Deathwords, XXI

Sleepy George

George was a narcoleptic—he

Could sleep in any space.

He was not inconvenienced by

His final resting place.

Deathwords, XX

Coke and a (Final) Smile

Eugene, who dealt some coke, I hear,

Was quickly caught and cuffed.

A prison convict pillowed him,

So poor Eugene was snuffed.

Deathwords, XIX

Old Duane and a Slice of Life

Old Duane was a butcher who kept his aim high:

All his meat was organic and local and fresh,

But our poor Old Duane one day fell on his knife,

So Duane sadly traveled the way of all flesh.

Deathwords, XVIII

Ralph’s Final Cough

At the church so near the cliff, Ralph

Uttered such a shocked cough,

He and all the congregation

Suddenly were knocked off.

Deathwords, XVII

The Last Ride of Billy the Kid

And so Billy the Kid, who was deadly and young,

Was adept with a knife and a gun (oh, of course!),

But Pat Garrett shot Billy one night in the back,

So the Kid had no choice but to ride the pale horse.

Deathwords, XVI

The Ace Gambler

The gambler loved his poker games—

But cheating he embraced,

So I was not all all surprised

To hear that he’d been aced. 

Deathwords, XV

 Anna Pest, the Shocking Plumber

Yes, she was (in her age) a great plumber, well known

Far and wide for her wisdom, her skill, and her brain.

Electricity got her—a wire in the wet—

And the plumber—poor woman—then circled the drain. 

Deathwords, XIV

The baker there in Naples bragged—

He really loved to boast.

“I’ll tight-rope ’cross Vesuvius!”

The next thing: He was toast.

Deathwords, XIII

Old Tom was an announcer, who

Had such an unkind cough

That soon he did not breathe at all

And quietly signed off. 

Deathwords, XII

Louisa feared both slime and dirt—

Oh, all those filthy germs!

And now she’s lying underground,

Forever counting worms. 

Deathwords, XI

Cornelius spent his life with wire—

It was, of course, rewarding toil.

He fell into a fiery vat

And shuffled off this mortal coil. 

Deathwords, X

Old Thomas was a farmer who

Just gnashed his teeth and cussed.

The gods, perturbed, then silenced him

And watched him bite the dust.

Deathwords, IX

Terry was a carpenter, who

Noted every detail.

Then he fell—a tablesaw!—was

Dead as any doornail.

Deathwords VIII: Duane's Retirement

Duane was a librarian

Who would not be retired,

But Death one day acquired his card

And marked it: “Now expired.”

Deathwords VII: Daisy, Daisy ...

Deathwords VII: Daisy, Daisy

Daisy Smith and Daisy Jones—oh,

Both of them were crazies:

Soon the Reaper found them both, and

Now they push up daisies. 

Deathwords VI: Sue's Breath

A breathing competition. Sue

Had won it in the past.

But this time in the finals, well,

Poor Susan breathed her last. 

Deathwords V: Bella's Fatal Choice

Once, Bella was dear Casper’s friend—

She loved that shade the most,

But she met Edward Cullen, and

At once gave up the ghost. 

Deathwords IV: Bob's Misfortune

Bob’s Misfortune

Bob loved to play draw poker, so

He made some Vegas trips—

But tried to cheat some gangsters there

And cashed in all his chips.

Titus' Ill Luck

Titus’ Ill Luck

Titus was a clumsy guy—he

Had such rotten luck; it

Turned: He found a milking job, but

Then he kicked the bucket.

Adele's Lament

Adele’s Lament

Adele fell for a fellow—she

Was smitten by his charm.

They looked at rural property,

But then he bought the farm.

In My Yard

In My Yard

I found a tiny magic frog—

And I was really stoked.

I held it in my hand and dreamed,

But then—oh no!—he croaked!

Nov. 18, 2014

Sneeze Attack

November 12, 2014

Near Rupert, PA

A Pennsylvania morning, with

A summer’s balmy breeze.

But in our car it seemed that all

That I could do was sneeze.

It happened once—and then again

(A symptom of disease?)—

Again and then again they came:

A sneeze, a sneeze, a sneeze!

I glanced at Joyce, whose eyes beseeched,

Whose manner uttered, “Please,”

While I replied the only way

I could: another sneeze.

I wondered if my drama skills

Would somehow bring me ease,

And so I waxed so thespian

With each ensuing sneeze.

But, no, my acting (never good)

Did nothing to appease

The god now reigning in my nose,

The god who's known as Sneeze.

Old Nature has her music—like

The surf and rippling leaves.

And so, inspired, I improvised

My Symphony of Sneeze,

Bassoons and trumpets, timpani—

I used in all degrees,

But Joyce, I saw, considered it

Just more obnoxious sneeze.

And on they went, a score or more,

In various degrees,

And Joyce and I were tiring fast

Of my displays of sneeze.

Then, suddenly, they ceased—relief!

No, not a single wheeze,

And Joyce and I discussed awhile

The noxiousness of sneeze.

“Our car could use a sail,” I said,

“And I'd provide the breeze.

Then we would have a sturdy craft—

And christen it The Sneeze!”

The Dancing Deer

This will be the final entry in the Daily Doggerel series. As the Walrus said, "The time has come." I will be publishing on Kindle Direct a final collection of these pieces (it will be the 7th volume) and will post here when it is available--probably in a week or so.

A Dancing Deer

A couple cars ahead of us—a dance.

A deer had dashed—had taken such a chance

On crossing Highway 91. She did

Not look, of course. And when we heard cars skid

And saw them swerve. I quickly hit the brakes—

No need for any fatuous mistakes,

Not at my age, an age when “tripping” has

A different meaning than in days of jazz

And Sixties’ foolishness. And as we stopped,

We saw the deer, in panic, then adopt

Contorted choreography. It worked!

And though I won't persuade you that she twerked,

It was a sort of sexy move. O, deer!

What have you done? Your move—so full of fear—

Has caused a man to have a naughty thought.

O, Nature! Do you know what you have wrought?

Both Freud and Darwin see their theories win,

But must, in-graved, begin a tortured spin.

Today, I fear, I had to shelve

My plan to study—really delve

Into the Mystery of Twelve.

(Why don’t we have a word Twoteen?

It makes more sense—know what I mean?)

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

The Nurse and Romeo will now conspire

To stoke the glowing embers of Love’s fire. (2.4)

October Lily

October Lily

October lily, on the stalk,

What would you say if you could talk?

Perhaps you’d offer to explain

Why you are blooming by the walk?

The other lilies had their reign

Beneath the spring and summer rain,

But there you are—so orange and bright—

As sun and warmth begin to wane.

It isn’t wrong—nor is it right—

That you are here—the strangest sight.

It’s just a sign of nature’s might:

Before the dark—a buoyant light.

 

I heard he wanted to aggress—

Which would have caused an awful mess—

And so to ease my pure distress,

I showed up in a wedding dress,

And, laughing, he proposed some chess,

Which made some sense … but I digress …

Shakespeare Couplet

Out in the street, his friends find Romeo.

The Nurse arrives—a message for our beau. (2.4)

Immortal Shelves

Immortal Shelves

I remember—many years ago—

The house where Grandma lived. I know

So much about the place because

I was there frequently—it was

So close to where we lived. They had

So many books. It makes me sad

To think of all those books now gone,

Dispersed. A few then sat upon

Two wooden cases, darkly stained.

The cases long ago contained

Some titles  I recall, among

Them readers by McGuffey. Hung

Above them were some pictures I

Cannot remember, though I try.

When my grandparents died—the worst

Of times—among the very first

Of things I wanted were those shelves.

By then, see, Joyce and I ourselves

Had piles of books that had no home,

From tattered paperback to tome.

And years soared by—and decades too.

And soon those cases sagged. Were new

Ones necessary now? I could

Not stand the thought of that. They’d stood,

Endured all that our hope supplied.

And now would they be cast aside?

No. Never. So today dear Joyce

Delivered them—was there a choice?—

Unto a shop where they’ll enjoy

A resurrection. And return

To serve again. Oh, they have earned

It all. I like to think they’ll thrive

Beyond the time that I’m alive.

And grandsons will employ them then,

Perhaps recalling where they’ve been.

Classic photos in the buff—I

Called the series “Nude-Os”—

Earned me lot of major bucks and

Critics’ earnest kudos.

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

The Friar hopes a marriage will unite

The families who are now so filled with spite. (2.3)

The Mild Ones

The Mild Ones

The Harley glides toward us where we sit—

McDonald’s driveway. I don't want to hit

The guy, but I can't really tell if he

Is turning. Why no signal? Mystery.

He's close enough that I can see him well—

An “older” gentleman (not hard to tell:

His frame is bent and slender, and his face

Reveals his years.) Oh, it is no disgrace

To carry all the history that he does.

In fact, I somewhat sympathize because

I bear a half a dozen decades, too—

Okay, it's seven—more than just a few.

This Harley guy seems out of place upon

His fine machine. No Marlon Brando, he.

No wildness lingers near him. Now I see

He does desire to turn, and as he leans

Into the thing, I see his faded jeans,

His faded face, his jacket scuffed with age—

Perhaps a wipeout now and then? It's tough to gauge.

He gives us both a feeble look as he

Slides past—a wrinkled face, a white goatee.

And then he's in our mirror, then he’s gone,

We turn out in the road—and then drive on.

Oh, Time defeats us in our weary wars,

Transforming us into a mouse that roars.

Wrote her that she was terrific,

But I wrote in hieroglyphic.

She replied, “Be more specific.”

So I did—I’m so prolific.

Dumped me fast—oh, so horrific!

Told me I was soporific—

So I cruised the vast Pacific,

Not for reasons scientific,

Seeking life more beatific. 

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

To Friar Lawrence hies our Romeo.

He tells the Friar what he needs to know. (2.3)

Stumblebum

Stumblebum

I leaned back in my study chair

To grab a folder near.  

The next I knew, I supine lay—

I’d found a new frontier.

My balance in my sunset years

Is nothing to behold.

It’s just more certain evidence

That I am getting old.

I stumble over rumpled rugs,

On magazines and books—

I visit them there on the floor

To give them closer looks.

And soon, I know, so very soon,

I will not have a prayer,

And I will fall because, you see,

I’ve stumbled on the air.

And when it’s air that's tripping me,

I know The End is nigh,

And soon enough I’ll find it’s time

That I must say, “Buh-bye!”

I liked her parabolic tale

About the journey of a snail.

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

So sweetly, sorrowfully the lovers part—

Each carries now the other lover’s heart. (2.2)

Literary Geese?

Literary Geese

Outside a Barnes & Noble—on a night

When more than several things did not seem right—

We were right by the entrance when we heard

That honking sound from that most common bird.

Canada geese were winging overhead—

And practically invisible. I said,

Just pointing out the obvious, “It’s geese!”

And Joyce, adept at keeping spousal peace,

Agreed, eschewing irony and such,

Which do not help relationships too much.

A lesser spouse (like me?) might well have quipped,

“Duh. You think?” But Joyce could not have slipped

In such a way. She does not ever use

Such cruel irony. She knows you lose

More than you gain with such locutions, so

She merely looked aloft and said, “I know.”

I don't believe that I have ever seen

A flight this late. What motives anserine

Propelled them from the pond—or maybe ground—

Where they were probably simply gathered round

And waiting for some goosy Morpheus?

Or maybe they had started to discuss

A Pynchon novel? But they had no book?

So flew to Barnes & Noble for a look?

But saw a couple in the parking lot—

The man looked creepy old, the woman not—

Decided they’d postpone their Pynchon talk,

And filled the night with disappointed squawk.

No matter how much stuff you cumulate,

You can't escape your final, fatal date.

 Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

“O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon”—

She’s learning that from love she's not immune. (2.2)

A Ghost Bird

The Ghost Bird
Pioneer Trail, Aurora, OH

Emerging from the trees—a ghost in flight.

I swerved, was startled by the sudden sight

Of such a bird. It flew with ancient grace

And slicing speed—perhaps a hawk in chase?

But no. This bird was far too large. No hawk

I've seen before could cause the shock

That this bird did. An eagle? Could it be?

In this small wood along old Pioneer

With schools and athletic fields so near?

Nor could it be a buzzard, though the span

Of wings was buzzard-broad, much wider than

A hawk’s. There were no dangling legs, the kind

A heron shows in flight. All things combined?

It was a ghost. Some prehistoric thing

Awakens after eons, then takes wing

Across the road, and quickly soars beyond,

Allowing only moments to respond,

And leaving us in arms of wonder. Oh,

I'm dazzled by the things I fail to know.

My eyes direct me to what matters most,

And all I think is that I’ve seen a ghost.

Beside a different road—some mourning doves

Discuss their daily needs, their fears, their loves.

They seem to coo as we glide nearly by—

Perhaps they’ve seen that ghost there in the sky?

First, I got a meaty grubstake.

Then I ordered juicy club steak.

[grubstake = to provide with material assistance (as a loan) for launching an enterprise or for a person in difficult circumstances]

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

“If they do see thee, they will murder thee,”

Warns Juliet, but he declines to flee. (2.2)

Exodus

Exodus

The thinning now proceeds apace—

Possessions flee the house,

While Joyce and I are dancing to

A waltz by Johann Strauss.

Oh, yes, so very many things

Acquired throughout our years

Elicit, when they leave, our laughs—

But soon will come the tears.

For (next) the things that leave us

In our fierce, intent campaign

Will be some things whose absence will

Create a biting pain,

A pain we’ll feel forever when

We view an empty wall—

Or just until that day when we

Can feel no pain at all.

Soon he showed himself a phony

In our conversazione. 

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

“With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,”

He says, so near his lover’s family halls. (2.2)

The Will to Breathe

The Will to Breathe

Relief removes a dreaded weight

That you have borne in pain.

Some welcome news arrives (at last),

And you can breathe again.

The “breathing” that you’ve done the while

You’ve waited for the news

Resembled more an agony,

A blackly purple bruise.

Or this: You’ve breathed through fabric that’s

Been folded till it’s thick,

So every breath’s required a sort

Of complex magic trick.

But then relief. The bruise is healed.

So easily you breathe.

But Time, you know—you really know—

Exists but to deceive.

And soon, so soon, the bruise returns,

And breath requires the will

To write your hopes so myriad

With only ink and quill.

So surprised at the patina

Glowing near my hot farina.

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

“’Tis but thy name that is my enemy,”

She says, not knowing he can hear—and see. (2.2)