Poems

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My grandfather stayed at the French Retreat,

Where no staff or faculty knew defeat.

So when his three dogs, Jet, Phoenix, and Gypsy,

Came along for a ride, things got rather sticky.

They hid in the lunch room until the week was complete,

And began the doom of the French Retreat.

My grandfather stayed at the French Retreat,

Where some of the staff had witnessed defeat.

The sausages had vanished; Jet, Phoenix, and Gypsy

kept candid, so the solution was trippy.

Since the chefs only knew no plate’s meal was complete,

They thought paranormal the French Retreat.

My grandfather stayed at the French Retreat,

Where many a staffer saw the approach of defeat

Food supply was in shortage. Jet, Phoenix, and Gypsy

Grew poly, so hiding became rather tricky.

Without culinary service, no camp is complete;

The cooking staff fled the French Retreat.

My grandfather stayed at the French Retreat,

Where every employee suffered defeat

At the hands of three heroes: Jet, Phoenix, and Gypsy,

Whose voracious tyranny shamed Mississippi.

So when the camp’s life span was complete,

The dogs left their ghostly mark on the French Retreat.

She thought she saw a telephone

that pledged a fossil drive

She looked again, and found it was

a smashed-up Hornet hive

“I dread to think,” she said, “the resi-

dents are still alive!”

She thought she saw a daffodil

that played a violin

She looked again, and found it was

a poison dart-toad fin

“The man who misses this,” she said,

“is one who cannot win!”

She thought she saw her dream come true

complete with butter-scotch

She looked again, and found it was

a footman off his watch

“It’s back to work with you,” she said,

“or I will kick your crotch!”

She thought she saw cherry stone

cajoling on the roof

She looked again, and found it was

a purple pony’s hoof

“I can’t move it myself,” she said,

“I’ll need a hungry wolf!”

She thought she saw a microwave

a-hangin’ upside down

She looked again, and found it was

a cozy little town

“It’s so granduer,” she said, “I’ll go

outside in my night gown!”

She thought she saw a barbeque

with calliflour meat

She looked again, and found it was

a taco incomplete

“Though some may spit it out,” she said,

“I think it rather sweet!”

She thought she saw a tea kettle

with most malevolent steam

She looked again, and found it was

a communist regime

“I’ll keep my wealth,” she gruffly said,

“Stingy as it may seem.”

She thought she saw a wheelbarrow

carrying lots and lots

She looked again, and found it was

a bulb of 7 watts

“What trickery!” she said, “These wretched

advertising plots!”

She thought she saw a novelist

with whom she had been schooled

She looked again, and found it was

a grizzly bear who drooled

“Alas,” she said, “It is the truth;

My eyes cannot be fooled!”

My head placed upon my pillow,

a pair of buzzards circled around

like a relentless ceiling fan.

if I had the choice to do it over,

would I agree to do it?

A lot has crawled into the cavities

of my brain the past few months:

The undead creeper,

the unwelcome weekday,

the ineffable disease.

It follows me to work each day,

It slithers down the sidewalk,

It crouches under my desk,

writhing in grave anticipation,

waiting to put out a sticky paw.

But all the potholes, grooves and ravines,

Are all the kind that have been crossed by others.

Broken legs, dislocated knees

lend themselves to everyone.

I've had many, and I'll have more.

And when it's all over,

After walking barefoot through

a field of broken glass,

I will take my reward.

And invite my parents to come along,

every step of the way. 

"If you've got a heart then Gumby's a part of you."

~The Gumby Show Theme Song Lyrics

From the “perpetrator’s” perspective:

With me in my inconspicuous turquoise gown,

no one’s going to guess me out.

Camouflaged by its lusterless uniform one-piece,

no one’s going to double-take.

If this town were a giant eyeball,

it would be missing its optic cord;

I’ve got speed.

I’m looking at a pack of cigarettes and seven tens in my future,

So no one’s going to guess my plan.

In a treasure cove of slackers who look the other way,

no one’s going to trip me up.

Where there is an age-limit to employment,

there is a stack of green whose destination is my pocket;

I’ve got philosophy.

Behind a mask of artificial clay anatomy,

no one’s going to misestimate.

There’s a thwart-device in my pocket,

so no one’s going to disobey.

unless you invest in my will-power,

I will invest in your demise;

I’ve got charisma.