My Wife The Witch

I dreamt that my wife was a witch

A what?

A witch, you thought I said bitch?

On her broom she sat

Wearing her witch hat

While I fumbled with the damn light switch.

 

And then she cackled at me

Did what?

Cackled, as in laugh crazily

Then she scratched at her toes

with her long pointy nose

And had the nerve to still smile at me.

 

I reached up over the bed

Why for?

The light switch, it was close to my head

But I just couldn’t reach

And I heard her screech

A sound that filled me with dread.

 

So close I could smell her foul breath

Oh really?

Yes,  I was ready for death

But as she pounced

I used every ounce

Of my strength and woke up in sweat.

 

So was your wife really a witch?

Say what?

A witch, you thought I said bitch?

Of course not, you dummy!

She was in bed right beside  me

Do your ears have some sort of glitch?

 

 

Writer:  ME.  April. 22nd 2014

 

 

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I Sometimes See Dead People

I sometimes see dead people

Oh yes I really do!

And if you look intently

You would see them too.

 

I see them at my work place

The malls and everywhere

They lurk in Government buildings

I see them when I go there.

 

Sometimes they try to trick you

And mess with your head

By pretending to be alive

While actually they are dead.

 

My sister and my cousin too

Are dead as door posts

I pretend I do not know

But I am on to them of course.

 

Yes,  I see dead people

I would never lie to you

And if you don’t believe me

You probably are dead too.

 

 

Author: ME

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What’s In A Rhyme?

I over analyze nursery rhymes

like a detective at the scene of crimes

I sometimes wonder why Jack and Jill

Really went up that grassy hill

I hope it wasn’t against her will

And trust that she was on the pill.

*

Humpty Dumpty climbed up a wall

He asked for it, I meant the fall.

He got scrambled and that’s no joke

But was he organic? Did he have a yoke?

*

Why didn’t  Old Mother Hubbard

Keep an inventory of her cupboard?

Then the crazy old bag would have known

That inside it she would find no bone

No reason to look, Mother Hubbard Dear,

Your F***ing cupboard is really bare!

*

Now who rocks a baby in a tree top?

If you do, then you should stop

You know what else I really think?

Maybe it’s time you see a shrink.

*

The gossipy old woman who swallowed a fly

Should have kept her mouth shut and she wouldn’t have died.

She had a big mouth, what else can I say?

I cannot put it any other way.

*

I also feel bad for little Jack Horner

Spending Christmas alone in a corner

He told himself he was a good boy

Then why a pie and not a toy?

*

What the hell is a hickory dock?

And what does is have to do with a clock?

Ok, ok, I’m really done,

Analyzing rhymes is not much fun.

***

Written by the writer April 15th 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goodbye Snow!

So long Winter

Goodbye snow

You did your time

Now you must go.

Spring is here

Summer’s coming too

So we must say

Bye bye to you.

You held us in

Your frigid grasp

With temps so cold

We had to gasp.

Now disappear!

Be gone, my foe

No more Winter

No more snow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I’m Going To Write A Book

I’m going to write a book.

A book?

Yes  a book.

A book about me.

About you?

Yes me.

It would sell in stores

Like Amazon

By the scores!

Yes, I should write a book

A recipe book?

No not that!

I can’t cook.

Then what?

About me!

Not about

A recipe!

I’m an author!

You Arthur?

No! An author!

Like a book writer!

Oh, I get it!

You are going to write

A book!

About you

And you can’t cook!

 

Ah! Finally!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not Tonight Dear

Should we have sex, hon?
said Gilles one night.
No we shouldn’t, said Rose
At least not tonight.
I feel ugly and fat
Maybe I am too old
I feel all stuffed up
I think it’s the cold.

Poor Gilles turned over
and he tried to sleep
while beside him his wife
Pretended to weep
It’s not you it’s me
She said with a sob
I have turned into
An unsexy blob.

But Gilles wouldn’t buy it
He loved Rose madly
It’s quite ok, honey
He said to her sadly.
You are fine in my eyes
I’ll always want you
You are, how they say it?
My honey boo boo.

He looked at his wife
Who was crying a puddle
And said Honey dear
It’s fine let’s just cuddle
And that’s what they did
Guess what happened next.
They both fell asleep
No they didn’t have sex.

The Kid With A Pin

There once was a kid with a pin
Who poked me and punctured my skin
It hurt what he did
And though just a kid
I kicked him hard in the shin.

His mom was furious at me
“Can’t you see he’s only just three?”
I said “Sorry ma’am,
but I don’t give a damn.
Your kid needs help, seriously!”

Now the kid’s a full grown man
And his mom cannot understand
Why her innocent lad
Turned out so bad
Could it be the parent he had?

Today it might just be a pin
that he uses to puncture one’s skin
But it’s all games and fun
Until the pin is a gun
And the man is no longer a kid.

Read It Like This

Sometimes when I write a poem that I am really excited about, I get my wife to read it out loud to me.  It’s disappointing when I realize it doesn’t exactly sound like I intended it to.  When I write the lyrics, it’s like song in my head, I have a rhythm, but even with punctuations, it is still difficult to convey the intonations and rhythm that I have in my head as I write.

When I read back my poems, they sound wonderful and I can’t wait to publish so everyone can read them the same way.  But then I thought, “What if the reader doesn’t read it like that?  They are going to miss the gist of it.  It doesn’t even sound as good if not read the way I intended.”  I wish I could read my poems to you instead of writing them but unfortunately I can’t.

That makes me wonder about those poems we dissect in school.  Is that exactly what the writer, who is long dead, wanted us to get out of his poem or is it just us interpreting it in our own way?  Who knows.  In the meantime, go ahead and read my poems your way.  Then read it over again, but this time read it like this…

 

I Am Back!

Hey followers and readers, I started this blog because I like to write poems about any and every topic. It started out well and was very popular, but I signed up for the NAPOWRIMO, which is the National Poetry Writing Month and wrote a poem a day.  It was a good. I did great but when it was over, I was done! Like dinner. Nothing in the tank.  Depleted.

I took some time off.  Didn’t want to think of another poem.  Then it happened!  This morning I jumped out of bed excitedly.  And way to early for a Saturday morning. I had poems in my head! They had to get out! I was back!  I am back!

Thank you my faithful followers for sticking with me and not jumping ship.  For you new readers, fasten your seat belts.  I am here to stay.  I am digging in!  No more deserting the troops.

I am back!

 

There Was Once A Mayor On Crack…

There once was a man named Rob
Who got a mayor’s job.
But he had a strange knack
For indulging in crack
Yes he sure was a knob.

He was caught on tape quite drunk
Even more so than a skunk
But he later denied it
And said it was bullshit
Nothing but stupid bunk!

And then the shit hit the fan
Rob was no innocent man
The mayor of Toronto
Is on crack! did you know?
Please spread the word if you can.

The hapless major confessed
That his life was indeed a mess
But when asked to resign
He politely declined
Saying he was one of the best.

Rob Ford, you are indeed a clown
And of course you must step down
We don’t need your type
So take your crack pipe
And blaze a path out of town.