“YOUR LOVE IS PERFECT!” a poem. Tuesday: MAY 1st a.k.a.: “H Starts The Heart!”
My lover’s concerned that – she’s just “right” for me!
“I want to be HELPFUL, I really must be, To insure that I’m doing the right things for you; I don’t want you ever to feel tense or blue!”
“Oh, Darling, I’m HAPPY; your love HEALS me – You fill me with HOPE; Honey, please hear my plea: (That) You never imagine (that) our love’s less than HOT, You’re all that I’ve wanted!”
And, then, She said: “What?!”
“YES, your love fills my HUNG-r-RY Heart, this I tell; my lovely best friend; yes, you love, oh so well!”
- Monsters under your bed ~
“IF YOU FIND THEM!” a poem a.k.a.: “Integration!” July 15, 2019: Monday
IF you check-for and-find MONSTERS! under-your-bed,
Remember: You are just – gazing INTO YOUR HEAD!
For, whatever “terrors” you might see,
Are-already RESIDING-THERE, inside of Thee!
So, here’s some-hopefully – acceptable advice!
Just crawl under your bed (Don’t think twice!)
And make FRIENDS – with YOUR “monsters” INTRODUCE-THEM-TO:
Their BEST FRIEND! who-is-ALWAYS-YOU!
Kiss them! Hug them! Make them feel AT HOME!
Tell them: “CLIMB UP HERE!” into “My Pleasure Dome!”
And, after you’ve gathered them all in,
Tell them – that: “YOU (they) ARE-N O T ‘refuse and sin,’
Rather, you are THE MOST POWERFUL ALLIES I’VE GOT!”
And (IF YOU WANT) have a big party – Offer-them: “toasts!” A LOT!
For, THIS IS INTEGRATION! = bringing-all-parts-of-you-together!
Now, you-can bear-chains! wield-whips! and wear-LEATHER!
For, “Integration” is a nice place to be!
It means: You-need-never-again-fear-yourself! & Ireland, you’ll-always-see!
fin <3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1M5dGEkwmlM
“SHE!’ a poem about: AFTER The Musical “Nunsense!” July 15, 2019 (Monday)
“THAT! WAS- SUCH-NUNSENSE, [for] – BOTULISM*-would-never-dare,
To-take-any-of-OUR-NUNS! For, she-was-Catholic, with FAITH-T’-SPARE!
[I overheard this comment, AS NUNS PO(o)URED-out-into-The-SUL-try-Evening-Air!]
It seems-as-if the girls (THE GIRLS! – from the Play)
Had undressed! (and-were-coming-to-greet-us!**) LET-US PRAY:
“Lord, Oh-Lord – of Heaven above,
Well, one-of-The-[XXX]-Nuns-heard-this, and-grabbed-me-by-the-arm!
“Are you The Origami Fellow?”** I-reeled! with-such-alarm,
Before-answering: “Yes, Sister! ‘Twas me!”
“Well, I declare: MIGHT’N-THERE-EVER-BE A-OUI,
In-all-this-World? That might-include – us-TWO?”
“O. M. G.!” I thought! THIS! was THE-GIRL I’d-been alerted-to,
AVOID! Avoid! Avoid! – at-any-cost!
My-friends-had-warned-me (on “good” authority): “‘S H E’-HAS-often-‘CROSSED,’
MANY-A-BOUNDARY, many A LINE,
Corrupting hapless souls – LIKE YOU! SO! Do-NOT-pine,
For THIS FALLEN SISTER! who-has-sadly lost-The-Habit,
Of being chaste-and-poor! [Beware!] She’ll-take-JUICE***-and-dab-it,
ALL OVER YOU! Yes, our-brother – All-bloody over-you!”
But – IT WAS TOO LATE! for, suddenly, I CHASTE HER TOO,
Just like COUNTLESS – lost – and hopeless souls,
Who-had succum[b]ed – to HER, known-as: THE SHE OF MANY HOLES,
For, SHE-has-(literally)-RIPPED-The-Hearts-of(many)men -from their chests!
SHE simply-adores having: WAYWARD GUESTS!
So, men (and boys) I write this now, to warn you about:
SHE! A-Nun! It’s NO nunsense! For, IN-OR-OUT,
OF SEASON, a-fallen-nun, like-botulism, needs-no-reason,
To-DEFILE! and-corrupt! for, to HER – it-is-pleasin’ ,
To DESTROY ALL IT SEES, despite God-or-any thing!
HOLD ONTO “YOUR PRECIOUS,” Lords; use THE “special ring!”
- In the musical “Nunsense,” botulism, or FOOD POISONING, kills several Sisters!
** – Perhaps to tell us how much they appreciated our donations to their convent – and TO THANK US!! I had donated a dollar bill cross & Star of David into The Plate!****
*** – The blood of Christ, of course **** – I told them we would have given more, but THAT WE WERE JEWISH!
- Respect ~
“RESPECT LOST; RESPECT RE-GAINED!” a poem a.k.a.: “Just Ask Around!” in the series: “Mr. Hip (Trump) Goes To Town!” 15 July 2019 (Moon-day)
Yes, THE WORLD really LOST respect for [the] US[A.], when George W. was “in;”
For-8 LONG YEARS – we-had-to-deal with-his goofy, “Frat-House” grin!
He wasn’t that smart, BUT – he wasn’t a “bad sorta guy:”
I have this ON GOOD AUTHORITY, for – he knew how-to-be-kind and-say: “Hi!”
We-got-back-some-dignity, I think, as-to-World-Affairs, with-Obama-in-“The-House!”
But, now, we’re-back, to-NOT-being-respected, for-The-World-thinks-we’ve-got-a-louse,
NOT-A-DUMMY! but-someone Quite UNKIND,
RULE-ing! Like-Bush-&-Obama, “a-family-man,” but-with-a-cruel-mind,
Which is NOT for “service,” which, I think, Bush had,
And – OBAMA ALSO! So, it makes me a little sad,
To realize that a man (I-hope, A MAN!) like Trump –
Might buy-his-way-BACK – for-ANOTHER 4 year SLUMP,
IN “BAD” INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS AND DEALING!
Well! (pause) There’s-no-sense-in-worrying! but I have-a pretty-strong feeling,
That THIS GUY, like The Devil – may-be too-clever for-us-SHEEP!
Yet! I ‘ M-HOPEFUL WE-CAN RESIST-THE-TEMPTATION –
TO-INDULGE IN ANOTHER “4-YEAR-WEEP!”
- Mildura ~ Australia ~ Don’t go there for a holiday
Sitting on the shores of the muddy, toxic-algae-filled Murray River and tucked just inside the Victorian border, Mildura owes its existence to an irrigation experiment that transformed it from an arid wasteland into a soggy wasteland that grows fruit. The city’s horticultural heritage is reflected in the names of its streets including Orange Avenue, Lemon Avenue and Avocado Street. In recent times more modern industries have also been honoured in similar fashion: Chroming Street, Insurance Fraud Avenue and Handjob Boulevard.
Mildura calls itself ‘Victoria’s Food Bowl’, but ‘Meth Bowl’ would be more accurate. The original translation of Mildura is ‘sore eyes’, which is strangely appropriate considering the average Milduran’s scabby peepers have been prised open on a six-week drug binge. Aside from picking fruit for slave wages, popular activities in ‘Methdura’ include living in a van down by the river, staying awake for three weeks in a row and trading sexual favours for a suck on the see-through didgeridoo.
Mildura is the capital of ‘Sunraysia’, a made-up country populated by sun-worshipping gronks. It’s also the welfare fraud capital of Victoria, proving that Mildurans enjoy a spot of dole bludging as much as they like actively courting melanoma. Another local obsession involves relentlessly revving anything with an engine, whether a powerboat on the river or a rusted boganmobile with a baked beans tin for an exhaust – anything incredibly loud and obnoxious will do when you’re poorly endowed and want the whole world to know.
Mildura: Melons, Meth and Microdicks.
- So funny ~
Making a baby. This is hilarious!
There is not one dirty word in it, and it is funny!–
The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife goodbye and said, ‘Well, I’m off now. The man should be here soon.’
Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. ‘Good morning, Ma’am’, he said, ‘I’ve come to..’ ‘Oh, no need to explain,’ Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed, ‘I’ve been expecting you.’ ‘Have you really?’ said the photographer. ‘Well, that’s good. Did you know babies are my specialty?’
‘Well that’s what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat !’ After a moment she asked, blushing, ‘Well, where do we start?’ ‘Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there.’
‘Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn’t work out for Harry and me!’ ‘Well, Ma’am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results.’ ‘My, that’s a lot!’, gasped Mrs. Smith. ‘Ma’am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I’d love to be in and out in five minutes, but I’m sure you’d be disappointed with that.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Mrs. Smith quietly. The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. ‘This was done on the top of a bus,’ he said. ‘Oh, my God!’ Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat. ‘And these twins turned out exceptionally well – when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with.’
‘She was difficult?’ asked Mrs. Smith. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look.’ ‘Four and five deep?’ said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with amazement. ‘Yes’, the photographer replied. ‘And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling – I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in.’
Mrs. Smith leaned forward. ‘Do you mean they actually chewed on your, uh…equipment?’ ‘It’s true, Ma’am, yes.. Well, if you’re ready, I’ll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away.’ ‘Tripod?’ ‘ Oh yes, Ma’am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It’s much too big to be held in the hand very long.’
Mrs. Smith fainted.