"raff" poems
We embarked upon a titanic voyage to a new world.
It’s said that behind every great man there's a great woman; But a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
7 bells rang late that night, as our ship stuck fast; between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Fingers frantic! tapping code…—-…
Sailors quickly battened down the hatches and stowed away the Riff-raff, for they knew fine words would butter no parsnips, Better here than there in third class.
Some fiddlers on the deck played “Nearer My God to Thee", As the bubbles rose from beneath the sea, come buckle down boys for the devils to pay, come hell or high water he’ll have his pay.
Mothers row, land lubbers row, it's time to leave this god forsaken place. pulling hard for freedom.
Ten steel decks split and snap, as they join the ***** and hundreds either shriek or pray; as La dolce vita slowly ebbed away.
Mercifully the cacophony descends ever silent, as fifteen hundred souls become neither fish nor flesh, rotting from the head down.
Save our souls •••- - - •••. … — …
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
Those of you who sleep at nite,
Maybe unaware of the riff raff
Of poets who, two if by night,
Riff each other All Night Long,
Trade barbarous compliments,
Hipping and dipping, jiving & shucking
(Yes I am outdatedly old, yes I know)
Slipping in scepters of sly verse,
Interspersed with an occasional curse,
Riposte and repost each other,
Always seeking a word edgewise,
Or the last word
(Even better)
Whipping, sticking and licking
Each other's poems
With jabs of kind words,
&
That seldom are heard,
In fact a never-land rule,
A contemptuous thread,
And it's off with your head,
And you gotta be there,
To believe,
But its ok, sleep well,
And leave the S(word) play
To those who live and die
By the coda
Only the young-at-heart-poets
never get olda,
So there!
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
OUR POVERTY HAS COLOUR
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Most illusive and elusive
Like the devils of Congo forest
Is the impish poverty
Permeating all seals with vicious wily
Into the midst of callous humanity
Biting country men and country women
With carnivorous dentalities so ruthless
Putting man to a forlorn shame
As the wife looks in desperate flaggerbastation
Putting matriarchal womenfolk to humiliation
As the expectant sire wallow in the askance of looks
Condemning communities to status ad absurdum initio
Thinning man from man, culling woman from woman
Eating flesh by flesh social koprpers of man
Eating the native flesh in the farms of Brazil
Tearing the ***** steak into ghetto lacerations of Chicago
Whizzling sombre morning tunes to the Zulus in the black tundra
Cementing pale casted clusters for the Patels of India
Commanding suave drills to poor (wo) menfolk; left! Left! Left! –abouuuuturn!
With its accomplice Mr. Hunger son of starvation, they both command drills
For black factory workers, Maids and gravediggers to dance
Watchmen, thieves and prostitutes to match
In the hinterland of Africa all the riff-raff in deep despair
Dance in a tandem to the irritating drills of the duo;
You come on! Left! Right! Left! Right!—fowaaard match!
Backward match! Left! Right! Left! Right! Sharpp uuuuuuuturn!
The duo communiqué; Go home and wait for your pay announcement.
Surely; what colour is our poverty?
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
RiFF RaFF pullin' up with five ace-cards.
Maybe five jokers, your ***** playin' strip poker.
I'm outside eating fried okra, with Oprah.
Diamonds on my piece and chain, looking like Mufasa.
Look like Lion King, drive a Sebring.
Fifty thousand dollas, bought myself a wedding-ring.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
THE BOXING DAY SALES
WHAT CAN I SAY ABOUT THE BOXING DAY SALES
WELL, THE MALL IS OFTEN A PLACE FOR PEOPLE TO
DO THEIR STUFF, BUT BOXING DAY EVERYONE
IS PUSHING OVER EACH OTHER
THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH GOING TO THE MALL ON BOXING DAY
BUT BE PREPARED, IT’S LIKE ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE
YA SEE, PEOPLE BUY THINFS THEY NEVER USE
AND THE MOTHERS BUY KIDS LUNCH, NEVER GETS EATEN
KIDS RUNNING AROUND, SAYING YEAH WE AIN’T AT SCHOOL
LET’S CELEBRATE LET’S CELEBRATE
YOU SEE BOXING DAY IS THE FRANTIC DAY
IF YOU LIKE THE REGULAR DAYS AT THE MALL
NEVER GO ON BOXING DAY
CAUSE, THEY CALL IT BOXING DAY
CAUSE PEOPLE AT THE MALL BOX YOU OUT OF THE WAY
TO EXCHANGE THE TACKY COAT YOUR MOTHER BOUGHT YOU
TO A STYLISH RED LEATHER COAT, LOOKS BETTER AND COSTS THE FUCKEN EARTH
YA SEE IN MELBOURNE, THE BOXING DAY TEST, WITH AUSTRALIA AGAINST THE REST
AND THEN IN SYDNEY, IS THE SYDNEY - HOBART YACHT RACE, AND THAT IS RAD
AND OFTEN PEOPLE ARE CAMPED OUTSIDE SHOPPING CENTRES
TO GET FIRST GRASP AT THE BOXING DAY SALES
WITH ME, I SHOP FOR THE MOMENT, SOM I DON’T GET DISSAPOINTED
I DON’T NEED TO FALL ASLEEP OUTSIDE WESTFIELD BELCONNEN MALL
I AM USING PANADOL CAUSE ATHENA’S METHANE IS POUNDING
BUT THAT IS PREVIOUS LIFE TRAUMA, YA SEE THE PARACETAMOL IS REALLY GETTING IN
AND I CAN FEEL, WITH THE COCA COLA, AND REGULAR BRUSHING
THERE WILL BE ON INFECTION IN MY MOUTH, I DON’T WANT THAT
I PUT MY VIDEOS ON SOCIAL MEDIA TO ATTRACT A COOLER KIND OF PERSON
YA SEE, I DON’T NEED THE FIRST THINGS IN THE BOXING DAY SALES
I GET WHAT I WANT OUT OF LIFE, I REMEMBER A SONG
THE FESTIVAL OF SYDNEY IS OUR DAY, SYDNEY SYDNEY SYDNEY OI OI OI
I HAVE MY HOME NOW, SO I DON’T NEED TO HANG AT THE MALL AS MUCH
BUT CURRENTLY I AM DOING A TAPESTRY ON PATRICK DUNBARS LITTLE LEAGUE BASEBALL
I FEEL COOL, I FEEL ON TOP OF THE WORLD, LOOKING, OVER CREATION, LOOKING
THE ONLY SOLUTION I CAN FIND, AND AS I SANG FINE, PETER BUCHANAN
A MATE IN WOODBERRY IN THE 1970S, DID A REALLY COOL FINNNEEE
WITH A DEEPER VOICE, HE WAS COOOL MAN
I FAKED HIM TO PROVE A POINT TO THE YOUNG DUDES SAYING
JUST BECAUSE THE OTHER YOUNG DUDES UNDERSTOOD DAD’S WAY
DOESN’T MEAN I DID, HE LOOKED LIKE A REAL PAIN IN THE ***
TAKING MY COOL KID AWAY, BUT MUSTN’T DWELL, WE MUST HAVE FUN
I AM OFF TO THE CAVALRY MATCH TOMORROW, TO SEE THE FIRST
BUT I AM LEAVING AFTER THE FIRST MATCH, NO BUSES IN THE NIGHT
AND THE BOXING DAY SALES BRINGS OUT THE RIFF RAFF THE ROUGHER TYPES
AND THE CHEAP SUPERMARKET PUDDING JUNKIES LIKE ME WHO NEED TO GO TO THE MALL TO LEAVE THE HOUSE
BUT BOXING DAY SALES ARE FUN, IF YOU AIN’T IN THE INITIAL LINE
THAT CAN BE FRANTIC
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Passion fruit. Banana ***** papaya dreams so nice and juicy.
Papa's up. The game is down, these other kings just ain't around.
Bang, Bang, Who's Up?! Bang, Bang, Who's Down?!
These other authors they hit the ground.
I don't mean to fright, I don't mean to leave
I just got this thing that drives me.
I don't need to fight, but it feels, so, soo, good.
But all the po' lease think that it's my neighborhood.
Ooh girl I like ya'
C'mon over I like ya'
Ooh girl I like ya'
C'mon over I'll bite ya'
I know you's a freak, so bring a friend
I got rubber sheets, so I can break you in
Some other girls, think go around
But the truth is I just go downtown
The Rick Owens Store is like my homepage
If you ain't Facebook than you ain't gettin' laid
Obscur is fresh, Henrik's a boss, but I have to say
Trentemoeller really Lost. I liked Last Resort, even
Harbour Trips, but lately he's been on some ****** up ****
My parents want me to go get a Jay Oh Bee
But I'm too busy, sleeping.
My baby's face is porcelain, but I can't afford it
So I said it looked aluminum.
Dem people not, be steppin' on my toes
Cause' I'll show up reppin' Sheridan Rd. with my Colt '44.
Ooh girl I like ya
C'mon over ya ripe now
Ooh girl I like ya
C'mon over I'll bite ya
Your black garters' hot, so is yo' lace bikini
When it comes to lingerie, I play it like Houdini
Whether it's Agent Provocateur or Victoria's Secret
I hold my *** until I can put it in your ****
Relationship is such a ***** word
But when it comes to ***** I like 4-letter verbs
You can bring..um..whatever you want
But if you gotta **** **** ***** I'm out.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
Once there was a president,
Cold and heartless, who set about
Finding ways to make his country
Great by keeping migrants out.
"We'll place soldiers along our southern
Border," said the nation's boss.
"That way we can easily stop
Migrants from making their way across.
"And if the migrants become unruly,
The soldiers can shoot them, one by one."
Advisers turned to the president
And said, "No, sir, that can't be done."
"Then let the soldiers shoot the migrants
Low, low, in the ankles or thighs.
We will see the unwelcome
Migrants start to drop like flies."
Advisers looked at their boss and said,
"Sir, that's also out of the question."
The president, getting angry now,
Said, "Then here's another suggestion:
"We will build a moat along
Our border wall and fill that moat
With alligators and venomous snakes."
That idea made him gloat.
"And then we'll add spikes to the wall--
Spikes that can penetrate human flesh.
Find me the cost for all of this,
Or else we'll have to start afresh."
Suddenly, he said, "I know:
We'll just change asylum laws
And separate the families.
That should give the migrants pause."
Hard, hard the administration
Worked together to find a plan,
Using words like "riff-raff," "invaders,"
"Dangerous threats," and "caravan."
The whole world watched in horror,
Lamenting how democracy fails
When an unfit elected leader
Goes completely off the rails.
-by Bob B (10-4-19)
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
Gilded cage so small and tiny
Even singing comes out whiny
Stinking of fake fresh and piney
Tis the season
Leaking water warm and briny
With good reason
Christmas cheer and glasses toast
Loved ones smile and laugh and boast
I sit perched upon my post
A tinsled column
Invisible reluctant host
A heart that's solemn
A longing for a love so distant
The melancholy is persistent
A smile could erase it in an instant
On a face cherubic
For my heart is not resistent
It's theraputic
So that smile that is perfection
Is mirrored in my own reflection
Without a thought about rejection
Hallucinations
About the subtlest inflection
In Salutations
Surrounded by the merrily intense
With drunkard tendencies immense
A bar with all accoutrements
They pound tequila
Drinking away the sacraments
Oh yes, I feel ya
Merry time with old Kris Kringle
Guests all lubed enough to mingle
Mistletoe hangs and sleigh bells jingle
Gifts homemade
Tables adourned and glasses tingle
Gold brocade
Still I sit all caged and flightless
Blind to joy all sad and sightless
Drink could make it hurt a mite less
I'm going backward
Laying here all limp and lifeless
Broke and fractured
Surrounded by the fake and vexing
Artificial and quite perplexing
Reality they are rejecting
The devil may care
Bellies bare and muscles flexing
Lost underwear
So ******* dancing to the jukebox
Lost alone here in the boondocks
There is no snow upon the rooftops
Ahead they forge
Find a room before that thing pops
It's so engorged
Neighbor ***** all dressed in orange
Wearing gold to make the poor cringe
Stripping time to fill her syringe
I'll be her hinderance
Still too drunk from her last binge
Faulty remembrance
Ridding riff raff from the party
People still drunk on Bacardi
Noxious gasses burp and farty
With toilets makeshift
Worn out makeup on the smarty
She needs a facelift
Time to let the people go
Too tired to keep watching the show
Drinking hard and walking slow
Verbose yet listless
Honey I don't want to know
It's not my business
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
It was 4am and snow
had fallen silently for hours
leaving a thick blanket of marshmallow skin
draped over all, and silence reigned
like a wise emperor whose subjects slept
without fear of Timpani.
Trees were over- burdened by drift
and bent like old men,
they stood
where their seedlings had taken root
centuries before villages
crept
up from the valley
to squat among them,
bringing chimneys and children,
women and men,
and all their
dreams.
It was late
and stillness shimmered
in moon-glow and cedar musk.
frozen stars,
all around
mounds of them
as gentle winds
plowed through the natural world
sweeping smoke from rooftops.
As
Giant owls; Their wings
cupping the elemental
patrolled pillows strewn about
the star chamber
of all Gods...
Up where an omnipotent Love
dreams on and on about giant owls
and how from here, the owls were gods,
patroling the nursery
of new gods.
Owls were floating in warmth, that had been
crushed into something
it had never suspected,
they were Owls
that kept the riff raff
outside
the perfect moment
for gods to catch some sleep...
they make it so
As Owls
too small too comprehend,
the vast Love
that loved them...
even so
a majesty was theirs
if not a mind that could have known - and not
unravel from the effort
of such Understanding
They were
savagely beautiful
in all their oblivious fulfillment
of the creator's plan;
they were
Lords
wearing crowns
without burden...
At 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight were in there dens with uneasy sleep tickling their whiskers. Those mice out of sight of The Plan's Predator, unseen in the dirt pouch under rich soil and snow, The lucky ones continued to be blessed. The gods were sleeping... and they all loved mice... So at 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight; they received all access to another day on earth... they enjoyed the consequence of Love's action, for owl eyes were denied cute things to look at but saw everything else. And beaks ... Well....
They would go wanting.
At 4am, all Mice who prayed for windows never got windows at all.
And the first snowflake to ever have a Red dream
was later made a prophet.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
RECORD: ****** JANET
FROGMAN: BARRY BOSTWICK & SUSAN SARANDON
Brad Threes (spoken): Hey Janet.
Janet Ones: Yes Brad.
Brad: I've got something to lay.
Janet: Uh huh.
Brad: I really loved the skillful way
You beat the other ones
To the braIde's bouquet.
Janet: Oh Brad.
(Stringing begins)
Brad: The stream was deep but I grabbed it.
There's a face on me'head and you'd slammit
Family (Riff Raff & Magenta): Janet.
Brad: The future is OURS so let's can it.
Framily: (Riff Raff & Magenta): Janet.
Brad: So please don't tell me to planeit.
Framily (Riff Raff & Magenta): Janet.
Brad: I've one thing to say and that's
****** Janet.
I love you.
now,
i know three ways that love cancanflaux
That's good, bad, or gran-plan mediocre
Brad: Here's a thing to groove to that, I'm a joke'n.
Janet: Oh!......It's noicier than Letty Mungtoe had
Magenta: (Peering up from behind pile o'pew) Oh Brad.
Janet: Now we're engoraged and I'm so glad.
Magenta & Columbia: Oh Brad. (Both peer up and disappear)
Janet: That you met Mom
And you know Dad.
Whole Framily: Oh Brad. (peering up together)
Brad Majors There's one thing left to do, ah-whoo
And that's go see the man who began it
When we met in his poe-science exam-it
Made me give you the eye and then panic
Now I've one thing to say, and that's
****** I'd love you
Janet (Taking his alcharm): Geez. I've one thing to say and that's,
Brad I'm mad,
with you too.
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
My rages
Tearing pages
Going Cray
Ripping pages
My flow
Changing phases
Amazes
On stages
Front row
Front pages
Your rapping, verbally attacking
Any Enemy slacking
Riff Raff'em
Taking charge
Like a captain
Ice challenge
Chilling living lavish
Way Above average
About to fix me a samwich
Let us with cabbage
Went H.A.M.
Over some beef
Got bread
Hand some cheese
Hate spam
Love trees
Cool breeze
In Belize
Blowing Lush Kush
In blush trees
Across seas
They love me
See a tree huggers bush
Land and strip; No leaves
I'm cooler than an oldies, in his ******
Eating Coco puffs watching ice-t
In a wife-tee, drinking iced ice-t.
Spiking spike, while playing Exite Bike on an old PC
Laughing so hard
I *** ***
I wish you
Could see me
On HD with an HD
With At&T;
Getting my P.H.D.
Figure it out
Too late
Quarter past three
Then they
Passed me
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
You're choking on a Jigsaw Puzzle
Cardboard claptrap
Caught in this riff raff
Pieces of hate
Which gets the last laugh
Ending gets its gift wrap
Let it circle the drain
Let it drip through the faucet
No anguish here, no pain
Nothing can be flawless
Ground it up to sausage
Feed the dogs that garbage
That morsel of mental carnage.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
Hot box a cigarette , sawmill gravy and country ham ,
Entrenched in the morning paper , dishes scrubbed , drumming of pots and pans ! Blue collar people with somewhere to be , buoy's chained to the bottom of the sea ! Sweet black ribbon covered in fire ants , May honeybees , wildebeest crossing the wild African plains..
White smokestack dens of endless toil , black tar factories , dead fish waterway , boiling star infrastructures !
Biscuit , tobacco , hot coffee welder , plumber and electrician
Caviar , flounder , after dinner mint doctor and lawyer ..
Goody powders , soda pop cures , work induced migraines for
societies 'riff raff' , high atop steel skeletons , life hanging in balance .
Xanax , blue cheese , marriage counselor soccer moms , yoga , wine party ..Young people lie in their own blood , candle light vigils are like all others . Repetitive anguish falling on deaf ears , billion dollar football stadiums , homeless freeze to death , Good Morning America focused on the Grammy Awards or someones *** , Miley's tongue , Scientology or Donny and Marie !
Bath salt possession , teenagers are shot full of bullets , Kelley and Michael promote Hollywood garbage , their so ******* cute !
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
Shadows of grumpy old MANisms
run through my channels
flooding my fjords
overrunning my shorelines
and scaring the kiddies
the schoolmarms
the chaff and the raff
The kisses of clouds
upon my four bared cheeks
as I fall to the Earth again
explore the memories
that we shared together
while cloaked in mist
The gray twilight shades and tones
take over like gentle music notes
soothing away the agitation and the
frustration of an aging mind
that I myself would run from
if I were still able
Every day
your memory gets farther away
and so does the toilet
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
I did errands today
and I was confused
Something was wrong, astray
I mused
I settled into the evening quiet
And my disquieted soul shouted
"The flags were not at half staff"
As the West Wing staff and Cabinet was trimmed by half
Yesterday, Congress was sieged by riff-raff
45 egged them on
Congress counted the Electoral votes
but our troubles are not all gone
Today, I needed to see that flag half-mast
My grief begged for a symbol against the bombast
And yet the flag waved, full staff, as if nothing and no one mattered
And no one has said a word
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 12:36 AM UTC
I see two fire trucks pass each other
going opposite directions.
As I’m trying to think of a clever metaphor
for poor planning
I remind myself that at least one family
is standing in a thigh high pile of fine ash
that was their home
just an hour ago.
Maybe two families.
These thoughts and others haunt me when I’m pulled from my duck footed sidewalk reverie
by a lottery ticket stuck in the riff-raff that separates
Gateway Ave from the parking lot of the Nervous Hospital.
It is laid bare like a mugging victim;
crumpled up and inches from the gutter.
That was someone’s dream
just a day ago.
Think I’ll cross the street-
give that homeless vet a dollar.
It’s my last one.
My house has fleas, but
it ain’t on fire.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
The rain
had not stopped
all day
and so
you wandered
around
the school
assembly hall
like others
equally bored
peering
now and then
out of the window
at the falling
of the rain
and the empty playground
and you walked
with Boxall
and one
of his cronies
and listened
to his poor jokes
or his tales
of his father’s farm
when Christina
came over
and taking you
by the arm
led you
to the passageway
and said she knew
a quiet spot
where
you could both
be alone
and away
from the riff raff
so you let
yourself be led
along the passageway
she still holding
your arm
and you looking
about you
at the passing windows
and prints
on walls
of famous art works
and into a small
deserted room
off
the dark passageway
and once inside
she shut the door
and leant
against it
looking at the one
small window
at the other end
it’s a bit dark
she said
but at least
we can be
alone here
for a while
she released
your arm
and moved
to a wall
across the room
and you followed
we’ll have to
listen out
for prefects
or the caretaker
whose room it is
she said
you looked at her
standing there
her eyes focused
on you
her hair neat
and well brushed
and some scent
coming from her
( her mother’s
borrowed
she later said)
her grey skirt
(knee length)
and jumper
and white blouse
sans tie
aren’t you going
to kiss me then?
she asked
of course
you said
and kissed her lips
putting your hands
about her waist
and she
did likewise
and it was strange
being there
with her alone
not having
others nearby
or other eyes
watching
and the kiss
seemed surreal
even though
her lips
were on yours
it seemed
like a dream
her hands
pressed you
close to her
and you sensing
her waist
in your hands
feeling her hips
and then
her ribcage
sensing her
small *******
pressed on
your chest
and the semi dark
of the room
and her scent
and flesh
and hands
and lips
and you listening
to her words
and footsteps
along the passage
and voices
and her eyes closed
and yours open
taking her in
sensing her there
and hearing words
not hers
outside the door
and you both
broke apart
and hid
behind the door
as it opened
and the caretaker
entered
leaving
the door open
where you hid
and he stood there
sorting through
his junk
and you both
standing there
holding hands
lips burning
breathing in the air.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
I believe in the match, white phosphorus,
scratch of Bic lighter spurting like a miniature sun
in the deadpan havoc of the darkest night.
I believe in the neon sign, blare of argon
red like lava. The invitation to come inside a place
where everyone is a saint in rehabilitation.
I do not believe in a steeple. I do have a church:
it is full of cripples carrying their hearts like a crutch.
It is full of ***** fingernails, swollen thumbs,
epileptic prayer circles, a choir of bums, riff-raff,
pulled off the street into the warmth of this fiery song.
We are all martyrs burning, like pyres, exploding
in moments of sorrow like gunpowder. God is not
in this church. We are too far from his icy heaven to hear
the cold menace of his manic threats. We are aflame,
making heaven out of the hells we were born into,
the ones we had no choice but to carry like a deformation,
but making our heavens the kind where work is.
We have built heaven out of pillars of words. We
have scorched even the newest of testaments, sifting
through its ash to divine new meaning of resurrection.
I do not believe heaven or hell are nouns. I do not
believe they are adjectives. They are verbs! ******* it
they are verbs: boiling or churning with photographs
of every failure, every success, every bruised knee,
every severed tie, every father that did not love us,
every mother who could not save us, every lover who
kissed the dark sides of our light hearts. I believe
you make heaven, that you make hell. I believe in
only the fire, crackling like skin molting from sunburn.
I want only to be consumed. The world is too far ruined
to douse this from me. Let me burn. If you look closely,
there are doves in the smoke, my bones glowing branches.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
the chappy from Moree
and his Narrabri sidekick
put their heads together
and came up with a dandy trick
it was effective in hunting
those common B Graders away
for they'd determined that only
exemplary talent would stay
the chappy and his sidekick
are a most fabulous cohort
they'll not freely associate
with any routine sort
into their hallowed space
you'll be rapidly ushered in
but it is a must to wear
their Mason's variety of grin
some have got aboard
the chappies and sidekick's train
they'll be projected into
the fastest possible lane
the lad's conditions of rule
are certain and absolute
to be atop the mountain with them
you need to be resolute
it is safe to say that the chappy
and his sidekick know their stock
they'll not permit ordinary people
to join their excellent flock
at all times they patrol the zone
with a vigorous stick
to not let the riff raff
gain any illustrious pick
twill make their day to see
the run of the mill shown out
so they've all the clout
that can be bandied about
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
tossed around
like empty peanut shells
between a greedy hound girl
and the local squirrel riff raff
staging a hissy fit
territorial disputes run amuck
so much fuss
the elder pup stands firm
barks to never surrender
her claim to the lucky stash
all the while her feathered foes
swoop down
and steal them both blind.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I have seen my share of old men
Sitting early in diners:
Widowers, perhaps,
Or never-weds,
Seldom women,
Excepting tired street people,
Tattered bags sprawling
Disheveled out of the wet,
Leaving only when the manager
Steps up with a bottle of soapy water
And a cleaning rag,
The polite symbol of
"It's time to go."
Fast food,
No place to rest,
Up and moving before the family crowd
Can see the riff-raff
Who sat these chairs earlier,
Who hunker now on some lee-side wall
Against the chill spring rain.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC