"underscore" poems
heard a voice as i died
in the cold moonlight
forty phantoms
breathing through me
and this wasted life
holds on too long
like a piano from the dark
and a mystic chord
i froze and woke in tandem
with the underscore
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
To say the darkness
Does indeed
Dwell inside of me
Becomes the pride of me
Would underscore
The fact
That the madman’s eyes
Loosens my lunatic tongue
The scowling beast
His drooling jowls
The anguished cries
How he howls
The hunger
Left unsated
The feast
For which he waited
The beast will have his
Ways with
Life and all of her bounties
And then what lies within
Will settle once again
The foaming mouth will pass
The hunger is not meant to last
And I will be me
Once more
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.
Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.
________________________
To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).
_____________________
But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.
it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.
Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.
__________________________________
You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.
_______________________________
I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.
So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.
After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.
Before, I was a skeptic, ********
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.
Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.
___________________________
now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
She is the typesetter’s “e”
The once-rounded uncial script,
Unbroken like the solemn vow of a monk,
His whisper, a shepherd of words under the cowl,
Murmurations of the Holy Mother to the lambswool shroud of candlelight.
His candle-flock of dreams to some hill of penitent towers, war-cowed
And broken open like faith-unfended helmets, littering the ground,
With their unspeaking tassels in babbling pagan sound of wind,
That hill too, once-rounded bare under the glittering apostles of twilight.
In the abbeywork of air, calligraphy was a cipher of souls,
He unwrested demons from an inkwell of sunsets, smothered them in blotting paper,
Freed the incarnate whole to the book of hours, nib-pointed in quills and illuminated in gold,
Line by line, in Carolingian winding sheets, he returned the misshapen to the fold,
To the carpet page of home and the warm ligatures of their waiting women.
So the shutters of the heavenly house could blow light in slanted rays to a wilderness in storm.
But he never tamed the aero-elongated, descender of Troy in a “t,”
He never knew the unholiness of the underscore or fonts as ******
Or the world unwilling to know itself in serif robes of ancient lore.
His life was a simple rounded-out syllable of one man,
Left in the muddied, unintelligible text of faith and war.
She is the typesetter’s “e” and now belongs to any hand.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 9:21 PM UTC
intermission with the UMSL Orchestra
The backstage hall was wall-to-wall smiles.
Just moments before,
Barbara Harbach had charged the stage
after we premiered her joyous Jubilee Symphony
screaming at them all the way,
"That was spectacular"!
The Arianna Quartet's Kurt and Joanna
stormed down the steps
spewing out pieces of their minds
in no uncertain terms
"excellent" - "great job" - "beautiful".
I preferred to hang out on the edge
wrapped in the silken echoes
of Tchaikovsky's Andante cantabile
(so eloquently sung by our youthful strings).
Intermission was up and it was
back to work time.
In the abyss of despair
over his dying ears,
Beethoven flooded the world
with the blazing sunglow
of his prophetic second symphony
and it was now up to us
to pass on the word.
Just call me,
"Grateful (underscore) 1".
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Downside up
In relevant confusion
Awakening in a slanted dream
It seems
Everything rhymes with orange
And you love me
SIDEWAYS EIGHT
More times than I love you
Broken mirrors
Are nothing but good luck
Four leaf clovers
And run for the hills
It seems
Everything rhymes with month
And I love you
Just not in that way
So you COLON, OPEN PARENTHESES
More than me
The moon's intense heat
Lights the day
While rain falls
From the grass to the clouds
It seems
Everything rhymes with wolf
And when I rejected you
You COLON, APOSTROPHE, OPEN PARENTHESESED
A little
Spiders are mans best friend
Children sleep with darkeners
In fear of light
And fairytale princesses
It seems
Everything rhymes with purple
And I feel sorry
That you love me
Leaving me with a COLON, SLASH
The stars are my only enemy
Crying at night brings me joy
And I cut myself
Because I desperately want to live
It seems
Everything rhymes with rhythm
And it's my fault
That your LESS THAN SIGN, SLASH, THREE
…
Sleeping into reality
Falling out of mirages
With a
DASH, UNDERSCORE, DASH
Look on my face
It seems
Nothing rhymes with orange.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.
Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.
_______
To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).
_____
But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.
it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.
Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.
__________
You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.
_________
I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.
So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.
After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.
Before, I was a skeptic, ********
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.
Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.
________
now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
In old New Orleans
Musical lumberjacks
Legitimizing their axes;
Just piano, clarinet,
Bass and the drums.
Bringing jazz back
And then some.
The cat could play
That skinny long black horn,
Hotter clarinet than
Anybody ever born,
He kept hitting notes
So pure and high
We felt each note
In our eyes!
And, if you chance by
Remember this,
They don’t allow dancing.
But when the drummer
Makes works those skins
And makes them talk out
There is plenty of toe-tapping
And nobody ever walks out.
Then, when the guy
Plays that bass fiddle
He adds an underscore
To top bottom and middle.
It’s an underbeat of grace
That will fill the rest space
And the hearts of all
In this overcrowded place.
Vintage jazz roars out
Of an old, old piano
Played by a happy madman
With fingers afire, he knows
He’s got them hooked;
He’s making them wild
As he wails on those keys
He looks out and smiles
And he puts the Satchmo touch
On those old-timey songs
And once in a while
They ask us to sing along.
For the past forty-six years
Those ugly plastered walls
Have never hear so many
Gratefully rendered curtain calls
From an audience of clerks and swells.
On Bourbon Street’s Fritzel’s.
Through hurricanes and beers
Like stepping back a hundred years.
Fats is still playing, Bessie singing
Original jazz music is still swinging.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
The night, steeped in legend and mystery, has its own special place.
The cold wind that blows through the darkness rustle the shadows under the moonlight.
The pitch black oceans move to it's own rhythms.
The universe, full of darkness and light heed nights call and with the utmost certainty, the stars come out.
They exist only on the fingertips of fairies but shine like there is no tomorrow.
They are the main attraction and they do not disappoint, glowing the nears and fars within the infinite space.
Possibilities and wonder are a underscore; there are no rules, just imagination.
This is where I want to be.
Please take me there.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 7:27 AM UTC
*I close my eyes and see city lights
Intertwined with vines;
Flowers underscore pavement,
Life in matrimony with death and
All the beauty in between.*
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Your arms
ripping at the seams,
as your pain pours into
ordered lines.
Red warning tape.
I say nothing
as each night
you add another tally
to your rising score.
I don't want to make you uncomfortable.
Silent acknowledgement
hides in the gaps between glances
as you ask me
if the short sleeves are okay.
I tell you no one will notice,
that no one will care,
as my heart rises
to the back of my throat
and your arms
blur into a wet red.
We tread together but I
can't hold your hand.
Should I say something?
Should I ask up front?
Should I look at your eyes
and confront it?
Or is that a betrayal of the
comfort in my silence.
The silence of support or
a bystander's shame?
Is it all the same?
Reaching out, a lifeline,
a baseline of decency.
You underscore every emotion
in vermillion, powered by
something only you
can deal with. When you lean on me
to root you in place I can't move.
I am helpless against you.
I hold tissues to your
fissures and figure out the best
of the worst, and test the boundaries
of where it hurts.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC
character styles, characters we’ve missed
attempted to put on pedestals
characters whose wits got them out of the worst situations
or whose worst qualities got them into the best ones
who have been balding and have ended up heroes
who have overcome obstacles, some
some who had less and and achieved more
but achievement seems to be the underscore, yes
of nationality? of pride? of masculinity? of assertion? hard to say
do we need more stories in more forms or fewer stories and more individuality, more self-awareness,
awareness, awareness, awareness, funny word thrown around a lot
do people even know? most of the time they don’t, they are staring down at their shoes
or some characters are looking up at the sky
anyways, they don’t understand the issue, what is at stake, stop celebrating! start studying!
or you are studying too much! the wrong drugs, the right drugs! too much of the right thing can make anyone go insane
or the other way around, the right amount of the wrong thing can make anyone go freely about their day, and
achieve, back to that word
and what does it even mean? to achieve something? greater than yourself? for yourself to be a reflection of that thing? or that thing to be a reflection of self?
man, we could debate about this for hours, where’s my coffee? or beer, or wine, your choosing
man, what did I have for breakfast, I honestly forgot
or no, it was toast and cofffee, yes I think its time for a stiff drink now
and then another hour to achieve something, to write something, to widdle something, to create something that was not there before
but some say GO, ** BA HA! to hell with objectivity, everything is recycled, nothing more
and they wave their hands about as if it was borrowed from a magician, and their hearts flare up with some sort of richeousness, and they achieve…rightness?
back to that again…achievement…what does it even mean?
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Asian liposuction feeling the fingers of my mind piling the ripped up chipped up crap from the side of the face to the plate put out in front of my lips to kiss the endless stream of a violent dream and all of the seams are ripped and I’m dark inside.
No where to be hyde or swallow my pride I have nothing left but my bare naked self in the cold of my unfettered failure.
Killing me softly with all the softcore underscore. Oh what a bore.
Such a slap in the face is the endless disgrace that peels though the soul like a razor maypole.
Grand is the shame that once was a game and ends with the fact that I’m deaf and dumb.
I’ve up and confessed.
So it’s over... but still missing
The body, the eyes, the flesh and the thighs, the hair and the lips unyielding.
The mind and the soul. The joy of the whole, and the love I could give so selflessly.
Twas numbing like a needle, or bottle.
Distracting from a cold, cruel, crack in the wall.
Yet up on the wings of an eagles
I’ll resist the pull of the fall.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
So far things have been pretty great.
Not much to complain about.
Ever food upon my plate.
And yet to be blessed with gout.
I started as a little boy.
Probably crying. Who cares or knows?
Turned into a crawling bag of blood.
Ten fingers and ten toes.
A fun but forgotten formation.
With morning baths my plight.
Mountains of information.
Before a slumbered switch of light.
Sometimes sleep eluded me.
Sometimes I eluded it.
But food was always fresh and free.
Computer monitor always lit.
Avoiding smoked pressure.
As a rarely rebellious teen.
The black of my shirts a measure.
Of the horrors I've yet to see.
Some studies, stress and cars.
Normal, expected, much like most.
Some loves, regrets and bars.
Some bacon, eggs and toast.
-----------
Or
-----------
Like the many, many others.
With ever waning health.
Untouched by a loving mother.
Not born with relative wealth.
I sleep in slums, streets and shacks.
With whole hunger in my eyes.
I live inside the calloused cracks.
Of a veiled, dirt disguise.
Today's another closing door.
Another dose of killing time.
To letters I am an underscore.
The darkest beam of sunshine.
Tomorrow seems like much the same.
More escaping to get by.
Living inside the cruelest game.
Difficulty set to high.
The transparent cloak I wear.
Has been through the coldest times.
It protects me from the stares.
Of their perfect, endless eyes.
I am nothing but these begging hands
Nothing but a will to cope.
A lack of plans and fashion brands.
The lack of a noosed hope.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
We came to the concert and I saw you
From that moment there was nothing I could do.
At that same moment, you also saw me
And the changed my day, my life and history.
They played Jedarian and we both cheered
It had been our favorite for over a year
But we didn’t know it
Because we didn’t know us
But now we knew, because we were here.
It felt like magic because it never happened
Not in all the time of dating many strangers
But something told us to pay close attention
And, just this once, there was no danger.
We were watching our life change course
Something was happening that moved us.
Fate was being a perfect lady and for sure
She was with us and would never lose us.
They played Jedarian and we both cheered
It had been our favorite for over a year
But we didn’t know it
Because we didn’t know us
But now we knew, because we were here.
It had to be right that our song was played
The gentle music and the mellow words
Seemed to underscore the future of love
It played, we sang along and we both heard.
I never saw anyone in all my life and time
Who so perfectly made me smile and speak.
We started on our journey together then
And after years, we have not reached the peak.
They played Jedarian and we both cheered
It had been our favorite for over a year
But we didn’t know it
Because we didn’t know us
But now we knew, because we were here.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
Her face is a sour
Washed out ugly gray
Similar to that of dishwater
With greenish clumps
That closely resemble
Floating milk clods in the
Center of her face
For eyes
Her hair is a worn out
Expanse of stringed greasy mess
As if she'd dunked it into a fry cook's sink
And left it to sit
With the occasional underscore
Of a darker, muddy brown
Streaks of feces throughout her head
For highlights
Her body is such a frail
Structure of porous bones and blood
A once pure white is soiled with
Brownish blood red speckles and smears
Like the horrid remains of a wolf’s meal
She can’t even hold herself up and she
Shudders and shakes constantly like some
Sort of like a hypothermic deadbeat
She’s so undeniably ugly and
Disgusting feeble and poor
But how would you feel if I
A relatively sane, accepted member of society
Was able to see something in this horrid girl that I loved?
You’d never accept it and you’d no longer recognize me
For finding love the wasn’t perfectly suited to your ideals
My love has to be pretty
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 9:41 AM UTC
there it is
that reminder
something is missing
though i never had it
what is it
it was a plan
i thought anyway
a task i need to do
maybe it's not important
is it real
did it exist
maybe i'm broken
is this a metaphor
is this moment my whole life
a string of useless empty thoughts
another day
another underscore
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
I'm sitting in a theater and watching my life on the screen
Every song I've ever loved plays in the background
I see myself underscored by lyrics I wish I wrote
All of my moments are time perfectly
To crescendo and dissolve on cue
And it fades to black before we see my big decision
Do I run from the edge? Do I hide myself away again?
Or do I pursue the life I seem to crave,
And earn my sweeping cinematic moment
While my favorite song plays in the background?
The credits roll and the music presses on
And before long I realize
That I've been staring out a car window
Listening to music that makes my heart hurt
And wishing that life were scripted
Yet again
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
chugging a toxic concoction
liquid glass
underscore aftermath underscore bad omen
honestly personally to me
an omen is simply an omen
no connotations
you gotta do what the omen tells you to
then you go and do the next thing
no biggie
dilate my pupils
bless me
tick tick tick
tock tock
whoooooooooooooooooooom
and some fibonacci sequence song laced with electric guitar
what good does this do
you only ever speak in riddles
havent you ever had some of that good
wonton soup
i thought so
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Attempt to shine
flickering figurative klieg light
with the help of hyperbole
on poverty wrought
debutante material, this predicated
on my own unbiased thought
initially related during
my early boyhood,
how many countless
bachelor beaus sought
to pledge their troth,
who hailed (strictly
for purposes of this poem)
from Pennsauken,
Perth Amboy, Penobscot,
but thee essential truth ought
to be gleaned (lodged
as like some precious gem
within geode, qua Harriet Kuritsky,
who oft times recounted her
personal anecdotal information)
underlying veritable truth, I allude
means to underscore
how thine late mum
as the "baby" of her family
wore mantle of exclusive favoritism,
sans donning beautiful clothes
perfectly cared for,
coiffed, and curled hair
(think Shirley Temple)
as her older sisters brewed
festered, and steeped with jealousy,
asper me mother receiving
lion's share of blatant favoritism
all the while said long since
deceased maternal aunts got exclude
did from requisite
(shut heard textbook case) maternal love,
hence within their cerebral hood
incubated, evolved, and flourished
emotional disease affliction
with changeable mood
and thee Aunt Ruth oblivious,
while pacing hallway in the ****
whereat verbally abuse sent
both aunts to mental institution
insanity didst the
ultimate discordant prelude
resulting viz lifetime
of baleful, hateful, shameful,
and worthless venom got spewed,
hence no surprise
rabid mailer daemons
courted, thus psychosis easily wooed.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
If I was to write an underscore,
For my life, it would be full of changes,
A sea of dissonance with tiny outcrops of safety,
A deep, dark, angry piano,
Broken through briefly with strings,
And a flute to accompany my tears,
As they gently crawled down my cheek,
And there would be sudden key shifts
Leading into bursts of understanding,
And gentle nights of freedom,
Growing slowly into a bright promise of a future,
Filled with solos becoming a wall of brass,
Gaining confidence until I would stand,
And sing alone.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
Watching The Signs Of Aging
Watching the signs of aging;
Ultimately,
Finally
An end.
Notice, I don’t say THE end.
Not a film, a flimsy bit of flimflam,
A clouded artificiality, life imitated, intimated.
As stated:
A downgrading: witless and insensate,
Thinning at the temples,
Eyebrow hairs a crazy zigzag;
Tummy more rotund and round;
Fingers, which, however trained
No longer want to grasp or grip.
Compression of the whole foundation
Underscore the downward trip.
Aging signals watched with care –
Obviously there! Involuntary!
Glasses that you never needed;
Tender spots you never heeded.
Fragile scenes that make you weep.
Couplets which you once thought cheap
Resorted to, which you now keep.
Compensations: pensions, patience;
Many words that end in –pence
Because, and just because
All signs become a Santa Claus:
Signs of good –
That is, when you are in the mood.
Stiff fingers finding newer ways to play piano, open jars,
The mental auto-search a galaxy of syndrome-stars
Bursting unused.
No longer worrying ‘bout standards,
You’ve your own.
No need to join
The middling crowd,
The mediocre: in reality, the herd.
Small ambitions,
Minimized conditions
All good and fine, but still
Signs of aging ultimately will
Win out.
Watching The Signs Of Aging 12.5.2016
Circling Round Aging; Birth, Death & In Between II; Bath Book II;
Arlene Corwin
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
I hear that plaintiff sound again, in far off... haunting celebration
The passing train and people bound together, unknown destination
And I, beside my fire become a mental traveler, in meditation
I almost feel the rhythm of the rails...
in quiet contemplation
I close my eyes and quickly ride the stream...
upon reflective wend
My thoughts extend out endlessly, the flames and I...
somehow transcend
Reality now lies exempt, to witness restless dreams ascend
Aboard this translunary journey, rendezvous...
the Eastern wind
Looking up, imagination dances in the cloudless skies
The stars there offer bright solution, introspection?...
improvised
Then silently, a memory reveals itself to my surprise
A glimpse of you, where just a trace of sorrow…
sadly stains your eyes
Again I hear the whistle blow, and like a thousand times before
It seems to summon loneliness, with emptiness to underscore
That there are things I placed upon your heart,
that I must answer for
I suddenly awake alone, the darkness there...
and nothing more
I rise to stoke the coals and so revive again...
the warming flame
And find I must submit, to thus reside in sorrows cruel domain
The clouds are dropping down, to so release the storm on me ...
again
But as I drift to sleep, the dreams persist...
and only these remain
To hear that lonesome zephyr weep again, it’s
mournful revelation
Within the rain that falls upon my heart, resides my desperation
Can heartaches headstone lie among the ruins,
at the final station?
I listen to the dear departed sounds of love…
in revocation.
Dean Evans
1-17-15
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Don't worry ‘bout me: I have a nice panga,
A pretty assegai, a Chukchi yaranga,
And I can start fire with some thin tiny twigs
By touching them a bit with my fishnet stockings.
In the Atlas I tamed the last of the lions;
In the Ngorongoro cheetahs feared my irons;
In the Rocky Mountains I made all grizzlies pant;
And in Tamil Nadu tigers purred in my hand.
‘Cuz for kisses, it’s true: I do never resist,
And every man I like, I track him on the pist,
I find him and ****** and finally kiss him.
As for peeled vultures though, hillbilly noisy dogs,
Big black or green mambas, stinky naughty warthogs:
I do always cook them but never embrace them...
Read by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth :
Please note: In the link address, the word "UNDERSCORE" (2x) has to be replaced by the typographic sign of the underscore (Alt+095).
https://www.cjoint.com/doc/18UNDERSCORE05/HEzhgrx8p4AUNDERSCOREIn-love-in-the.mp3
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC