitting before being fired
which was her fat-*** way of losing a new job just after being hired
as this stunnin' **** ruptured me because she was so sexually wired

with white ***** makin' my Jacmel Beach tragedy 100% uninspired
Ol' men know that plastic Barbie doll dolls want G.I. Joe men, ever
since genital-lacking Barbie Roberts had the baby of *****-free Ken
whose naked 11-count stood unnaturalized as he could not reach 10
as cruel bears are bear-tricky like Smokey Bear & T.V.'s Gentle Ben
in ol' Kowloon City where Nancy Kwan sleeps with me as Ka Shen
who smoked Raleigh cigarettes for cancer & sailed north for scurvy
to enhance her perky nay-nays & to make nip-wide hips more curvy
on the roof to the floor, beneath the attic in my dungeon topsy turvy
On rough seas no boy sailor knows what a Chinese cargo ship'll do,
'cause in a tight D cup bra a raw-rubbed lawyer **** may ****** sue

My cousins are dead because of you Norman Cousins swearer to masonic blood oaths. Cousin Cousine gave hope to my cousins & me & to Ted Danson, Ned Manson, Fred Janssen & Jed Hanson. Ship now Stanley ** or forever hold your shipments for the sudden crapping-out of nice people is what I'm gambling on. Marilyn Monroe is unforgettable especially since corporators never relent in keeping her name & likeness before the public. By the 7th day of an electrical black-out feminism will be no more as the natural order of things will be restored. The cancer-afflicted girls who make the news are suffering from radiation sickness. Radiation sickness cures nothing. Radiation sickness denigrates the immune system. Next stop: doughnut shop for APPLAUSE & APPLE SAUCE, a simple sample of Pederson's shrimp in shambles & shims in sandals with a dosage o' ol': allopathism, regionalism, nationalism, emotionalism, rationalism, pyorrhea, diarrhea, gonorrhea, Cary Grant, Gary Crant, Crary Gant, Grary Cant, Carry Gant, Carr Ganty, Garr Canty, Granty Car, Ganty Carr, Garnt Cary, Carnt Gary, Carnty Gar, Garnty Car, Arnty Garc, Arnty Grac, Ranty Garc & the man who stands above others: Ranty Grac. Help me dead Dave Dudley to rave studly then pave mud free with Neil Diamond to **** Neil Simon worshiper of: Satan's hollyhock tree Hollywood; **** Dolly's Dollywood; Tamil's Kolly-wood; Bomay's Bollywood & fair airplay for the not-so-fair *******' Nollywood where whitey ain't welcomed even as a token.
   Malignant cells are electrostatically-charged negative as is the immune system. Like-charges repel one another making it impossible for the immune system to mount a direct assault on malignant structures so, instead, benignant cells build a tumorous mass to contain the clutch of cancerous cells. If the immune system could attack cancer, mammalian pregnancy (gestation to term) wouldn't be possible as pre-embryonic cells (which are virtually indistinguishable from malignant cells) would be defined by the immune system as invasive & condemned to destruction & absorption.
   It's minimum-wage day in Albania! Grab a strange Albanian woman's *** to get the fun started and the ball rolling!