Life doesn't always hand you lemons
like snowballs they can be thrown at your legs
Down on your knees you'll go,
because lemons are much harder than snowballs you know.

Crippling you for however long,
this harsh act forces you to crawl.
Don't expect a wheelchair, there wont be one for you.  

We all crawled at one point or another
a past lesson; a past stepping stone on how to walk
if you can remember,which I doubt you can
crawling was much easier then.
Back then you weren't use to standing on your feet.

But for whatever reason life decided to chunk a lemon your way
knock you down in the middle of the road,
then run off like some silly little girl, all the while laughing of course

Life chose you.

You with your habit of bad luck and terrible morning breath...
Keep your head up when you start crawl, if not you'll miss the ladder.
As one of life's wonderful attempts to keep you down
just keep going, keep moving forward and when you see that ladder...
don't climb it.

Use it to stand back up
then hunt down a brand new lemon squeezer,
cause I can guarantee life 'misplaced' your last one...
on purpose of course.

"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."

Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
    Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
    Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
    Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***?
    How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
    Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
    Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***;
    Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
    You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

Suppose you try a different tack,
    And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
    Or with the mummers mug and gag?
    For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
    Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

THE MORAL
    It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
    Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

They taught me to swim the same way they taught me to ride a bike.
lets see what happens when we push her down a hill, will she balance or bite through her lip?

They locked me in the closet, a suitcase, the trunk of our Toyota Corolla and a cardboard box all because I fit ;)

I walked through her room while she studied for her Calculus Final because it was the only way to get to my room (over and over for attention).

They held me down 3 at a time to play piano on my tummy while I shreked for pure joy and fun.

He gave me a boxing name on our trampoline and let me win. I ate his chocolate in her bed. They thought I was a cat licking itself under the covers.

When he came off the streets he gave me video games, Spyro, Pokemon, Zelda, and Sonic At first I didn't know we were related.

She chased me and my best friend around the house Screaming
     Squeeze my buns of steal baby
     he never came back.

They held me upstairs while things flew and crashed downstairs forever breaking the lemon squeezer. I cried and he held me, my first memory of him being nice.

She had me live with her 5 days a week 6 years because our parents didn't want to deal, even though she was bulimic. She took care of me but in truth I kept her alive.



They were my first memory, they were there for me, when I was little they were my parents. I jokingly tell people that all my good traits were learned from them.

When they left there was no one left to protect me. All alone, too young to understand them being gone was what made me sad. I was used to having 8 parents and now I have the two that actually gave birth to me.

Haha I say you only have 2. I gave up on them long ago, why would I pick 2 when I have 8?

Forever the 8 of us.

Loosey goosey, Gary Busey
Makes more sense than you!
What do you see, big kaboosie?
What would Vladdy Putin do?

Fussy wussy, presidential woosy
Tell a whole buncha more lies.
Flappy *****, big **** slappy
The best your money buys.

Choppy woppy, never stoppy
Even when caught on tape.
Shouty, pouty, tough it outy
Completely out of shape.

Fleecer, squeezer, ugely obese
Shadow of your youth
Ripoff, tipoff, always lipoff.
Incapable of truth.

Heapy cheapy, never sleepy
Won’t pay your own bills.
Brainless pain, runaway train,
All your ideas can ****.

Neego, peego, bloated ego
The little kids you scare,
Shard, pard, big tub of lard,
As attractive as your hair.

Lemons (and a lemon squeezer)
sticky notes
a family that I can talk to
a life I'd like to live
a world I'd actually like to live in
to love, so I don't have any time left to hate
to stop enduring for things I shouldn't have to
to be different, but also myself
to stop crying, get up off my ***, and actually do something about it.

“Give me the ****** gratification that **** Pleasureman wrote of in his instructional book Gratifying a Woman Sexually.” ~ “But how might I gratify you sexually, the **** Pleasureman way, when I haven't read his instructional book Gratifying a Woman Sexually?” ~ “You're right. It's not your fault. Obtaining the instructional book Gratifying a Woman Sexually by **** Pleasureman, isn't easy these days. ~ “What if I come back next week, after reading the instructional book Gratifying a Woman Sexually by **** Pleasureman, and gratify you sexually the **** Pleasureman way? How about that?” ~ “That would be wonderful. I will experience gratifying ****** pleasure, the **** Pleasureman way, if you'd do that!” ~ “Do what?” ~ “Gratify me sexually by applying the principles outlined in  the instructional book Gratifying a Woman Sexually by **** Pleasureman.” ~ “Oh that. I thought that you were talking about something else.”

Gettysburg Address

A diaspora of stones make their way back, posted
by penitents keen to relieve long years of suffering.  
Late at night under desk light they put pen to paper,
insert shims of confession to wedge bits of Pennsylvania

scree into envelopes, a wary eye on talismans cocooned
in twists of tissue or sealed up tight inside zip lock bags,
ancient Alleghany seabed pocketed one hot August
afternoon in the Peach Orchard, palmed on impulse along

Cemetery Ridge, another bearing the mica glint that drew
the eye of a desultory adolescent moping in the long
shadow of Little Round Top twenty-three summers gone
now, before the untimely death of a sister or a budding career

in HR derailed on the heels of divorce, DUI and depression.  
How else to explain the plane crash, forfeiture of assets,
the shadow on the x-ray, the second one hundred year flood?  
In after hour twilight, tour buses long gone, gaudy chains

out on Route 15 humming, all with waits of an hour or more,
a National Park Service Ranger, a man about my age and mien,
doffs his flat brimmed lemon squeezer to retreat behind a desk,
leaf through a sheaf of petitions for mercy addressed in desperation.  

Silence pressing in from Culps Hill and Devils Den, the Wheatfield
and Seminary Ridge, he presses smooth a pane of stationary, eyes
closed, fingers brushing words of intention, box of stones at his feet,
heaped, indistinguishable as an unbroken line of advancing infantry.

I hear your squirrel faced inflected scorn
But I am not the subject of your masquerade
There is no running from the truth within my circle
There is no hiding from the harm you've made

With nothing of the fearful scribe in me, I have become
Your challenger, your truth teller, your unveiled voice
Of revocation, Justice long denied has hurried home
To my protestations, my unyielding force for choice

There is not one obliquely terrifying word you've fumbled
That has found solace within my intentions
No remorse at hearing your lewd, vile inventions
Your nasty woman-hating world will crumble

In the blast of my ice poured upon your blather
Do you hear the drums of sweet November call?
There you will be tossed and tumbled
In reality you are no kind of man at all.

No kind of man we would embrace for any price
Though you cling fast to every dollar in your grasp
Wring benefits unearned from others, squeezer, vice
But never leader, only backward stretching wasp

Bring out your ugly legionnaires of doom to face the music
Of the young, the elderly, the strong against your hooded lies
Those who long for justice aim to curb you and your avarice
Bring here your crippled trumpet too be smelted in our fires

For every child of every mother, every sister, every brother
Father, will take no prisoners, but free the wrongly caged
To fill your coffers slaved the migrant, not today
And never more shall we sit quiet in our  rage.

I call you traitor to your country, traitor to your college students
Traitor to investors, every one. You plan to win.
It's now your time of trials will begin.
Expect that it will never end.

I sit, I wish
    for the glistening moon pools
          to sprinkle down my way.
                 Dreamy starry sky,
                    and the soft combing breeze
                      sings sweet lullabies
                    to the indigo trees.
              Sing the same to me,
           and I'll go where you go;
            river so wide,
          wider's my window!

           Now dance as you've done
        so many times before;
      embrace the morning sun's
       broad rays on your shore.
                                                         Far banks shall appear
                                                 with the coming of April,
                                               and strike out I will
                                            through the dusty rock passes
                                       through mountains of yellow
                                      and bridges of gold -- until
                                          I gain the city of friends,
                                             lamplights and streetlights
                                                    ­   and buslights and doors
                                                           ­       will be closed.

                                                        ­Gone, then, are the wishes
                                                 and wonders and wants,
                                      the things that I hoped for
                              a long time ago.

                     The trill of the strings
                           (my only respite
                                from keen madness
                                      or a tantō
                                      to wish me goodnight)
                                 rises on palm-tops,
                            floats in cool grasses,
                       gives purpose my soul.
                                  So much peace I find
                                     in warm charming moonlight....

                             Tomorrow, concern may put your course
                                       on a laxed and lumberous way,
                                  great river of the dying day,
                          but as long as my will goes on,
           and the wonderful will of the Maker,
     those fleet-footed brigands
won't catch me, for I am
      faster than they are.

...Calming storm,
     you stirrer and squeezer,
       present most of the time that I need you:
                Set my mind,
                   for all its vain attempts;
               make me relent,
                 and I won't deceive you.
                        Till then, I'll be leaving you soon,
                            but know my April blush
                               is the same color as in June,
                              and the fabric of all that I hope for
                            is the cloth of the comforting moon.

I am the giver of hugs,
The dispenser of caressing comfort,
The holder of those in need,
The squeezer out of pain and sorrow,
The shutter out of this world and its woe,
If only for a moment a head Upon my shoulder
Is free of sadness and sorrow,
Free of fear and frustration,
Safety resides within my embrace,
Sanctuary whence nowt can reach thee,

But right now it's the hugger
In hugging need,
That tap gushing
From a bottomless jug has
Just a hint of falter,
A tiniest reduction of pressure,
Insufficient for regard by others
But keenly felt by me,
Hints at limits being reached,
And I rail against that potential
Failure to project and protect,

So here I am,
Pouring out hugs,
While inside every sinew
Screams for someone,
Anyone in fact, to see ME,
See the pain and need,
See my faltering heart
And hope,
And step up,
Wrap me in THEIR arms,
Hold me and heal MY broken
Worn out heart a bit,

So I can hold and heal
Those many more
Still in need.

Behind Closed Drawers


I have always suspected that

cutlery can be both devious

and conniving. Our kitchen

table has a drawer and each

time I open it, it seems to me

that nothing is as it should be.


They just don’t stay in their own

allocated spaces. I know for a

fact that one of the knives has

been trying to butter up the old

ladle, whom I think is beyond all

that sort of thing now. Another

one was looking for a fork on the

table; would you believe it?


But, imagine sPATula asking

the lemon squeezer for a twist

and even before he got a reply,

he whisked her away into a dark

corner and tried to skewer her.


Peeler was in on it, it was he who

removed her outer covering and,

only for Masher hearing her

scream, who knows what would

have happened. There is an old

wives tale, keep your tongs as

close together as possible when

in crowded areas with strangers.


The scissors sisters say it also,

because they had a close brush.

Nobody ever touches or even

goes near Ally Grater, same for

chopsticks. Sure would you look at

them; they are seriously anorexic.


One has to wonder about stopper

and bottle *****, they are always

there side by side but never touch,

I think their relationship is platonic.


With all the goings on, is it any

wonder, when the spoon got an

opportunity to elope, off he went,

with, what everyone agrees, was a

stunner, she was an absolute dish.