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Sunday Squibs



Can a poem be no good?

Your answer is desired

Can you love a lump of clay 

Before it's shaped and fired?



Shall I bet I didn't leave the milk out?

If I win I prove again my mind is still intact

If I lose, no use to pout

I will have lost the farm, in fact



The running sands of time is that

Which makes me feel quite sober

Until I flip, just like the cat

The hourglass nine times over



Marriage is the playing field-

The other fills the stands

All injuries are mutual

The rules are not commands

We do not stop for halftime

We play till out of breath 

We do not hear the whistle blow

The referee is death


In old age we add up all our gains

Redeem the times we came a cropper

Rage against the dying light

Put on our apron, start the supper



Bad deeds will get us sent to Folsom

Good deeds will earn an obit fulsome



Those who refuse to call a spade a spade must use such euphemisms as: a shovel, a scoop, or more pretentiously, earth extractor 



Ancient scholars kept an owl as a symbol of wisdom

I have cross-eyed Siri sitting on my shoulder



It’s ok that the election is a toss-up because my candidate’s head is on both sides of the coin.  



We’re born in the center of a labyrinth and keep banging into dead ends till we learn to relax and let gravity draw us out. 

Comments

  1. Uh huh, yeah. Okay ... Your turn teapoetry.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. If I were a raven
      You’d hear me crow
      From the branches of trees.

      He writes ‘em with ease.
      Makes it look like a breeze.
      Truth hangin’ on a trapeze
      off a ring of pithy keys

      When it comes to squibs,
      No one sits
      in the chair called Joe

      Delete
    2. Mysterious synchronicity between TP's poem and my comment what with Ravens in both. Ravens are intelligent and magical beings as manifested even with the demise of our beloved 'zine, "The Raven," in days not so long gone by. I should have asked "The Raven" editors to publish the poem below in that esteemed magazine / like a Raven gone and all that means! (see homage below / now off you go)

      . . . Ravens don' t sound like your common crow/
      who calls caw-caw whether things are right or full of Woe /
      The regal Raven has ~30 sounds - grunk to gurgling croak /
      Ravens don't lie but they sure do coax /
      When a Raven calls caw-caw, get your ass in gear /
      she's saying "This space is taken because I'm here/
      so get your feathered butt in my rear-view mirror /
      I want to see the plumage of your rear"/
      Listen closely when Raven calls
      There's danger about even if it's small
      Ravens love to strafe and tease
      any mutt and drop him to his knees . . .

      I could go on about my totem spirit, but it's time for me to get back to "Tears."
      Caw-caw- gurgle and croak - watch me fly - I'm outta here!

      Delete
  2. Some real winners here, CJ. Do I sense the reaper on your left shoulder and Siri on your right? And lest we forget, there are Odin's two Ravens, Hugin and Munin, plus Geri and Freki, his companion wolves. These four beat Siri by magnitudes! But I digress . . . Love your ~iambic ~pentameter . . .

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