"horton" poems
*****
The last time, I got an ********
gave the girl my ***** injection,
now I have a bad infection.
Never again did I get laid,
it's going on the second decade,
a new ***** I'd sure trade.
One ball black, one ball blue,
got no paddle for my canoe,
my Horton doesn't hear a Who.
***** swollen, like a balloon,
feeling like a rabid raccoon,
looks like a character from a cartoon.
My ***** hurts when I ***
why did this have to happen to me,
karma is on a laughing spree.
Life will never be the same,
swollen ***** man, is my nickname,
got no fortune, but 15 minutes of fame.
Was on a reality show with other freaks,
it was called house of the rising creeps,
I got booted off after only two weeks.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
"Do you know who the prime minister of Canada is?"
"Hmmm isn't it Tim Horton?"
Sweating, shivering, and shoveling snow,
Looking up with relief as the flakes begin to slow.
Starting our mornings with pancakes drizzled in gooey sweet syrup
And greasy, cheesy, poutine being our last meal we eat up.
We hike up a green lush mountain just to see the view
And shoot down the slopes of silvery snow and feel as if we flew.
The rascally beavers are our vandals, the loons are our song,
The cougars reminding us that we are strong.
We are Canadian, eh?
But would we really want it any other way?
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
Supposedly too much television will rot your brain away
BUT... you can 't believe what everyone may say
KERMIT told us it ain't easy being green
TAYLOR SWIFT taught us people can be trouble & really mean
SEBASTIAN the CRAB told us it is better down where it is wetter
CINDERELLA taught us that eventually things will get better
SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS told us over & over he's READY! he's READY!
THE TORTOISE taught us that being quick may not always work
KAYNE WEST taught us people are rude, interrupting, annoying & huge jerks
MR KRABS taught us some people are money hungry & greedy
LINDSAY LOHAN taught us some people are attention needy
DORA THE EXPLORER taught us to live our life as an adventure & go explore
SWIPER taught us to always go for more
SQUIDWARD taught us not everyone has happiness to share
PATRICK STAR taught us that some people's heads are filled with air
PLANKTON taught us that you can never give up on reaching your goal
ALICE's curiosity taught us don't chase white rabbits with pocket watches down their hole
PETER PAN taught us to live carefree & have no worries at all
HORTON taught us that a person is a person no matter how small
THE LORAX taught us to take care of our trees
SNOW WHITE taught us that there maybe more than what the eye sees
TOMMY PICKLES taught us sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do
THE GRINCH taught us that deep down inside, the cruel have hearts too
NEMO'S DAD MARLIN taught us you can't protect people from all & or any danger
BARNEY taught us not to talk to a stranger
TIMONE & PUMBA taught us "HAKUNA MATATA"
LILO & STITCH taught us no one gets left behind or forgotten, that is "OHANA"
SOUTH PARK taught us not to give a **** & some friends can be a huge ****** BAG
JUSTIN BIEBER taught us what isn't "SWAG"
STEWIE taught us that even if you're talking not everyone is listening
NELLY taught us that not everywhere has air conditioning "HOT IN HERRE"
DOROTHY taught us is you want to go home just click your heels three times & repeat "THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME"
SOUTH PARK'S TWEAK taught us that your underwear get stolen by the underwear gnomes
So much we've unknowingly managed to obtain
secretly stored in our brain
celebrities, songs, shows & even cartoons have taught us a lot
& that's what life lessons are all about
little hidden lessons & messages everywhere
& completely unaware you pass it on & share
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
those crisp empty boxes have
been left there for the imagination to
fill up with mind stuff
for that kid in the park,
alone with a soccer ball, a good one,
one his grandma bought for him
for the World Cup
he gets past Maradona, yes, Diego
Maradona. Horton is ahead of him,
Tim Horton, in goal
charging hard, forcing his shot wide
for the goal of a minimalist poem
could be donuts, for Grammy
to take the whole team out for donuts
filled with mind stuff
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 5:00 PM UTC
old soybean crop dry & brown
---empty rustcap 12 shot bottle canadian club premium
---broken ("good quality")
wooden blinds
crowfeathers.
muddy packs of darts:
ménage (4)
peter jackson (2)
next (1)
number seven blacks (3)
john player (2)
shreds---plastic . . . bags of earth
all manner cardboard thinlike
drinkcups (tim horton's mostly)
******
child's wristwatch (..plastic)
frog in a cardboard box
dozen pair new (white) socks? still bagged---
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
hey buddy did u know that under a powerful microscope a wood chip resembles our universe just let that sink in
we are so small we are so fricking small ok u hav to make yrself known or else u'll forever be nothing but a tiny floating speck
is that what u want to be for the rest of yr life??? a **** fricking speck no i dont think so
thats some horton hears a who type **** ok thats not ok
u know what else
no matter how known u make yrself u will always be just a tiny little speck but hey u know what
some specks can be bigger than other specks and this is not always physical
sometimes the traces u leave behind are bigger than u will ever be
so make a **** impact
voice yr stupid dumb beautiful opinions and voice them loud
be the tiniest speck and climb up as high as u can get and fricking shout at the top of ur little speck lungs
we are here were r here we r here and all that good jazz u kno
did i just write a poem about horton hears a who *******
shoutout to dr. suess for being a radass motherhecker thats some deep crap right there ****
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Well let’s just jump right into it.
Everyone knows, the question right, “Which came first?” So let’s suppose, just for argument’s sake, in this specific case that is, that which came first was the egg. It’s also really the end of it in this case as well because there’s no chicken to follow. Just really it’s followed with the warm lettuce and the recooked bacon, the unripe tomato on a freshly baked bagel, which for argument’s sake is really the only part of the whole she-bang that’s actually any good.
But if that’s true then why even include the egg. Why abolish the chance for a chicken to exist? Why not just get a plain bagel? Well it’s about protein, you know. Does anyone really even like eggs or do we just eat them for protein? Does anyone like them, for argument’s sake let’s call it Tim Horton’s, does anyone really like them, eggs that is, when they’re cooked at Tim Horton’s? Are they even really eggs or just that powder, you know what I mean, that eggy powder like the powder milk that they have in the military? And if it is right, that eggy powder stuff, would anyone even care? Morally I mean, you have to assume people (which people I don’t know, some people I guess) stand behind eggy powder. But others right, you know the ones, who are disgusted by the idea of eggy powder. I’m one of those, not ashamed of it either and you know what, let’s just assume that it is eggy powder that they use at Tim Horton’s in their bagel BELTs. Would I have bought it if I thought it was eggy powder, probably not but here we are and I did and for argument’s sake let’s just say I already ate the whole thing. I mean morally I’ve just saved a chicken’s life but now I’m revolted by my having just consumed powdered eggs (right that’s what they’re called).
Let’s assume also that now I feel as though I’m figuratively standing on a moral high-ground but I’m also more or less disgusted by what I’ve just eaten even though I’m proud of myself for having eaten it, or rather not eaten a genuine egg. I’m ashamed of my disgust right and this has now proliferated into a casual nexus of disgust, shame and pride.
Q: Is it better to eat the powdered egg and simultaneously feel pride and revulsion or is it better to eat a real egg and **** a potential chicken?
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
There was a time when I was sane
when I used to walk among daffodils.
When they used to open up and sing
their unadorned song from hill to hill.
There was a time when I was sane
when the trees used to sway
and the leaves used to rustle
just to lay their flowers in my way.
When I was sane,the eagles
from their eyries,used to fly high
and block the sun with their wings.
Just so it wouldn't be in my eyes.
The clouds would come at my call.
And the rain would fall only for me.
The diamond drops would break
and bedeck the ground at my feet.
Looking at the night sky,
at the star studded lanes,
I would see the moon smile at me
and know that I was sane.
I used to create new worlds
with living words from my pen.
Full of marvels they used to be.
But that was all then...
Wrapt I was in fantasy
while the world moved on.
It has moved away from me
while,impassive,I looked on.
People said I was not sane,
told me that where I lived
there were no daffodils;
No promise in how I lived.
Now that I'm cured,I see
that I'd been but a fool
who believed Horton really lived
in the Jungle of Nool.
No magic rings in reality.
No wonderland or wicked witches.
No Elves nor dragons.
Not even Quidditch and snitches.
Now cured,I see reason.
The flowers never did sing.
Nor did any eagle fly for me.
Reason came but relief did not bring.
All those words I created,
All those worlds I cherished,
All too soon yea all too soon
All have but perished.
Now I see people toiling away
in richness,poverty and ignorance.
I see children bent with age;
In their eyes,everything but innocence.
Reluctantly now moves my pen
as I try to make new worlds.
Stringing letters together it desponds.
As lacking life,they are but words.
Everything used to be wonderful
when I knew I was sane.
Now that I've seen reality,
I know I must be insane.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
Thimble
Darkness rises from beneath,
small, ugly and has no teeth.
Crawls out from the slime,
gets more creepy each time.
Only happens once a year,
one long day makes a career.
Wanders out and wonders why,
one day is one day to shy.
Determined to make a day two,
this isn't Horton hearing a Who.
This is one mean creature,
you student, it teacher.
Only the size of a thimble,
has no name just a symbol.
Dug a hole through the pond,
it's like a miniature James Bond.
Rules the pond like no other,
looking for his missing mother.
Interviewing anything swimming,
dodging every single skimmer.
As the puddle starts to sink,
not an inch or a drop to drink.
A whirlpool circles in center,
into the whole that it enter.
Back down into its hole,
one day a year, it will patrol.
Darkness rises from beneath,
small, ugly and has no teeth.
Crawls out from the slime,
gets more creepy each time.
Only happens once a year,
one long day makes a career.
Wanders out and wonders why,
one day is one day to shy.
Determined to make a day two,
this isn't Horton hearing a Who.
This is one mean creature,
you student, it teacher.
Only the size of a thimble,
has no name just a symbol.
Dug a hole through the pond,
it's like a miniature James Bond.
Rules the pond like no other,
looking for his missing mother.
Interviewing anything swimming,
dodging every single skimmer.
As the puddle starts to sink,
not an inch or a drop to drink.
A whirlpool circles in center,
into the whole that it enter.
Back down into its hole,
one day a year, it will patrol.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
From the fourth floor of my nineteen-story house, I peek out of the tinted windows. These are my only windows to whatever is outside, and they're tinted yellow and black. I am the first person on the moon. I am the first person on the edge of the planet. Will I fall off, or am I bold enough to carry on?
That, I think, is what has been bothering me for so long. I do not live in a nineteen-story house and neither am I peeking through yellow-and-black windows. No, these colors do not have any significance either. They are not symbols or metaphors. I have been making everything up as I hammer my fingers onto the keyboard and weave these unfathomable lines of thoughts. I am not the first person on the moon. I am not the first person on the edge of the planet. In fact, there isn't even an edge. I am an insignificant speck of dust. I am not even Horton's Who.
I just counted the number of 'I's in the first two paragraphs- fifteen. Fifteen of the same alphabet repeated throughout. That is, despite whatever you might say, a bad start to an essay (if you'd call this one). "Of course not, repetition is an important literary device!", you might say. Horseshit, I say. These words have no intrinsic meaning. These horribly structured sentences are disgustingly unfathomable. That's the second time I've said 'unfathomable'. Third. My 9-year old sister writes better than I do: "Today, I woke up. Today, I ate breakfast. Today, I horsed around with my dog. I am very happy. I am not hungry, because I ate today. Today, I ate." You can understand what she's saying- she woke up, she ate, she's not hungry, and she's happy. But what of me? I woke up, but just so. I ate and so I'm not hungry, but just so. I am happy, and yet I am not. These words that I write mean nothing to me, and yet they mean everything. Being the extreme nihilist that I am, life has no intrinsic meaning, and yet it is more meaningful than a poem that I once wrote about my tenth-grade crush. I've forgotten her name long since. The most absurd of all is that it hasn't been so long- perhaps a year. What is more absurd than the most absurd is that I am yet to turn sixteen; this I will do in a month's time- yet what is most absurd about the more absurd than the most absurd is the incongruity of the facts with reality. I shall not elaborate on this, for it has become nothing less of a meaningless telephone message constructed at the time of a drunken stupor.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
*We're all familiar with Dr Seuss,
Tho pronounced like voice, and not like Zeus,
One fish, two fish, the cat in the hat,
With fish exclaiming that mother "won't like that".
Eccentric strange names, bizzarely named towns,
Unusual creatures, his imagination abounds,
There's mean Mr Grinch, where evil's his art,
And poor Herbie Hart, taking his Thromdimbulator apart.
We remember most fondly Horton hearing a who,
And the cat in the hat releasing Thing One and Thing Two,
How lucky you are, with dear Mr Potter,
And his monotonous job as T-Crosser, I-Dotter.
The things that we saw on Mulberry Street,
With so many stories, and people to meet,
Not forgetting the Lorax, or the places you'll go,
Or me singing high with my Ying that sings low.
I read them each night with my dear gentle Ben,
Stories we enjoy, both time and again,
The stories we read, are always his choice,
From the magical worlds of the one Dr Seuss.*
Cinco Espiritus Creation
2017
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC
Where I'm from multicultural means multicultural and not just “lacking in white people”.
Where I'm from people say they're from Toronto even though they hate the Jays, Raptors and Leafs and hardly ever go into the city itself.
Where I'm from any day can be cynically mundane enough to read The Catcher In The Rye and mistake it for the Gospel according to Holden Caulfield.
Where I'm from everyone hates the mall, but everyone's a mall rat and if you ever go you see everyone, at least everyone you hate, and buy nothing.
Where I'm from there's signs that say “Flowertown” everywhere and an unremarkable amount of flowers. Unless there is a remarkable amount of flowers and where I'm from everyone's just spoiled.
Probably spoiled.
Where I'm from you could walk to Tim Horton's but you drive to Starbucks anyway.
Where I'm from everyone's considering a career in rap. Even the people who aren't considering a career in rap are considering a career in rap.
Where I'm from every teenager will tell you their Michael Cera encounter story.
Where I'm from is where he's from too, or he went to school there, or near there, or now his parents live near there. He's been there, multiple times, I'm sure.
Where I'm from there's an old quarry that everyone calls a lake now. Swimmers used to circulate the urban myth of a dead body at the bottom, until they found it. Now they just circulate the stale news story.
Where I'm from there used to be trees. Nature put some there until we cut them down to build. Then the people put some there to accent the houses until Nature piled ice on them and cut them down again.
Where I'm from someone needs to have a good talk with this Nature fellow.
Where I'm from the brand new hospital screams, “good things come to those who wait, and wait and wait, unless you need to see a specialist. Then you're ******
Where I'm from there are streets that have so many young kids playing on them that ice cream trucks aren't allowed to go there. They go anyway.
Kids learn early that the law is optional where I'm from.
Where I'm from people don't pronounce the “gua” in “Chinguacousy Park”. Kids used to spend time there splashing around diluted *** in the kiddie pool in summer and tubing down the landfill mountain in winter. Now they just pass it by on the way to the mall.
Where I'm from car insurance costs more than cars because everyone's late, lost and angry, but none of them would call themselves a bad driver, just unlucky.
Where I'm from boys take pretty girls skating at Gage Park. I guess they take ugly girls there too, I just know the one I took was pretty.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Silver ribbon Assiniboine
a sash for a city--a Ceinture Fléchée
tied into the Red just off Highway 1
You leak into the topsoil
in the place you call home
and come back up a street map
with fingerprint roads
I remember the way you'd trace these out on my back
with fingertip pencils--cartographer's hands--
Bird's Hill and Lag' and Portage and Corydon
laid 'em down in my veins
just under my skin
Where are you tonight, in your smiling Great City?
Crossing the bridge and inhaling the skyline?
Or walking the river in my iced over thoughts?
Maybe walking, mid-tempo, around KP mall?
Those hipsters in Osborne Village
and Wolsely
had nothing on us, did they?
Cooler than Main
on the 1st of the year
I trickled away
and I leaked into topsoil
enjambed between rhymes in apology poems.
An Irish Goodbye; a blip on the radar
stopped flashing to fade off the map of your streets.
Our voices still echo, our spectres still haunt
Dollaramas and sidewalks, Tim Horton's and pubs
Our hands still lace up--at least so in theory
Perimeter Highway's still traced on my back.
Here's hoping our avenues
meet again soon.
Here's hoping that luck can outrun shortcomings
one more time.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
We run our course
We go the extra mile
We stay up sustaining immortality
Our deaths turned round
Projects on behalf of Eros
When we usually preach Agape
We enact sequential art performed with grace
Luna tunes colored water splashable you
In person honey with unlimited shelf life
We mate across spanned labyrinths a maze
Combs ensconced with nectar leading back to queen
Our hive stops the minute drones bring home virus
Reconstructed renewability narrative needing update
Horton hears who made the sky say so much
Way past expiration date skids our frictional kiss
We could almost imagine eternity naming the date
Mutual assured destruction averted by forming pact
Loosens the chain reaction fused by fission escalated
To the max man’s post-apocalyptic grocery store tale
Sells e-foods gold light fear energy time bubble Dimension X
Dash between dates tombstoned selfie virtual cemetery
Tandem lovers pass together clasping each last breath alone
Little deaths punctuate like piano keys pluck cat gut strums
Enameled amber encased in static slabs conjoined by fringe elements
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
I’d like to see the day where;
Boys become Men,
Instead of a robot, or a Tim Horton’s blend
Where girls, can grow to be women,
Without being deceived or beaten,
Where a kid can be a kid,
And not what we see today, God forbid!
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
“what is love?”
processing
processing
processing
********
Feelings are fantasy
But Triston if that were true
then why do I have this pain pumping through my veins
from the sight of their hands intertwined
and I don’t understand how i’m suppose to be smiling
when he’s holding her in his arms
“I’m sorry Doctor,” you said, “don’t let Horton hear my tears slip out
I’m running out of things to be smiling about.”
And I understood before
but I know even more now just by looking
at his smile directed at her
Triston I respect how open you are
so I’m sorry but I’m stealing another line
"I wish you could see
that I want nothing more than to openly love you
and put nothing else above you,
but maybe I shouldn’t”
Maybe I should put me above you
and leave you alone with her
give you time to realize what you lost
when you chose her over me
You think i’m fine because of the smile upon my face
but why can’t you see
that i’ve patched up my skin, and I’m bleeding again
Bleeding out the memories
of the smile in your eyes and the words that resonate in my mind
I can’t close my eyes to go to sleep
cause you’re in every ******* dream
The image of you with your clothes clinging to your body
as the rain soaks through
destroying my makeup and beauty
but leaving you more perfect than ever
Reflecting I can’t help but wonder
If the rain was stealing my beauty to show me a god.
No not a god but a demon
with a beautiful white rose
The flower of innocence and purity
now struck down by the black of your soul
and no one but I can see
The one white flower spattered with tears
that now lays dying at your feet
Because of you
My imagination has now undermined Emma’s words
where she once said “daydreams are Heaven”
No daydreams are hell
The image of you has penetrated my mind so deep
that no matter what I do I can’t get it out
Music is my salvation from the devastation in my mind
Its as if its a capsule thats captured the ruptured beating of my heart
now with every last bit of heart I have left to give
I’m begging you,
to leave.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
For Dr. Suess
Who can hear you?
He who hears Whos
Wish I could hear half as well
And what is a Who anyhow?
Do such tiny people really exist?
Is the town of Who-ville a true ville?
Perhaps if I had elephant ears
Maybe I could hear a Who too
As it is I can hardly hear you
But last night in a dream
Horton whispered his secret
An axiom kind and smart:
You only listen with your ears
You hear people with your heart
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 11:35 AM UTC
Who I Ever Heard Of
when I was seven ;
the same year I learned Archimedes said Eureka
for a reason,
and I was vaccinated against Polio.
My hearing of Whose has been different, sense.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
I once knew a Child,
that liked to Laugh at,
the on going antics...
of the "Cat in the Hat"
He liked to eat Jam
he was a picky eater
never would he eat
"Green Eggs and Ham"
He wishes for things
he could do like
"Horton hears a Who"
That boy now Grown
writes his own poems,
He knows with a cinch
it began with "The Grinch"
and Thanks Dr. Suess
who put his pen to use,
and made him a poet.
He Knows it..............JMF/2/20/15
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
When there is no hope! When all contact with you has been lost! And when i feel directionless! I turn To Mr.Writer and Publishman! hoping that maybe, just maybe when youre done reading this, you will call! So far, there has been absolutly no sound nor vibration from my phone! Look's like i got the"try again next time" piece of the tim horton's coffee cup! And what a **** off it is!
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 7:18 AM UTC
Did not God want to be cherished
to cultivate and co-create
but instead we consume
like beautiful glowing fire
and maybe the ashes will make something
but dust to dust we are
maybe to burn is to live
like stars can fuel planets
is it distant passion or suffering
at least brief life flickers warm
time alone seems so expansive and cold
and eternity, as a dark vacuum that no fire can touch
is it better to suffer and live
or do you envy the crushing quiet of nonexistence
a speck of dust on a clover can't see where it's blowing
but somehow red light tells us that distance is growing
if human is dust
are we not a literal residue of some combustion
were then the Universe and God having tea together and laughing about us
And when people talk about them fighting
Are the two mistaken for each other?
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
Black Women with the Ability to Study the Bible,
Museums Return to Kuhn, Time of Free Time Jade
West West Vedantas, 1000 Conscious View,
Ludwigsburg VZAN No People Born of Lace.
Glory is the opposite of the town's
****** illness; Government of the State Vezzer.
Vezer Hoshiboshi. Work. The world's ruins are at the end of the world,
at the corner of Tostovo, in the hills of Horton,
and in the beams of Asia, the old prince, my water,
the glory of my son, the passages, the glass, the stars,
the children's streets. Glasses, astonishing cosmic crown.
When star stared at a starring band with a song,
and a look at some kind of cousin of the Jews,
such as Russia, Joo Boeh popped up podcasts.
***** Duplication Pages - Netsukoe,
Latin Letters School Vedic School, Tou Tum;
Christopher's possession is important.
Black Women Study the Bible, Museums Return to Quan,
Free Time West West Vacations, 1000 Conscious View,
Ludwigsburg VZAN No People Born Lace. Glory
is the opposite of the ****** of the city,
the government's vegan government. Vezer Hoshiboshi. Work.
World Heritage Sites: Earth's Areas, Titus,
Horoscapes,
and Asia Piers, The Old Prince, My Water, ||
My Child's Dignity,
The Passages, the Glass, Stars, The Children's Way. Glasses,
a spectacular cosmic universe.
When the stars glanced at the sound of music
in the sound of music ||
and watched the eyes of the Jews in Russia,
they popped up podcasts.
Dust Removal Pages - Netsuko, Latin Letters School Vedic School,
Toum Tum; The property of Christopher's property
is also important.||||
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
He’s not a real doctor.
I thought you should know.
But you’ve probably figured that out.
The whole idea
seemed rather silly to me
But he urged, just hear me out!
First, was the cat
Always pawing and scratching
Making a mess of the house
And what’s even worse
Is that cat in his hat
Not once tried to catch a mouse!
Red Fish and Blue
they are here too
But kept in a separate bowl
I’m not sure why,
I don’t care to ask
The answer not worth the trouble
Books stacked high,
a rainbow of knowledge
tottering towards the sky.
As I cook, and I clean
One Fish and Two
jump up, trying to fly.
“The books, the books,” he shouts in a flurry
As I rush to steady the stack
With him for my husband
I’m never quite sure
just what will happen next!
You should’ve been around last Christmas time
Don’t worry, not a thing is missing
That green furry thing
is quite old in his age and
came by the doc’s inviting
They sat around talking
who’s who in the world
over a cup of tea
but what the doc wanted
was the mean thing
as the star
in his new movie
Then there was Horton
A big surprise, he found on one of his trips
He wasn’t so bad, it was just his size
That caused the disturbance
But don’t pity me
I married the man
And oh the places we went.
Just for the record,
When Sam made us brunch,
It made my stomach quite sick.
The day we met
I knew he was special
Doodling all the time
“Those really are quite good”
I mentioned to him
After that, he made me his wife
He told me one day
what he wanted to do
write for kids
across the globe
I stood by his side
and what can I say
he’s done a really great job!
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC
he gives the two fingered salute to every 1975 chevy or
white cummins with a ballcap behind the wheel,
shops every place he in and says howdy to women he don't know
can see him tapping nervous fingers while we in line 'cause all these
people make him anxious, he look just like a buck through a scope,
bristling with caution--
we're passing through penrose the back way, (an' every ways the back way) grinding up dirt roads curvier than the pipes my daddy used to snake with Tom. T. Hall preachin and
he's stopping on highway exits, putting his lips to mine before I realize
Hank Williams was kissing me and Roger too--
breathing in that dry groan, a voice that'd be thick as
molasses if you could picture it and just as dark, slowly
rollin' over the steering wheel and swimmin' up onto the
dashboard the way steam curls around thin air,
not as warm, though he hit you like the sun does in the winter--
gotta stand still and feel it,--
but we're still in his truck, his headlights
washing out across the barren trees and barbed fences
and the skies are these nice stretches of mixed paint,
black and indigo speckled with impending snow or
maybe saturday,
all the while he keeps sayin' what? every time he
catches me lookin' and all i can do is smile till he kisses
me again, him and Johnny, Corb and Evan.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC