"mounties" poems
Sung to the tune of The Lumberjack Song by Monty Python. Back-up Mounties optional.
I never wanted to be Sandra Dee!
I... I wanted to be...
A LESBIAN!
(piano vamp)
Leaping from bush to bush! As they float down the mighty rivers of
Finger and Thumbia!
With my best girl by my side!
The Blond!
The Brunette!
The Giant Snookie!
The Natural Red!
The Little Spinning Skinnamarink!
We'd sing! Sing! Sing!
Oh, I'm a lesbian, and I'm okay,
I like to broadcast that I'm gay.
Chorus: She's a lesbian, and she's okay,
She likes to broadcast that she's gay.
I see straight girls, they're not like me,
But I think that can change.
If they'd just let me kiss them.
Their lives I'd re-arrange.
Mounties: She sees straight girls, they're not like her,
But she thinks that can change.
If they'd just let her kiss them.
Their lives she'd re-arrange.
Chorus: She's a lesbian, and she's okay,
She likes to broadcast that she's gay.
I cut down guys, I wish and hope,
That others would join in.
I wish straight women would think,
that *** with men was sin.
Mounties: She cuts down guys, she wishes and hopes,
That others would join in.
She wishes straight women would think,
that *** with men was sin.
Chorus: She's a lesbian, and she's okay,
She likes to broadcast that she's gay.
Oh I'm a lesbian and I'm OKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK K!
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Here I was,
pheromones **** in the chilly fall air,
tumbling about among the atoms and molecules of
oxygen and nitrogen and methane and gas
for any to stop and smell and--
*Please just grab my ***
The truest of lights
streams into my eyes,
blinds me and unclothes me,
throws off all of my lies and false feelings
and turns me into the soppy mess I am.
I stumble down the street,
tears blurring my vision;
"I'm going for a walk,"
I tell them,
"I'm going to find my friends."
They've all left me behind,
I tell myself.
I'm alone and trailing them
on this road of
***** and
tears.
I had wrapped up my hair,
worn the shortest of shorts,
drank until I couldn't think
and still--
and still I walked alone.
The lights of Columbus and
the crisp air of an
old country route
haunt my heart,
play hopscotch and
dress it up all
nice and tidy.
Whether a **** and
pulsating body
were against me or not,
would I be happy?
My body is fighting to break free
but my drunken mind
can't even manage that.
*Here I am,
world,
take me for all my
sloppy iniquities,*
I think, stumbling back to the house
from an adventure poorly spent.
He had gone
and so had him,
boy was done with
my foolish whims.
True love is hard to find
and true like is even harder
but sometimes it helps to just
sit back and think and
ignore the thunder
of thousands of people pushing down
on your weary, little head--
platonic attraction
just doesn't cut it, sometimes.
The mounties rear up and back
and I walk around;
a girl pukes her heart out and
I crush it into the dirt.
The door slams open and
all eyes rest upon me,
those drunken
and
judgmental
eyes.
Their gaze burns me,
catches me alight
in the unwavering flames
of social curiosity.
"Are you all right?"
they ask me.
I fall down instantly,
sink into the old oak floorboard,
melt into the grain and
become a vague pattern among
millions and millions of black and brown circles and lines--
"Yes,"
I answer,
"I'm perfectly fine."
Here I was,
sloppy and seeping onto the cold, hardwood floor.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 4:14 AM UTC
I am afraid of leaving people.
I am afraid of people leaving me.
Afraid of the world,
But I am not afraid of you.
I am afraid of loosing control.
I am afraid of loosing my mind.
Afraid of people in general,
But I am not afraid of being kind.
I am not afraid of lions.
I am not afraid by bears closing in.
Not afraid of you,
But letting you win.
I am afraid of flying saucers.
I am not afraid of monsters.
I am afraid of a man who cannot choose.
I am not afraid of a God who cannot loose.
I am afraid of the men who run the country.
I am not afraid of the mounties.
Fear is logical.
Phobia is logical.
Obedience is nonsensical.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
It wouldn’t matter
should you not have any,
for the Canadian police force
has four legs too many.
Galloping in fields,
but in alleyways long,
the arm of the law
Has no legs to stand on.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
Stump Junction...
“How Ya Gonna Keep 'em Down on the Farm
(After They've Seen Paree)?”
-a song of the First World War
Speak not to us of Paris by moonlight -
How are they gonna keep us down on the Seine
When we have seen the gaiety of Stump Junction
By the romantic glow of sweet mary jane
The twinkle of gunfire from a .22
As Cousin Eloise potted beer bottles
While her new guy Kolby took a long ////
On her old guy Shane-Boy’s low-rider rims
The county mounties busted up the fight -
Speak not to us of Paris by moonlight
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 3:44 PM UTC