"tee" poems
May we live in and see interesting times, the old saying goes
another offers that when the mind is blind, the eyes cannot see
for me my days are interesting and the laughter readily and often comes
for the grapes of wrath brings forth mirth filled grapes on grapevine tendrils
As lemmings and sheep enact bellyaching absurdities, as the ridiculous does
Veracity on sojourn and falsehood in residence with doors firmly closed
Hamlet re-enacts hapless role, with Red Robin Hood and vigilantes to a tee
eager audiences, participatory scenes in towns and cities, leaving empty homes
come all and vent your spleen and satiate your prejudices without paying a fee
This land belongs to us, it is our birthright and we will send Hamlet to the catacombs
Nothing is private anymore, rights and freedom nailed, anywhere we roam
Ophelia not only went to Italy, she went to Hull, Turnpike Lane and even Essex
but a joke here, if all these were good, why did she come to me, you simple gnomes
perchance unlike you common goons, she knows distinction has no comparison to thee
Your vacuous hate filled mind cannot see that difference in a Prince, that regally looms
Act two, dim, fooled actors in their Beggars Opera, screaming, 'we oppose' with glee
so called republicans, laughable in their ardent favor, ignorant of their lobotomy botches
we will do Hamlet's head in, totally unaware theirs been done in, for the brains of fleas
in a civilisation, our conscious and stable populace, roots for vigilante and mob rule, yeah
for a man of distinction is a threat reminding you of your insignificance and lack of tomes
Come friends, lets see how the home of Democracy, hounds a citizen for us all and we
lets know that Robin Hood is alive and taxing, and 'Windrush' is still active in dispatches
indigenous people power, meets criminal gang stalking, meets racism and we all drink tea
and in true cowardly fashion, its all done by insidious, indictable, nefarious, malcontents and psychopathic crazies
It is our proud duty that we should all ruin Hamlet, for mediocrity has no distinction for aspiration et excellence
Copyright LaurenceA. JUNE 2018.All rights reserved.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
Mom makes you smile for a picture in front of the bus
on your very first day of school,
"You only have one first day of kindergarten!" she says.
But every time you hear the scratching of leather seats,
You are back to that day
When tears rolled off your tiny pink cheeks,
onto the front of your Lion King tee shirt
The first time you ever had to be afraid that you
would never see her again.
Brother tells you not to worry about the boy that bothered you,
the impact of a fist on his right eye is a warning
that guarantees he'll never disrespect a girl again.
But every time you step in the pebbles on a playground,
You're still struggling to run just slow enough not to slip
yet fast enough to keep from being caught and held captive
by the first boy to ever kiss you without permission.
Grandma tells you to "appreciate today" every day
because you'll never get it back.
But every time you hear the crash of waves against a shoreline,
You're there with her in your favorite place in the world.
And the sun is overhead with looks of never coming down,
But you'd be okay if it did because you swear these colors of
the sunset don't exist when you see it from anywhere else
And you never feel so close to God as you feel right here.
Dad is sad when you're growing up
because you'll only be little once.
But every time you get the surprising scent of metal and grease,
You're five years old again and dad is getting home from work
and he lifts you up in a hug and you bury your face in his shirt and breathe in,
And you're confident that he will carry you to bed later that night
on that same shoulder when you fall asleep on the couch.
You're told over and over to forgive
and your mother keeps trying, too.
But every time a green van passes by,
you're a vulnerable twelve-year-old with a record that says easy prey
and you're back at that police station and you're both still crying
and forgiveness still seems so far away.
Everyone tells you that "first love"
is something you only feel once.
But every time September rolls around,
You're still staring back into the first eyes to look at you in awe,
His palms feel sweaty in yours but you don't mind.
And you can still taste his lips and smell the sweet mint Stride on his breath
and you feel everything.
It’s strange how they promise that you can't turn back time,
yesterday is gone,
today will only happen once.
Because I go back all the time;
And I still feel everything.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
(tw; hypothermia, death)
Having depression is like being caught out in a blizzard.
At first, the cold seems like nothing.
You're all bundled up in a fluffy coat,
scarf wrapped around your face,
hands slipped into gloves and tucked under your arms.
But then the snow begins to fall,
and the temperature drops,
and it's like the chill is stripping you down, layer by layer,
even though all your layers are still there.
It gets colder, and you start to feel the effects of the chill,
the fierce winter seeping into your bones,
making it seem as though you only walked outside
in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.
Your body begins to numb as the cold starts,
the weakest parts of you losing their feeling first.
Your nose,
your ears,
your cheeks and your face and your fingers,
all becoming completely numb,
as if they aren't there anymore.
And then your legs stiffen up,
and you have trouble walking,
even though you try so hard to keep moving,
because you know if you stop, you're doomed.
But you lose your ability to function,
the cold causing almost complete ****** paralysis,
and no matter how hard you try,
it's impossible to keep moving.
You fall to the ground,
curling into a ball in the snow,
trying to keep yourself warm,
but the cold is too much.
And as the hypothermia sets in,
your brain tricks you into thinking you're actually warm,
and you strip off the layers that were the only thing
keeping you alive.
And then it's over.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
Why is it so cool to hate on a group
for their fashion sense?
Or that they like to be off the mainstream?
You are doing the same thing that
people were doing to the
grunge
goths
punks
hippies
beatniks
flappers
and they all did something with their counterculture.
Ever think that
ours is the hipsters?
Not really,
they've been around since *The *** Pistols*
actually
they started them.
They made it cool to go to a thrift store
and buy things out of comfort
then rip it up
change it so it looked brand new.
Punk
that made Hipsters.
But now they are just some fad
that people hate on.
Just because they like to talk about
indie bands
knowing them first
wearing band tee's of bands they listen too
wearing vintage and retro clothing
likes reading
being in a cafe
organic food
vegan.
Stereotyping a group is all people did.
Now I can't wear things or do things
because some *** hole is going
to say
**"Ha you're such a ******* hipster!"**
Why don't we stop hating people on what they wear
because how do you expect to get past
racism
homophobia
sexism
ableism
fatphobia
transphobia
prejudice
if we can't even get past how people dress?
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
To be a girl it means that you are frail, right?
That can’t possibly understand a thing
To be a girl it means you stay up day and night
Trying to get that big, shiny ring
But that’s not true, for a majority that is
We have a secret passed down from mother to daughter
The secret is that we pretend to be his
But our hearts belong to one and another
At age 6 being a girl meant you liked pink and played with dolls
But that changed
At age 8 being a girl meant you liked skirts, dresses, bows
That changed too
At age 10 being a girl meant that you were expected to have a crush & kiss him
If you didn’t, you were an outcast
At age 12 your interest in education was to diminish
By age 14 you realized that when a boy slapped your *** you enjoyed it
And if you didn’t you were a lesbian
Ages 12-18 we as girls are told to not show shoulders, knees or skin of any kind because it might distract the boys
I never heard the guys being told to dress a certain way. Have you?
No? I didn’t think so because it might ruin their ego…
Being a girl means that you are blessed with self hate
It’s automatic and hard to lose
There is always an imperfection…
Being a girl means that even when it’s hot, you wear jeans and a baggy tee
So that you don’t have to deal with wondering eyes
Being a girl means that you must look your best ALWAYS or else you’re trash
But not too good or else you’re a **** looking for a good time
Being a girl means that you grow to hate yourself so much that you can’t even look at yourself
Unless you are in public, then you have to act vain
Being a girl means that you have to listen to guys calling you fake because you hate a girl but you’re friends with her the next day
What those guys don’t know is that she saved you from a situation that could’ve made you lose what little dignity you have left
Being a girl means that when you see a grown man starring at a baby…
...you take that baby’s spot
If that means you have to be his princess, babygirl, WHATEVER, for the night
YOU DO IT.
And when you are called a ***** **** the next day, just remember that you helped that child
Being a girl means that when you’re a mother and your little girl asks you why the boys at the school rate the girls on a scale of 1-10 you have to look at her with the same look your mother gave you and tell her,
That being a girl means that you have to be smart, that you have to work 2-3 jobs just to make the same as a guy with 1 job
It’s not fair, but that is how it is.
You have to hug your baby girl when she comes home and tells you that her teacher yelled at her for wearing a tanktop or when a boy touches her even when she told him to stop
To be be a girl means that your are strong
To be a girl means that you are resilient
To be a girl means that you have a secret that is passed down from mother to daughter
And that secret is Unity
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 8:39 AM UTC
you
had a chapstick tube
stowed away in your bag of things you never put to use
those scarred chapped lips
scratching, tearing
crevice of your mouth craved my heart
bleeding, uncaring
and subsequently my mango chapstick would serve it's purpose
on your lips and never mine.
among other things, you had a pair of white socks.
you never wore them,
too pristine
(you'd ruin them as you teetered on slippery suspended logs)
you reminded me of a cracked open window,
always hoping you would be at the mullioned panes
chapped lips, white socks and all
but the only thing that pushed against the glass was the scent of mango air.
and
mango never smelt so bitter.
when
will you come home
replace the mango air with your feverish cologne.
a swaying of the breeze and your tee shirt wraps a cotton arm
around your waist
the bitter aftertaste
your tongue like grapefruit wedged against my teeth
i missed the smell of burnt bread bottom,
when we were in the kitchen
and the gown of silver hemmed water that danced down the roof,
tapping
again and again and again
but, when you come home next month.
I will be gone.
the mango
around our home
had long since
turned bitter
and that brown picket fence no longer bends around my heart
i am somewhere where the mango still smells sweet
and
boys give my their chapstick for i've long since run out of mine.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Raised in California grew up in the hood
It’s where I first discovered my morning wood
***** I did detect became my *** ***
Creating what looked like a perfect tee ***
Didn't understand I was very young
I would play Cowboys and Indians with it just for fun
Till one day I saw my first pair of ****
Looked at my pants I was hard and stiff
Pop’s ******* magazines laid around for fun?
I’m a ****** Scorpio I figured out how to ***
The girls noticed me knew I was wild
Would grabby feel me up I was no longer a child
My **** is like a clock keeping time like it should
My sunrise with a surprise My Morning Wood!
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
Flipping threw my old yearbook
I see girls who were once gorgeous
tooken my the devils hand
pregnant and life beaten now
horrendous
I remember seeing them
with there cheerleading outfits on
As I sat in a corner by myself
I here them laughing and chatting
about going to tonys house after school
I remember tony strong handsome captain of the highschool world
I saw him two weeks ago
With his hands covering his face
And a shot next to him
3 empty beers infront
He really let himself go I remember thinking
fat and forgotten about
still clinging to that highschool dream
I remember him saying I was a loser as he flipped my lunch tray
and humiliated me by reading my little notebook of writes
I remember saying to him
one day ill have the last laugh
one day ill see you down and out
and you'll ask me for a handout
going back to the bar I sit down
A couple stools down to see if he recognised me
He finished his 3 beers as I finished my long island ice tee
he said to the bar tender I gotta ***
be right back
I followed him to the restroom
and we were a ****** apart
I looked over and seen his small patheic *****
as I looked at my *****
I laughed
and I laughed
and I laughed
looked over at tony
and said see sir
I did get the last laugh
and I left
I hope he knows me now
I hope he knows me now
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
How can I be myself if you are my vampire?
I can never sleep at night.
The windows won’t stay closed.
You come and go as you please when
I am in my pajamas, such as they are
A tee shirt and underpants
You are always trying to mesmerize me
But it is you who is really
Always you
Who can blame you?
It must be complete torture to look at me
And feel me
But never possess me
If you could only eat me.
If you were my Siamese twin I would **** you
Can you imagine?
I would hack you off with no qualms
Or saw slowly, it doesn’t much matter
Even if I bled out
You are a quagmire.
An existence always with you
You knowing me better than I know myself
Listening to my thoughts
Stealing everything and thinking it’s yours
I am not you
And you are not me
We are not a we
I am not the key to your survival
You, a peculiar abscess
That faces me and holds a conversation
That wants to do this or that
The endless talking.
The windows closed
The heavy curtains drawn
Me in my underwear
I’d watch you while you slept
Thinking about crosses and solutions
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
I was driving home last eve
She said,"Ma! Look! Tee hee! They
love
each other!"
To the left of the single lane,
in the tall golden hay,
sat a couple
She sat with her back to him,
between his legs
He, held her in his arms
as the sun sliced the sky
I stopped,
right on the road
Honey suckle blowing in the late breeze
I watched them,
We watched them
for just a bit
They loved each other
And all I wanted
was to be the honeysuckle
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
The Purple People come in many sizes, from small to extra-large – some are quiet and smiley, while others are louder and chatty. What they have in common, apart from the obvious distinctive pigment, is a welcoming demeanour that makes you feel that you have perhaps met them before or that you would like to meet them again.
I first met a Purple Person as I climbed the steps, looking for reassurance that I wasn’t late and that I wouldn’t stand out too much in my nervous newness. I’m not sure what it was about their purpleness, but I felt one step closer to acceptance as I walked into the warm.
I saw the matching purple banners and smiled at the attention to detail and the attention given to me which, while practiced, was far from forced and held a genuine purpleness.
I met other Purple People at intervals, each with the purple family likeness of a smile, even though their heritage varied in shade. The further I walked, the more I relaxed and found that some of the Purple People weren’t wearing the signature purple tee shirts, but it was clear they came from the same palette because their welcome carried the same purple weight and the same authentic purpleness.
This shouldn’t have been surprising, as I soon discovered that they each bore the same purple family likeness of the Purple King who welcomes everyone.
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 2:48 AM UTC
The principal in a cool cartoon tee
His fashion sneakers squeaking across the floor
Sets out candy, pizzas, and canned sodas
Arranges a door prize, and assembles the faculty
Requires them to sign in so he can check on them
Orders them to hold hands and sing the school song
Reminds them they are all one big family
As a preface to his primary agenda:
To tell them to be more professional
The principal in a cool cartoon tee
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
When winter's glaze is lifted from the greens,
And cups are freshly cut, and birdies sing,
Triumphantly the stifled golfer preens
In cleats and slacks once more, and checks his swing.
This year, he vows, his head will steady be,
His weight-shift smooth, his grip and stance ideal;
And so they are, until upon the tee
Befall the old contortions of the real.
So, too, the tennis-player, torpid from
Hibernal months of television sports,
Perfects his serve and feels his knees become
Sheer muscle in their unaccustomed shorts.
Right arm relaxed, the left controls the toss,
Which shall be high, so that the racket face
Shall at a certain angle sweep across
The floated sphere with gutty strings--an ace!
The mind's eye sees it all until upon
The courts of life the faulty way we played
In other summers rolls back with the sun.
Hope springs eternally, but spring hopes fade.
5.7k
It's crazy how you once called me baby
crazy how everything has gone hazy
And crazy how I can't breath without shaking
It's funny how you once said you loved me
Funny how everything is hanging by a tee
And funny how I can't shake this wanton feeling to just be
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 4:14 AM UTC
Cutting out for a day.
Ducking into my room, my bed.
Thigh highs and a big tee.
Hair down, slow motion.
Everything easy.
Blaring arctic monkeys in my little room.
Smoke a pack, burning close to my lips.
Nicotine chaser to my
Otherwise closed-door emotions.
Stronger.
Add jack and green green Californian.
Glass eyes and a twisted tongue.
This is what the young are running to these days.
This is what I want to do,
Just have to find a way to be alone.
Can't wait for this,
For happiness.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
News announced today "cop kills a man in his own home".
Mistakes his apartment for hers, mistakes him for a burglar or
an easy target!
My Granny says "I bet she is white and he was black"? She used was since Botham is dead. Granny says "cops killing black body has been normalized since forever".
Three days later the news releases her name and photo.
My Granny was right. She is a white woman with Klansman's robes for eyes looking to **** a black man.
Amber tell me did you sit in your car for 15 hours carving Botham's name on the bullet that killed him before going to his apartment?
Did you want his apartment to reflect the same color as
the red mat in front of his door?
Oh, you didn't notice that,
or did you just decide to take a shot in the dark,
while Botham was in his home resting effortlessly?
It was too dark for you to see that was not your apartment, but lit enough to see him to shoot him in his chest.
Amber, I bet your heart is cut from the same
cloth as your mother's "All Lives Matter" Tee Shirt.
Botham's Mother says his heart was made by angels.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
want to throw ya in designers
tear the streets up, just you and me
you know what i'm thinking
go to bed wearing your white tee
our loving's like super bae though
hearts been broken before
and our feet's kind of sore
losing control, shades of grey
blind against the world, rainbow casting
its ghost across the cloudy sky's sweep
how can we leap when we limping?
how can we laugh when we weep?
only together, dont tell ya friends
i have a soft spot in my insides for you
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC
I have stomach aches
Caused from the hole deep within me
Where the butterflies ate away at the flesh that I was
You see butterflies are nasty little things
They like to come when you want…to come.
For that special someone
But I have butterflies for people that don’t know I do.
So I tried to fill the hole with honey
With vanilla
With anything that I could get my sticky fingers on.
The only thing my fingers got on was me
And then they got me off
Because I have this hole
This deep burning hole that gives me stomach aches
That I want to fill with peaches
With kiwi
With pomegranates
Sometimes the stomach aches come in the night
When I lay there in my peach colored sheets
Pulling at an old band tee shirt until it comes off
And I become a writhing mess in the witching hours
But sometimes my stomach aches for the boy that wears sweaters
It twist and turn and the hole will scream from my abdomen
“Give me”
I want to kiss his lips
I want to stain his sheets with my ***
But then the ache goes away
I’ll get an ache for the arrogant and snarky boy
When he sits there with long, admirable fingers
I want him to dig them into me
And sometimes my stomach aches for me
It aches for the day that I can completely satisfy myself
In every aspect a human ever could
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
How will we progress today?
Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?
Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?
Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?
Will we defy authority with a righteous tone,
Or leave our tail tucked, like a dog with his bone?
Will we gauge goods today for our Vegan menu,
Or show a distention as millions today do?
Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose our pickings from picked-over trash?
Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend a visitation in a tortured MADD rage?
Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching the hourglass?
Did we place our script at the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across water to Jordan's fair shore?
Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off our bar stool?
Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?
Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station in life gives you right?
Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?
Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds,
Few are born with silver spoons,
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing group flight,
And it can't come too soon.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
I think in Japanese,
write down my thoughts in English,
then twist it all back into sushi:
a tasty bite to eat.
My mind is like origami
folding thoughts into meditation;
meditation unfolds
into a crisp sheet of city lights.
I love you big much,
love you big time;
I love the way you giggle nervously.
Titter-titter,
"Tee-hee-hee!"
It must be amazing to find everything so funny.
Big city, sake sunset;
a karaoke moon rises
over a robotic, neon inception.
(transmutation)
Transformers, Transformers:
autobotic-neurotic Bumblebee
comes to the aid of Samurai Prime.
"Autobots, transform!!"
Bored of the bright lights?
Weary of the snappy-happy gaijin
doing photo-photo
while they look for a sweet sakura-panpan?
Then take a leisurely stroll up to Hokkaido,
where there's less sucky-sucky,
and more bow-down-low-austerity
alongside the 108 gongs a-bonging.
Chant a few prayers,
speak with the sacred cedars,
take a dip in the hot springs
with some smiling monkeys,
and watch snow fall, together.
Nippon, you offer everything.
I can eat 20 times a day
without gaining a pound.
There's always more room
for miso, chanko nabe, shabu-shabu,
gyozo, okonomiyaki—
I am going to stop writing this list
so that I don't drown in my saliva.
I refuse to look back,
refuse to go back to the boredom
of white picket fences and hamburger dreams;
I want to stay here forever.
I love you big much,
love you big time;
totemo ureshii da.
March 1st, 2012
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 10:17 AM UTC
No second chances!
No do-overs!
That is one of the regreatable rules of time.
No more pigtails & pretty dresses,
No more Horsey-back & Piggy-back rides,
No more Tee-ball & Soccer,
No more Marry Poppens & Wizard of OZ,
No more Popcorn & Video games,
No more homework & bed time stories,
No more marshmellow roasts & snipe hunts,
No more sand castles & sand dollars,
No more Sparklers & Pinwheels.
No time to pause & reflect!
It can only cause regret!
Enjoy it along the way while you can.
Everything is temporary.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
Every year it was brought down from the garage rafters. Green metal frame and
springs, green canvas with white fringe and a little green pillow. It was laid out, hosed
off and erected. Grandpa couldn't have done it without us grand kids. He said so. It
was placed in a spot of honor. Just a couple of feet from the picnic table and in a spot
that was always in the afternoon shade. A folding T.V. tray was placed next to it to
hold cold drinks and snacks. Within a few days, the grass under the frame would be
brown and dead. The grass at the sides of the hammock would just be plain gone.
Scuffed away by feet, as we kids sat on the edge and swayed side to side.
After mowing the lawn, washing the car, or doing any other chores needed, Grandpa
would go inside and put on his "Hammock clothes". This consisted of a pair of Bermuda
shorts and a ribbed tank style Tee. White socks and brown sandals completed the
outfit. Once dressed appropriately, he would head for the hammock. The first "sit" of
the summer season was always a bit touchy. One had to get use to the hang of it.
There he would stand, next to the hammock. Cold drink in his one hand, the T.V. tray
forgotten. His slightly bald head and stick thin legs already slightly sun burned. Slowly,
he would start to lower himself. Reaching back with his free hand to grab the edge of
the hammock.
Note** of course us kids, grandma and mom would all be spying out of the corner of
our eyes to watch this ritual.
Then came the "Grandpa Sit". Grandpa would rock slightly forward and back on his
feet. 1-2-3 and ....SIT! A few wobbles. A couple sloshes of his lemonade. All of us
yelling "Whooooaaaaaa". He would sit there on the edge of the hammock, holding
himself steady with one hand on the edge. His feet firmly planted on the grass and his
other hand holding his cold drink high aloft.
Now, the sandals needed to be taken off. One of us grand kids would run over and
help take them off. Tickling his feet as we did so.
So far, no damage to life or limb.
Ah, but he was not yet fully on the hammock yet.
Now came the "Swing and lie down" move.
Slowly, grandpa would reach behind himself and grasp the far edge of the canvas.
drink in his other hand still held aloft. O.K.....1-2-3...SWING the legs up and quickly lie
back. Let the hammock come to a stop.
Where's Grandpa?
On the ground on the other side of the hammock soaked in lemonade.
Summer was officially started!
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 11:02 AM UTC
I
On a little piece of wood,
Mr. Spikky Sparrow stood;
Mrs. Sparrow sate close by,
A-making of an insect pie,
For her little children five,
In the nest and all alive,
Singing with a cheerful smile
To amuse them all the while,
Twikky wikky wikky wee,
Wikky bikky twikky tee,
Spikky bikky bee!
II
Mrs. Spikky Sparrow said,
'Spikky, Darling! in my head
'Many thoughts of trouble come,
'Like to flies upon a plum!
'All last night, among the trees,
'I heard you cough, I heard you sneeze;
'And, thought I, it's come to that
'Because he does not wear a hat!
'Chippy wippy sikky tee!
'Bikky wikky tikky mee!
'Spikky chippy wee!
III
'Not that you are growing old,
'But the nights are growing cold.
'No one stays out all night long
'Without a hat: I'm sure it's wrong!'
Mr. Spikky said 'How kind,
'Dear! you are, to speak your mind!
'All your life I wish you luck!
'You are! you are! a lovely duck!
'Witchy witchy witchy wee!
'Twitchy witchy witchy bee!
Tikky tikky tee!
IV
'I was also sad, and thinking,
'When one day I saw you winking,
'And I heard you sniffle-snuffle,
'And I saw your feathers ruffle;
'To myself I sadly said,
'She's neuralgia in her head!
'That dear head has nothing on it!
'Ought she not to wear a bonnet?
'Witchy kitchy kitchy wee?
'Spikky wikky mikky bee?
'Chippy wippy chee?
V
'Let us both fly up to town!
'There I'll buy you such a gown!
'Which, completely in the fashion,
'You shall tie a sky-blue sash on.
'And a pair of slippers neat,
'To fit your darling little feet,
'So that you will look and feel,
'Quite galloobious and genteel!
'Jikky wikky bikky see,
'Chicky bikky wikky bee,
'Twikky witchy wee!'
VI
So they both to London went,
Alighting on the Monument,
Whence they flew down swiftly--pop,
Into Moses' wholesale shop;
There they bought a hat and bonnet,
And a gown with spots upon it,
A satin sash of Cloxam blue,
And a pair of slippers too.
Zikky wikky mikky bee,
Witchy witchy mitchy kee,
Sikky tikky wee.
VII
Then when so completely drest,
Back they flew and reached their nest.
Their children cried, 'O Ma and Pa!
'How truly beautiful you are!'
Said they, 'We trust that cold or pain
'We shall never feel again!
'While, perched on tree, or house, or steeple,
'We now shall look like other people.
'Witchy witchy witchy wee,
'Twikky mikky bikky bee,
Zikky sikky tee.'
3.5k
Late last night I saw something fall from the sky,
I happened to be in the kitchen making tuna on rye.
As I looked out my window it landed in my yard.
It crushed the pink flamingos, the wife took it hard.
I stood there at the window taking in the sight,
Bright lights flashing red, blue, and white.
Then suddenly a door slid open, I was seized by fright.
But my wife had gone out the door, in her hand a kitchen knife.
As the little green man stepped out, he was looking fine,
In a tye dye tee shirt, waving his hands in a peace sign,
Looking like he had come straight from the sixties,
I think he was expecting to find some hippies.
Thinking this guy might be peaceful, I tackled my wife,
As she dropped the knife, I yelled, "He might be nice".
The little green man then pulled out a bic and gave it a flick,
As he held two finger to his lips, I realized his vice.
As I had given that up long ago, I had nothing to share.
But the little guys face showed such despair,
I went into the house and got the beer from the fridge,
And grabbed the Nacho Doritos for this astorial kid.
We sat on the lawn chairs out under the sky,
drinking the beer, eating tuna on rye.
I asked where he was from, he just pointed up.
When we finished our beers, I said good luck.
Back to the spaceship the little man went,
his steps were unsteady, I think he was spent.
He got in the spaceship and closed the door.
As I waved goodby, the spaceship took off with a roar.
I heard on the news later that night,
That something had crashed in a field, lips were tight.
But I heard a rumor, that someone was found alive.
I guess I should have told him not to drink and fly.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC