Hodge Podge

August 29th, 2016 12:05am - Posted By: Roy Cohen

Lark Buntings Laughing in the trees,

 

Hoarding butterscotch by the threes;

Crying "shark" throughout the night,

Tasting coffee in their sight.

 

Lark Buntings grinning,

Dying fast;

Now who’s laughing,

Laughing last.

 

Kangaroos have gender foes,

Shooting tadpoles from their noses;

Playing pinball in the sand,

Joey hears the Promised Land. 

 

Hush little Joey hush,

Hush little Joey hush.

 

Apple seeds dance with merry,

To the horrid sounds of Joe Perry,

And his project,

His project failed.

 

License lends to licensees,

POWs on their knees;

Bike spokes cycle round the wheel,

Gong Show fans of mass appeal.

 

Taylor Daine and Tesla feud,

My Aunt Rose was so damn rude,

In her big senilitude.

 

Ponder questions rarely asked,

Space cadets are always last;

Sometimes after they’ve been gassed,

They hear their chromosomes,

They hear their chromosomes.

 

Electrical fooling machine works well on me,

Keith Olberman’s harsh reality steals my eccentricity;

It’s okay, I forgive the man,

Boston crab cakes in Siam.

 

Cleansers made from toxic powders,

Can’t connect without a router.

 

I draw conclusions from the clouds,

And talk as though I know McCloud;

Man, Chief Clifford’s so damn loud.

 

I like my water clean.

I like my water clean.

 

Spoken words are sewn by rhythm,

Doesn’t matter what’s within ‘em;

Music sounds from words of fashion,

Thoughts confused are another’s passion.

 

Take upon my oral list,

And weld the thoughts so often missed.

Feel the power, poets lurk;

Taste the gospel of their work.

Posted in: Poetry

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The Bloodhounds That Saved Christmas

April 10th, 2015 4:34am - Posted By: Mark Cohen

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and at the North Pole

Every darn reindeer had the flu – or a cold;

Santa’s sleigh was jam packed, and none too light

But with no healthy reindeer there would be no Christmas flight;

 

The reindeer were nestled all snug in their beds,

While double doses of Ny-Quil danced in their heads;

And Santa at his laptop singin’ the blues,

Prepared to email the children with his sad, sad, sad news;

 

Mrs. Claus made hot cocoa spiced with Jim Beam,

Fearing for Santa and his sick reindeer team;

When out in the snow there arose such a clatter,

Santa told his old lady to see what was the matter;

 

Away to the window she flew like a jet,

She nearly knocked over the old TV set;

The flood lights on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to the objects below;

 

When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,

But eight big, beautiful bloodhounds with two-foot long ears;

Santa, she said, you’d better come quick,

These hounds can flat fly, they might do the trick;

 

In a flash the bloodhounds were hooked to the sleigh,

“Damn,” said Santa, “this is my lucky day!”

More rapid than eagles the bloodhounds they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

 

“Now, Slobber! Now, Drool!, now Big Tongue and Vixen!

On Carter! on Reagan! on, Clinton and Nixon!

To the top of the porch! To the top of the deck!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash like all heck!”

 

So up to the housetops the bloodhounds they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

With their big ears spread wide, the hounds they sure flew,

In three seconds they went from zero to mach two.

 

And more than one kid heard sounds on their roofs,

But, the sounds were of paws rather than hooves;

Down each chimney Santa came with a bound,

While the roof supported the weight of eight hounds;

 

In the morning each child woke, feeling giddy as Jello,

Asking parents why the icecicles were yellow;

In less than one night Santa delivered his toys,

to all good little girls and good little boys;

 

They got dolls and trumpets and ropes to skip,

And G.I. Joes with the kung-fu death grip;

The hounds dropped Santa off at his home at the pole,

and consumed gallons of water from his big reindeer bowl;

 

Then they spread their long ears and leaped into the sky,

and as they looked down they heard Santa cry;

“The bloodhounds saved Christmas, who cares if they drool?

If not for those hounds, I would look like a fool;”

 

And away the hounds flew, to their home in the south,

where they chased raccoons and slept on the couch;

But they heard Santa exclaim as he faded from sight,

“Merry Christmas to all, and all a good-night.”

Posted in: Poetry

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Nuclear Weasel Mist

April 10th, 2015 4:21am - Posted By: Mark Cohen

The scent of tobacco from a man’s pipe,

Pine martens scour my sink with steel wool,

Chester Allen Arthur was not a snipe,

But for a time he had some pull.

 

When was Casey at the bat?

My friend drove drunk and had to pick up litter;

Would Mudville have been better off

With a designated hitter?

 

Potassium,

Significant dust in an insignificant world,

Right past a museum,

Prince says maybe we can do the Twirl.

 

I did not mean it when I said,

JFK was never dead;

From that subject I stay away,

Because I fear the CIA.

 

Cars have bodily fluids,

Marsupials are cute;

Some people worship Druids;

Keith Jackson uses verbs like “Scoot.”

 

Tony Orlando was underrated,

Why?

Barry Manilow is often hated,

But on the hog he’s living high.

 

My grandpa may have been in the Klan,

We once played Kick the Can;

Is Food Court where you seek redress when you digest bad yams?

I do don’t like green eggs and ham.

 

Whiskers on kittens,

Raindrops on roses;

Do they make prosthetics

For Bloodhound noses?

 

Shoney’s, Waffle House, and Sambo’s,

Speckled chocolate Easter eggs;

Donna Summer on the radio,

In our refrigerator is a pair of L’eggs.

 

Of this thing called life,

What is the gist?

Love and strife,

Barney Fife,

Nuclear Weasel Mist.

Posted in: Poetry

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