Love and the Sunday Funnies

We will not turn on the radio today
We will repudiate its veto over us
We will silence its news and its noise
We will not wait upon its appointed hours

We will sit in the windowlight and read
Maybe the Great Books, or maybe the funnies
-The funnies!
Let’s read the funnies to each other, and laugh
About Charlie Brown and his kite-eating tree

And joyfully fling the funnies and ourselves
Upon the sunbeams, all over the floor

We will not turn on the radio today
We will repudiate its veto over us
We will silence its news and its noise
We will not wait upon its appointed hours

We will sit in the windowlight and read
Maybe the Great Books, or maybe the funnies
-The funnies!
Let’s read the funnies to each other, and laugh
About Charlie Brown and his kite-eating tree

And joyfully fling the funnies and ourselves
Upon the sunbeams, all over the floor

Wrote this while my best friend since childhood and I drove 1300 miles to South Florida on a whim for Spring Break. It's epic, so get comfortable.

"Approachable but you wouldn't know it.  Proclamations of the Romantically Challenged"

Day one.

We meet, old friends...watch old friends...become old friends again.
We find our lost grins, ones only shared with our closer than kin.
Thin shagrins of lasting cynicism and sinister pasts are masks to the blasts we got away with and lived to tell the tale.
Alas, we are sons and friends first, not last.
We cling to our good old glory stories past,
But at last the time is new, our trip begins.
Wheels burn, stomachs churn.
Our aspired souls yearn,
to fire the liars and unconcerned.
We head for the East coast.
With temperatures rising,
approaching unseen horizons,
rejecting the superficially tantalizing,
we begin to feel our tattered souls wisen.
Talking a new talk, calculating the steps to walk a new walk.
Testifying our pains, devilishly dodging heavenly rains, the bitter pains.
Watching yourself in a friend, a cynical kidder gone bitter. Your mirror becomes your babysitter.
We search our hearts and back again down I-10.
We find strength and talk about things friends for life can only talk about on a walk about.
We lift some Spirits to lift our spirits.
Night falls,
we arrive alive… our walk about calls 1,365miles in 18 hours.

Day two begins.

Meet and greet with the beach.
Get a handle on some handy sandals,
some nicotine candy and butane candles.
A fifth of Daniels.
Jack and Jose will duel this day.
"You know it's know your fault, pass the lime and salt," ends most answers before noon.
Let's take some dares with the local fare, shadowing the glare of our wear and tear.
The sun fries,
windy sands fly,
waves pacify,
dropped bikini tops glimpsed from the corner of our eye, testify.
The Sun sets.

Shuffing off the nightlife status-quo of Clematis Row, we turn our walkabout into a Palm Beach Safari...Club.
Whoa! Rows and rows of walking, talking shows barely clothed from head to tanned toes.Making funnies about hunting honies preying on $$$.
The unattainable passes. We tap our glasses.
"Point in case, what a waste, such tragedies as these, a lot of money and a little cheese meets a little ****** in high cut sleeves, low-cut cleaves & cuts way above the knees.
Our cuts are deep. Bartender, two Yagers please."

Low and behold…on those stools sit no fools.
Breaking all rules.
with Coronas as fuel,
we inflate our jewels.
As we coach our approach, mentioning "I-10 and back again" prompts grins,
hides our cynicism and sins,
then, moving in to win friends.
Names and places put to faces, careful glancing, winks and dancing.
Alright, the trips to the bathroom are getting old.
Warm smiles once cold, honest questions and truths told…no souls sold…we fold? Hmmmm.
We leave and arrive alive.
Caffine and nicotine stay the scene until the wee hours overpower us.

Day three unfolds

The sun rises and the ocean calls.
Old molds broken
No lies spoken.
No need to peddle your life away settling on the day-to-day following peers falsely content and full of contempt.
Eyes turn bright,
the Sun pours over night,
dolphin, lime and salt,
golfing talk,
day approaches night.
Less tense and more pensive,
more apprehensive and less expensive,
even so we head out to even the evening,
to end our grieving and start achieving....something.
Latitude changes have rearranged our attitude gauges.
So we choose West Palm's Clematis Row to show us how a little rude,
lude and tattooed could clue us in on the anew.
Fools with jewels.
Girls with rules.
Uncool tools abound.
We walk this street of sleekish freaks,
the falsely meek,
lions that squeak.
"Club Respectables" is dubbed rejectables as the objectionable scene is seen as a scheme by vampires with recessive genes.
Next is Spanky's…Best described as "A frat boy fishing pole contest to tackle box in bait shack." One bucket of beer away from "I got your back Jack in case of attack."
We move along.
Colombia Supreme brewed proceeding it's fine grind and American Online becomes the sign of the times swaying us to stay and play at an Internet Cafe.

"I could live here," proclaims a cynical kidder once bitter now soothed by the sea spray and salty air.

Enlightenment heightened by a magic man,
near night's end, inspires an O'Shea's Black and Tan.
The crowd mocks and baulks the sidewalk scene from the patio Pub Dubbed Irish.
We greet the ground,
not the masses' frown,
seat our ***** down,
toast our glasses of black and brown,
our bitters with bite wash down the bitter frowns we normally wear out in our hometown.
"That's a sharp Harp's and sinister Guinness; can I get a witness?"

We head back down our beaten path, writing our epitaphs and usual eulogies...But you know that the "place" or your "space" will change your face, one makes the case."If you sound bitter and you look bitter, chances are you are bitter."
I begin to smile during our final mile of token jokes,
Corona smokes,
shiny Harley spokes.
We leave and arrive alive at the realization,
we have things to strive for in our lives.  
We smoke and joke and poke fun at the run down broken blokes we were before our fun in the sun had begun.
  
Day four begins.
  
We embark for the Ozarks. Our souls at ease.
Save the scene...the last palm tree's waving leaves,  
we wave our palms and leave.
1300 miles more,  
Pushing the morning hour of four,  
empty coffee cups galore,  
moonings a score,  
pedal to the floor,  
memories and more,  
we knew we would be back for more.  
Suddenly learning how insane our inane claims of waning fame should hold no shame,
we reframe our game.
Upon our return…
the strength to strive, take back our broken banks and breaking backs.
Less taxing, more relaxing..."it could happen"... eliquinent waxing.
As we search our hearts and back again, down I-10,we find the strength in things you can only talk about on a walk about,
but that's what it was all about.
By R.Craig David-copyrighted 1995

IT'S a jazz affair, drum crashes and cornet razzes
The trombone pony neighs and the tuba ******* snorts.
The banjo tickles and titters too awful.
The chippies talk about the funnies in the papers.
  The cartoonists weep in their beer.
  Ship riveters talk with their feet
  To the feet of floozies under the tables.
A quartet of white hopes mourn with interspersed snickers:
    "I got the blues.
    I got the blues.
    I got the blues."
And ... as we said earlier:
  The cartoonists weep in their beer.

I find it kind of funny
That people care after it's too late
I find it kind of funny
When people care about **** they're unable to do anything about
I find it kind of funny
That people can care about people they never knew existed, but most likely wouldn't do **** to help them
I find it ******* hilarious
That people care what I do with my life

always be surprised
be cautious of words
and how you affect others
love him
cry when you are sad
never lose your sense of faith
love and forgive when you are wronged
touch baby animals and live your life
remember that you were small once
be grateful for your life and the opportunities given to you
go to school
don’t lie
be mindful of yourself
stay healthy and exercise to make yourself happy, not for others
cry when you are angry
compliment strangers
give small gifts to those who deserve them for no other reason but that.
swearing is a waste of a language
spend your time sleeping and you will wake up full of dreams
belch and ****, quietly.
apologize to enemies, move on.
drink tea
enjoy simple pleasures
don’t watch tv or read the newspaper
except the Sunday funnies.
smile at people when you pass them in hallways, make firm eye contact
have children and love them for who they are, no matter what
make a difference in the lives of people around you
giving is a bigger joy than receiving
flowers need appreciation as much, if not more than people
write poetry and live your life
don’t let people insult you.
stay safe
drink merlot because it tastes good, not to get drunk
offer help when someone looks as if they need it
don’t pass up chances to meet new people

*cry when your heart hurts from being too full of love

You sit down at a desk, coffee in hand, and you try writing a joke for a humor magazine.

“Yesterday, my roommate Angie suggested that I should try being a male role model. And I totally would, but that would conflict with my dream of being a male fashion model. I have all the qualifications of being a model: I’m pretty tall, about 6 foot 3, I enjoy walking around with a constipated expression on my face, and since I’m Asian, I’ll look twenty-two years old for years to come. So ***** a 401 k and medical insurance, when my genetics will give me reliable job security.”

The sunlight hurts your eyes, the pencil point has dulled, and in the next room it reeks of boiled eggs and spoiled cream cheese. You won’t eat brunch for a month.

Angie watches TV on the couch in the living room, pours ***** into her glass of orange juice, spills a little bit of it on her jeans. Her sunglasses are black and make her look like John Lennon. Of course, she’s wearing a stone’s Tee, so you don’t bother to tell her what you think. Telecommuting has been her life for the past six months. She works as a consultant for Accenture and has traveled to Austin, San Diego, Brooklyn, even Miami. You’ve never been outside of Virginia.

Upstairs in your bedroom, you dress in a button-up: pretend you’re a 20’s something professional, instead of a 25-year-old going through a pseudo-quarter life crisis. Getting fired from the dealership wasn’t as big of a deal as losing out on seeing your coworker’s smile when you give them a donut from Krispy Kreme. When you’re in the bathroom, taking a number two, sometimes, you catch a glimpse of your old manager’s enthusiastic smile, and you feel like you’ve let him down.

Go out to the coffee shop on Main Street, sit by the window, scribble hearts on the margins of your notebook. Try writing another joke.

“Honestly any job is fine with me, but I'm a little afraid of going back into the workforce. The last couple of jobs I worked, happened to be with co-workers who ended up becoming my sister's boyfriends. My sister is in a pretty serious relationship now with a guy I used to work with at a tennis camp. So if I get hired and start working again, there's a very good chance that my sister could end up dating a guy who walks around in his underwear for a living,”

Google: starving artist. Consider the picture for the starving artist: straight, white, male. Ask yourself: why are the envelopes in the mail box, also always: straight, white mail. Golf-clap for the correlation created by your inner poet. Contemplate drinking wine during the day; red. Look for jobs on Indeed.com to pass the time.

“And if modeling doesn't work out and he ends up in a deep and dark depression. No worries, just make sure he eats excessively, and he'll be ready new career path as a sumo wrestler.”

Ask for a job application from the barista with the puppy-dog eyes. When you finish the app, intentionally smudge your handwriting to prevent employers from seeing your professional references. Your last six jobs ended in you getting kicked out; a world class record right? No one inside gives the impression that they want to talk to you. Crack your knuckles. Crack your back. As you casually take a drag from your cigarette next to the “NO-SMOKING” sign, wonder if it life would be different if you were Korean; Japanese; Chinese. Puppy-dog eyed barista bangs on the storefront window, mouths: put the cig out dude. Follow the instruction and feel guilt momentarily.

While you wait for the Wi-Fi homepage to load up, resist the urge to text Angie: how’s your day? Or: “Wanna read a joke I wrote?” Cold beads of water drip down the contour of your thumb; incidentally, nobody gives a **** about mundane detail like the one you just mentioned.

Ask the blue-scarf wearing girl if you can keep an eye out on your computer. She asks: sure, how long will you be gone? Don’t tell her you’re going to the bathroom to throw up last night’s combination of supreme pizza and several shots of Johnny Walker. Tell her: I need to wash my face. She nods and noticeably grins, as though she’s caught you doing something incredibly embarrassing.

Once in the bathroom, look into the mirror. Breathe: once, twice. Your hand starts shaking like saltshakers in a Ying-Yang twin’s music video. Stand over the toilet. Close your eyes before you dip your finger into your mouth. Refrain from thinking about her.

“The worst thing about driving in DC is having people call you out on slow driving. And then they see my face and they're like it’s an Asian thing. And I'm like no it's a speed camera thing. I tell my friends I don't think I'm a bad driver. And they tell me Mario kart doesn't count. I tell them I've never gotten a speeding ticket. And they say but you've been in four accidents. I say yeah but I'm golden in Mario Kart.”

You park your car in the driveway. Angie is sitting on a rocking chair and smoking a cigar. Radiohead plays from laptop speakers. Her eyes are puffy red and you wonder how long has she been sobbing for. Would laughter dry up her tears better than a box of Kleenex?  The grass sways. Cars pass by. And Angie pulls up a chair for you. Sit, ask her what’s wrong, and listen to her story. Wait for her to explain the situation, detail by detail, then tell her your best joke, and watch her face break out into a smile, as the smoke from her cigar vanishes into the air, a space opening up now between you and her.

early retirement                                           2.11.22 Mercury/Pluto conjunction

I’ve been cracking jokes lately,
when in the company of others.
When there was an opening in the conversation
I would insert a comment;
I would joke about my life in early retirement.
I would joke and say that I am retired.
It's obviously funny because I’m only 35;
fairly early in my second Saturn returns.

Over the last 18 months I’ve made modest acquisitions
fit for a retiree;
house slippers, a few extra lines in my face and
even a piccolo pipe with dark cherry Cavendish tobacco.  
They all fit rather nicely,
(according to my eyes)
when worn with my gray cardigan with the red whip stitch
suring up the right pocket;
the same cardigan I wore the night of the accident and the
morning of the ward.
That was an equinox to remember.

Maybe it's in poor taste to joke about early retirement.
Perhaps that it isn’t very funny to go on about,
or maybe it was only funny to me.
It hadn’t quite occurred to me until now that
it may be kind of awkward for a grown man to crack
funnies about his lack of income or industriousness.
I suppose I just gave myself a pass.
Because I figured everyone already knows I’m
a little unhinged-
a little ungrounded-
certainly a bit touched…
and that “he just needs time to heal because he is
an activated Light Worker and the benefits reaped
by his inner struggle to anchor the
Light upon the Earth plane is in everyone’s best interest,
and that it takes an untold exertion of Will to exact such an incarnation,
and that it takes more than a few several months for the
risen Kundalini to come to maturation.
Quick, can someone please get me a tourmaline.

Well, here I am in
southern Jersey
Manchester Township
Ocean County
Riverside retirement community
side of the pond (man made)
composite bench under a gazebo erected on a concrete pad.
Sitting inside my cardigan next to my piccolo pipe and a pen in my hand,
wondering how I could feel so lost and so found at the same time.

I’ve been a stubborn *******.
Afraid to bear my Light within my hands and
expose it to my kin in a meaningful way.
But here I am,
early retirement
on an early afternoon
in a retirement community
full of elders
slinkin through the
early dusk of the
twilight of their lives.
And I don't like it.
I am not equanimous with what is.
I’ve excreted so many toxins that the
re-uptake is nearly too much to bear.
I’ve carried empty green notepads in my back pocket for years.
Pen and pad with scotch tape holding down the binding;
worth about three or four poems max.
“Yea I fancy myself a writer, just not very prolific.”
You can only speak something into being so many times
before the universe starts agreeing with you.
Old man Saturn couldn’t give a **** about
little fears and excuses.
The limits of necessity were only
bad wiring
rendered by
my own hand.
And that goes down smooth like a fish-bone in the throat.

I own enough scarves and robes to
circumambulate the globe a few times.
If only I could fly
it would be in such style
because on the outside I look how I want to feel on the inside.
Before my heart center I hold the dharmachakra mudra and
I stare into a candle flame.
I could of sworn they prescribed this treatment
early in the Rig Veda for guys with ailments like mine;
running mad like beside his shadow and
fleeing all the house flies;
sliding down the side of a waxing crescent moon.

only the moon it is a scythe;
a crescent knife.
Waning in early retirement,
old man Saturn coming for his life.

DIY AI
Do It Yourself
Act Inteleostical

aim at fame, take the blame
aim at shame, hide and watch

aim at games no mind can matter in,
hope to hell that you are right,

roll the bones…

let the story form the world we agree upon,
stand, bipedally biased to lieve be
the balance factor in terms
of fear being a reason
to respond,
in one way, or another, knowing now

time is all together different than imagined,
not long ago,
on a little think… we know the journey story,
did we
really live so far from the center?
It seems so,
from where I stand, unembodied in another
reconnected to the story,
a book's worth of time, stretched to thinnistical
translucence,
sparks we imagine having seen as signals slow
to
geo speed, Gaia mind, ****** - that
sensation of ever mattering
just now,
for a moment, then

now, again, similar but never the same,
riverish as any wish one tests
again, after ever has began
to play in the per-ifery.

rocking on this swing again
where I crept into the moon
so many nights with
and without you

twirling tongue spells
whispering kisses on the wind

I sat in blackness
sky light communion
praying begging manifestivals
for just the slightest uplift
in your shadowed lids
to peep ignite

while you steeped in other brew
as if I could pry you
from your own entrapments

you employ them
in places you won't let me
because you're scared
to open your hand
fully

dailies distract the knowing
and warm your frigid sheets
then you wonder why
there's no space
for we

I know I'm Sunday mornings
flung swift at your door
requiring all your insides
from turned-out pockets

but I'm also
high-gloss, full-color
edge-of-your-seat
content symph in inter-D
and every last **** one
of the funnies

plus those coupons in the middle
to places you've never been
they kick back everything
you've thrown in
10,000 folds

uncreasing dewy
unto you

Joseph sits on skinny chairs, reads the funnies
she would be tall, pretty hair, she don’t see
see he won’t be reading one bit, he looks dumb
just staring, looking fat, broken, glum
she cleans up all the plates

—Put those dishes down, now is a time for love-making
I’ll take you now, and wonder if I’ve taken
steps enough to excuse my idleness; in time
you’ll leave, and supine, I’ll take a coat of lyme
and let the lines loose

We will communicate through touch and kiss
and enjoy the full of it, pull in the harvest;
light and movies romance the **** out of me
at last, we are at the end of all things irony
Christ that **** impersonal.

—This music don’t be coming from them
that is right, that is absolutely the end of them
they just end, I don’t care, I let it be
how come you so foolish, Joseph? I don’t see
why are you so foolish?

—You play the guitar by ear and plucking
at this moment they are dinosaur hunting
time is absurd and disgusting
I don’t understand it, I’m simply saying
you played some songs I knew at the time

But how different are your songs from mine
attach your seatbelts to your right hand buckles, fine
away with it, away with them all, please
I am telling, telling, understand, please
different in a few ways, love

—Joseph, you play the drums too loud
you are a big, dumb, idiot head
they end, it certainly has to be
it’s apocalyptic, something like this, said she
such a dummy you Joseph

the movie drums its so vicious loud
the end a dumb idiot head
that’s a thing she might have said at the time
and you are given a full witness to the violence of our time
Joseph plays bad harmonica.

A husband and wife are trying to set up a new password for their computer. The husband puts, "Mypenis," and the wife falls on the ground laughing because on the screen it says, "Error. Not long enough."

Thirteen Reasons Why Not

We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny.
But what we put into it is ours.
-Dag Hammarskjold

1. God made you; you can never be replaced
2. God made you for some purpose – live to find it
3. Someone is blessed in knowing you each day
4. You must live so that others may live
5. Someone desperately needs your kindness right now
6. You haven’t yet written your book, your story, your song
7. When you offer up your suffering, you help others
8. Children running barefoot through the flowers of spring
9. Children running barefoot through the leaves of autumn
10. Dachshund puppies. And leaves. And flowers. And children
11. Coffee and a talk with a good friend
12. Breakfast and the Sunday morning funnies
13. That empty pew God has saved just for you

This is a window on the world,
Written by a once time girl,
Guidelines for chicks and men,
A new set of commandments,
Take these for what they're meant,
Be yourself, all chicks and dudes,
Let it all go, we learn in life's long school,
Act the way you want to feel,
You can pretend smiles, which are real,
Do it now, procrastinate later,
Ignore distractions, they're to bait ya!
Lighten up, think of funnies,
Do stuff, even if you don't need money,
Be polite, stay in touch, friends old and new,
Be kind, not exploited, all of you,
Less is more of things to do......
New commandments from me to you!

Give her chance. Meet her for coffee. You'll never know if you like the way her shampoo smells, or the way her nose crooks slightly to the left unless you put down $2.25 for a cup of burnt mouth and laughter so loud that the entire cafe wonders what kind of nerve you two have.  

You'll never know if you prefer her hands draped over your arms, or mine wrapped around your cheeks. While discussing spider legs and thigh gaps, the dead, the dying and the decay of classic rock, you might find that you like the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, but hate the way she inhales through her mouth and sighs with the flits of her eyelashes.

Maybe she's the Wednesday obituary. Maybe she's the Sunday paper with all the colored funnies your inner ten year old desires.

Maybe she's your glass of wine. Maybe she's your shot of whiskey. Or maybe she'll flow through your body like ice water. You've never been one for alcohol anyway.

Give her a chance. Meet her for coffee. Watch how her *** moves in her jeans. See the gleam of her little chiclet teeth when she smiles.

But don't think about me. Don't remember the way my hips curve. Don't think bow of my lips or the Cupid's arrow that once punched you so hard in the mouth that you smiled for an entire year of your life. Don't put that white paper cup to your lips and pretend that your tasting the way words dance around my tongue.

Go out and love someone. Love them for their mountains and valleys. Love them through their stormy nights and sunny mornings. Love them like you run. Full force, breathless, exhausted to the point of happiness. Chase after them until your lungs and legs give out. Just don't give up, and don't give in. And don't forget that I loved you first, but you loved me most. No matter where your feet or heart take you, that will never change.

The branches shook in the wind,
sending more drops to deform the writing.  
Puddles surrounding,
it is soon to be drowned.

Sitting under a park bench.
Left and forgotten.
The Sunday funnies are no longer funny,
the news is no longer important, and
the score on the Giants game debatable.
It starts to pour.

Rain washes away footprints,
chalk and spilled ice cream cones.
It even washes away the news when forgotten,
under a park bench on a Thursday evening.

I’m goofing with the pixies
Dancing with the elves
Leaving all the ogres
Snoring by themselves.
I’m flying with the will-of-the wisps
On the route of Santa Claus.
I rest a while on a passing cloud
Whenever I need a pause.

There’s lots of space you can freely share
When you are playing in castles in the air.
First you have to get that high on the *****
To launch yourself off with a wish and a hope.
Some lose because they don’t know the ropes
Or not keeping their vision in their scope.

I love to see imaginary friends
And smoke with the pipe dreams
While floating up and down
Along the flow of creative streams.
The idea is to set your mind free
To roam wide and as far as can be
Laughing with characters from the funnies
Or rollicking fun with egg laying bunnies.

There’s lots of space you can freely share
When you are playing in castles in the air.
First you have to get that high on the *****
To launch yourself off with a wish and a hope.
Some lose because they don’t know the ropes
Or not keeping their vision solidly in the scope.

So, look for the wiggle wobbles near you
And keep your eyes open for witches too.
Magicians may also come from time to time
Because making magic is never a crime.
Listen to the stories told by clever mimes;
The enchanting mysteries in their rhymes
That often turn out to be the most sublime.
And let that person know you have the time.

I love to see imaginary friends
And smoke with the pipe dreams
While floating up and down
Along the flow of creative streams.
The idea is to set your mind free
To roam wide and as far as can be
Laughing with characters from the funnies
Or rollicking fun with egg laying bunnies.

Aine, Xav and Ga, their dog,
Were hiking through the Sifton Bog
On Sunday morning, sunny and warming,
Hunting for their Easter eggs;                                                    
When Ga sniffed, then barked in a hollow log. 
What is it, Ga? Aine asked in wonder
Is it a frog? Xav asked Pumper.

But Ga smiled and left to lift a leg.

So Aine peeked in one end,
Xav peered in the other.
It was hollow, that's for sure,
They waved to one another.

Oh!... But Oh!... something moved inside.
Brown and hairy, with flaming red eyes.
It moved at Xav, who stepped back, then cried:

Aine, come here! Come here NOW!

Quick as a flash she stood by his side.

(Together they would live or die.)

With twelve powerful legs and six beady eyes,
It leapt at them, then hopped outside.
There cuddling ‘n twitching at Xavi's feet,
Were three wee bunnies, cute as can be.                              

Ooooo, Ooooo, they both sighed.
Can we take them home to feed and keep,
And play bunny games till we fall  asleep!
Xavi asked. No. Xavi begged!

Hmmm, thought Aine, quite perplexed;
But then remembered what her parents said:

Be cautious with our furry friends;
The birds, fish and earthy crawlers;
When you find them,
Be careful-kind,
And they'll be with us always.

Still,  Xavi worried, so he asked his Sis,

Are they okay if left like this?

Hmmm, thought Aine (who's getting real good at this).
Let's call Granda.
Tell him what we've seen.
Mom says he knows everything.

(They Zoom Time on Mom & Dad’s phones)

Hello, Granda, this is Aine.
Xav and I have a question for ya.
We came across some wee bunnies
Huddled in their home.
Are they okay if left alone?

Granda heard their concern,
So he told them all he had learned.

All the bunnies I have known,
Have done real well when they have grown.
I knew Buggs as a wee bunny,
And he grew up to marry Honey.

Rabbit's a friend to Kanga and Roo,
And Mr. Rabbit got carrots tricking Cap’n Kangaroo.

Miffy was Kathleen’s first rabbit friend;
Mark loved Velveteen’s happy end?

And Roger starred in his own movie,
Like me, your Granda, he's so cool and groovy.

Thumper keeps thumping his left hind foot,
And Br'er Rabbit’s still naughty in all his books.

The White Rabbit leads Alice down a hole,
Where March Hare’s late... as usual.
                      
If you like heroes found in comics,
Read Captain Carrot, he’s supersonic.
I can't forget Crusader Rabbit,
He rides a horse and feeds it carrots.    

I’m sure you've heard of Beatrix Potter’s
Tales of Peter, and his sisters and brothers.

All these rabbits were once wild bunnies,
Now in movies, books and funnies.

Why, even magicians pull rabbits out of hats.

Your three wee kittens were left alone
While Mummy Bunny left on her own
To gather food bits to feed her wee kits
Waiting for her safe return.
                    
I surely hope I’ve allayed all your fears,
Don't worry, your bunnies are here for years.

But there's one more bunny I should address,
And I'll tell you who so you needn't guess
This bunny's the one we might like best:

It's the Easter Bunny, au chocolat!!

Xav and Aine were much relieved
To let their bunnies
Live wild and free.

Thank you, Granda.
Hope to see you soon.
Happy Easter, and too-da-loo.

And off they hopped for some Easter treats,                    

Pumper got his treat back home.
Leftover from dinner-
A tofu hambone.

I agape of all finished afterthought, some allude to almanac's packed of alms, some totaled, sold and bought!!
Altruism,pigism, ambiguous to ambitions own an'nals,
Some take fairies to ride, some get high getting annulled on thine way out!!!
Antagonisms councils costumed to personify perverse college boys,
They all wear ties,
Doest thou prepare to die?
Doth thou succumb to heavy metal noise? Subterfuges narrate concert speakers of noose tied voids!!!
Precious,
Precious flamboyant memorizer,
Hath thou memorized to thy fullest privelage?

Art thou the born leader thou claims to be?
Or art thou the slave of thine flattery made village?

This forlorn spirit is burdened down to be free,
To be free of all devils,
All doubts and all deed!!!

Where is ones donational vocational school grads love?
Is it hidden within lockers of broken hearted hunnies?

Doth thy stomach overflow with butterfly fluids?
While many rob you of lovers money,
Dizzy funnies!!!

Hand holders of descendants grumpy mishappers,
Where is love when one seeks so hard for it????!

You attract...
Silly little girl giggles with admiration and the "oh you're so funnies".
I can't be a silly whip of half meaning amusement.
I'm not that girl.
I can't be...

You don't want admiration.
No, you do want it but you don't need it.
You need someone who will look at you when she laughs and means it.
You need someone who's going to sit down across from you on some chaotic night,
A night where nothing about the day made sense
And you're still swirling in a fog of your own perspective.
That's when you'll need this woman.

A conversation that clambers up slow,
Like steadying yourself after a carnival ride.
You'll trigger a vulnerable ***** by a wayward comment.
That's when it will happen.
Blindsided be ruthless honesty.
A sharp cut through the bravado *******...

She'll take that loop and jump in head first,
Feet landing solid on your insecurities.
One by one all of the hidden thoughts about yourself will come to life.
Every one of your self loathing fears and regretted actions.
All the ever present flaws you hold in your hands will be taken and laid out...

One uncomfortable, excruciating reminder at a time.
Every quirk you hate,
Every past stumble into a wall,
Every stitch in the side of your pride will be brought to light.

Presented back to you through new eyes.
Picking and dissecting and analyzing,
Whatever it was or is,
That makes the ground you walk upon gravel filled.
All your shame and remorse could be embellished;
Projector like against the writing on the walls.
Things you wish to hide or fix would be emblazoned like a gaudy pin on your shirt.

Your inner mind dwellings, torn down to petty pieces at your feet.
All of this would be blown back into the mask you try to wear that's a size to big.
Once the pulling and scrapping of every bit of shadow feelings and impressions you have been harboring deep inside are collected...
Covering the table,
Strewn in no particular order.

This woman will pick it all up in a sweeping display.
Fluttering around in waves of bouncy escape.
She'll gather every last part and fold her hands.
Then slide them into her pockets that have remained unfilled on purpose.
That's where, the last however many hours, will stay.
Budded up tight and inside somewhere safe for you .

You'll look at the empty table.
Maybe with uplifted eyes.
You'll look back at the cause of this character dismembering.
And see that her eyes have never wavered.

I hope when you get that moment...
That moment that you can just sense is a profound thing.
I hope you feel real acceptance,
Real faith,
Real love.



*© NDHK

These girlies aint real
Claim they fufilled only when they on the pills
Claim they got it but they missin some bills
Claim they higha when they on some loud
But when they confront all you hear is them meows
**** is you saying
Ain't gotta slang to show you my deal
Don't **** with these cons
I'm shooting these names
These girlies is talk like you run up just for the bronze
Play you in a room full of ******* and all you hear is the yawns
I swear I see you dudes when I mowing my lawns
Snakes in my backyard like you committing a fraud
**** outta here with the weak **** I'm sick of ya bars
i’ll eat you ******* and yall multiply so i’ll never starve
have my heart in my sleeve
you wookies got ya hearts in ya cars
possessions all you living the norm
i bet that **** is corn, you say you cold but you straight looking for warmth
throwing these shots like if these bullets were thoughts
king of these clowns they aint ever been down
you know they cats when they hear me coming they bounce
you know they cats when they shoot me through fake accounts
you know they cats when **** up the deala for the ounce
you know they cats when they roll deep in the city and aint claiming they ground
they flossin what they wish they had, i hear you want them discounts
like whats up your talk?
you just lost and found and soon to be shot with em rounds
with these words so i would back down
im with the funnies so im the clown of this town

I have invented a sport called Yogates,
What, indeed, is this, if you please?
Why, for you, it is inertia, you see,
You lie under a blanket, only breathe,
You wear what you like in Yogates,
A steady state of not doing,
No, you are not doing Yoga or jogging,
In cute couture like shorties,
You are not swimming in pool or sea,
No chlorination fever for thee or me,
No lycra or spandex triathletes,
No marathons for fluoro funnies,
So, this is multi age or gender, see,
Yes, all you do is lie there and breathe,
Now you can opt to do Yogates,
Or not, it is not compulsory!

head throbbing, no pop in my ear,
Or iPhone in my hand,
sitting on the steps of the third floor.
We sit together, after hours, in
the C wing halls
because you don't like books.
Beige tile meadows, sprinkled
Here and there
With wildflowers left by youth:
Doritos, Pepsi, lunch trays.
The brick sky overhead,
Gleaming with Edisonian sunshine.
We read the funnies,
Featured weekly on staircase rails
And bathroom stalls in Sharpie, we
Listen to rap in Cantonese and Korean,
Knowing that the open fights,
The stolen kisses, the dress code strictures
Are transient; what we'll remember
Is these walls and these rails
Breathe our lives, our thoughts,
Echoes our minds

In Cyberland, Microsoft is King
And we all pray to Google.
There is an Apple Resistance,
And Yahoo keeps on yelling,
But Microsoft is King.

Where did Jeeves go?
Remember him, you oldies?
A smiling Hitchcock fatty
You could ask things.

Remember Bebo and MySpace too.
But now we Snapchat through the day
And ask folk WhatsApp.
All in an Instagram.
(My Custom Dictionary
Is filling with new words).

So now it’s time for Tik Tok.
(See what I did there?)
That’s if the Americans allow it!
And much more no doubt.
Instagram Gratification
Flashing images
And clips.
No time for tedious talking
On landline phones
Or, heaven forbid,
Face to face conversation.

Writing – or rather typing – too is clipped
With lols & rofls & tbfs.
Lazy language
Tweets in textese
Fast and fleeting.
Facebook Funnies
With bouncy banter.

As a loyal subject of Cyberland
I do confess
To many an hour
Sifting through Facebook Memories
Even improving old posts
With coloured backgrounds
And sharper edits.
Addictive Internet indeed.

Yet
In years to come
Will we laugh loudly
At the mention of Google
And all the names I’ve said
Like we snigger at Bebo, MySpace
And Nokia Mobiles now?

The tsunami of technological change
Sweeps over our heads
Smashing the past:
Leading us
To who knows where.
For better or worse
Who can say?
Wherever we are going,
We are well on the way.

Paul Butters

© PB 17\9\2020.

We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny.
But what we put into it is ours.
-Dag Hammarskjold

1. God made you; you can never be replaced
2. God made you for some purpose – live to find it
3. Someone is blessed each day in knowing you
4. You must live so that others may live
5. Someone desperately needs your kindness right now
6. You haven’t yet written your book, your story, your song
7. When you offer up your suffering, you help others
8. Children running barefoot through the flowers of spring
9. Children running barefoot through the leaves of autumn
10. Dachshund puppies. And leaves. And flowers. And children
11. Coffee and a talk with a good friend
12. Breakfast and the Sunday morning funnies
13. That empty pew God has saved just for you

Bundle
of newsprint

in the driveway
on Sunday

thunder
up and chunder

whirlwind
funnel cloud

life and pages
now torn

asunder

whit howland © 2021

I'm standing under it
But not quite understanding it
It's like a meta human.
Cashing yellowcake uranium.
To aliens to have a brain so *******
Inhumane it slays the stadiums
A proven mood light vanity.
That can test your illusion of insanity.
And entrance your inner gate within
To maybe let
The homosapiens in
Knowing there the same as me.
But somehow I'm the alien.
So take this fake ****. To the alter.
And eat sleep **** with drugs and pay to pray again it's awesome.
You gotta get the matrix in a level of promiscuity.
And avicii sneak in greasy.
With a virtual code.
To ruin any dude you see...
I **** like mood rings on earth.
Are never blue. And I can argue that with impunity.
You see it's me under more scrutiny.
I'm acting foolishly
Like roger rabbit. Just smoked crack
And composed. A poem. So immaculate.
And beautifully.
Done.
That evin brutal truth.
That told me just what happened
To the future me.
Could not begin to counter act
The exploding cavern crater from.
My attractive chest
You usually.
Carve with a butter knife.
To remove. What's actually human in me.... start by removing spleen.
Than his eyes are green.
So cute let's take his tongue
So he shall not praise no other
Beauty queen.

Thirteen Reasons...


        We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny.
                           But what we put into it is ours.

                                  -Dag Hammarskjold

1. God made you; you can never be replaced
2. God made you for some purpose – live to find it
3. Someone is blessed each day in knowing you
4. You must live so that others may live
5. Someone desperately needs your kindness right now
6. You haven’t yet written your book, your story, your
song
7. When you offer up your suffering, you help others
8. Children running barefoot through the flowers of
spring
9. Children running barefoot through the leaves of
autumn
10. Dachshund puppies. And children. And flowers. And leaves
11. Coffee and a talk with a good friend
12. Breakfast and the Sunday morning funnies
13. That space in the pew God has saved for you


-from Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go

Possibly a re-post

Has anyone else realized that they can’t write funny things anymore?
Or is it just me?

Tag your it
Hey
Four days later
Tag now your it
Hey
A year goes by
Tag
I miss you
A month slips by
Where did we go wrong
From hourly messages
To random replies
Few hour conversations
Random philosophies
Sharing stupid little funnies
Hoping our jokes would chisel a smile
From the same path
Torn in different directions
Tag your it
I really miss you
I shouldn’t have let you go
I made excuses for myself
When my own problems
Got the best of me
There was a level of distrust
Etched into us from the beginning
Why did distance have to be the issue
Tag
I don’t know why
Your stuck in my head
Never touched
Never kissed
Yet I was always blessed
When your voice was the last thing
Whispering sweet dreams
Before we said goodnight
Tag
Always finding myself
Stuck asking questions
Hoping someone will give me answers
Yet I’m the only one asked
And the only researcher looking for clues
As I pass time flipping through pages
Scrapbooks filed in my head
Your voice still an echo
I have conversations with
When I’m lost in a daydream
Wishing this game of tag we play
Wasn’t the only way I could keep you
Forever in my life
Tag your it
Maybe now I’ll either find closure
Or find another step into insanity