Let Us Call this Poem, Bacon.

On the eve of the morning all people proclaim,
"Bacon!  All laud the bacon!"
When morning has come and it's time for the game,
"Bacon!  Gimme the bacon!"
When the breakfast is over and the morning chugs on,
"Bacon!  Must needs more bacon!"
If you need some salt meat over which you must fawn,
"Bacon!  You need the bacon!"

The Dark and Gloomy Days of mid-Spring

When the sun plays coy and stays away,
When the clouds are all you get today,
When the misty air and sodden ground,
The all pervasive damp and gray,
When all this mournful litany
Of Weather Channelicity
Starts to wear and grind you down
It's best to just stop.  Drink some tea.
Sing a song about felicity.
Pound your pillow with your knee.
Growl so deep you lose your frown.
And wait for sunshine to be found.

It's a Good Thing This Place Is For Lousy Poems

I am in a funk.
The poems are all junk.
Whaddya think, punk?
"Yer reputation's sunk."

That's not too keen,
But I'm not green.
Don't care if you're mean
Or the poems obscene.

I'll soldier on
Like ol' Ghengis Khan
Destroying verses, man.
That be the plan.

Civilization

The baby farts.  "What?"
Babies know no shame.
Little animals
For us to tame.
Farting is fine
As far as it goes,
But it leaves the baby
With smelly clothes.

Uh-oh

The gears of the car go ka-chunk, ka-chunk,
ka-chunk, ka-chunk,
ka-chunk, ka-chunk.
The gears of the car go ka-chunk, ka-chunk
Every time I drive.

We're taking it to the mechanic.

Monday Thursday?

Confusion reigns at Eastertime
Or just some days before.
The Christians call that Thursday Monday.
I'd call that logic poor.

Earth Day Celebration Extravaganza!

Earth Day is coming
I've got to prepare!
Never mind fire.
Never mind air.
Never mind water.
I want to be clear.
They just don't matter;
It's earth that is dear!
So burn down the forests;
Dump crap in the sea;
Fill in the wetlands
With dirt, you see!
Gravel is lovely
And worthy of praise.
I'll roll on the ground
For the rest of my days.

(Just for the record, environmental degradation is bad.  I don't actually support destroying the earth.  I do, however, support poking fun at environmentalists.  Also, this post is not meant to a nuanced argument of any sort.  It is a lousy poem based on two meanings of the word "earth."  Also, the earth doesn't need a special day.  Unless you want to celebrate its birthday.  Would that be creationist?  It's all very confusing.  This is why I just write lousy poems.  They are easier than trying to explain yourself to people with wide-ranging assumptions.)

Marriage Traditions (with grammatical hitch in its giddyup)

Something old,
Something new,
Something borrowed,
Something blue,
With a shotgun,
By and by,
Lets get married,
You and I.

Absolute Gibberish

Carpet or linoleum?
Synthesis or pure?
Would you rather be John Glenn
Or that old guy John Muir?
Gravel roads or black top?
Well done steak or rare?
What is better for your heart
Love or the state fair?
All these silly questions
Posed without a thought.
Sometimes wonder slaps my head
And says, "What have you wrought?

Weather

The wet and the wind
Are like Scotland these days;
I'm hoping the chill
Is but a short phase.

The Electric Toothbrush

It turns; oh it whirls!
It attracts all the girls
'Cause my teeth get so white;
I'm forced to take flight!

Birdsong

What sweet songs enliven
The air out my window
When only I open
And let that air in.

My window's a lever
That calls forth by magic
A soundtrack of nature
By medium of wind.

Dulcet and friendly,
A soft invitation,
A kindly reminder
To let loose and grin.

Will Durant

Will Durant was talking one day
Bout ancient folk who have gone away,
Propounding his philosophay
Dearest Will, I don't buy what you say.

Will Durant wrote the epic "Story of Civilization in eleven volumes.  I first saw it at my grandparents home and was taken in by it.  Having no hope to inherit, I pieced together the volumes over a few years and now enjoy it in my own home.  I once thought history was simply recorded fact.  In reading Durant again I am reminded of how much of it is simply opinion.  Very interesting in any event.

Buy-ku

Good books grow on trees,
In a manner of speaking.
I shall buy them all.

...At Least I Hope Not

There's a man on a tractor
Who's out in the field
Spreading some odor
To increase his yield.
The smell in the wind
Is approaching eleven.
It ain't quite the smell
We'll be smelling in heaven.

Shots

The baby got a stick today
Right there above his knees,
Purportedly to keep him safe
From sickness and disease.
He cried out loud with clear disgust,
"Et tu Brute? You slug!"
But he's just fine and later on
No doubt he'll eat a bug.

The Challenge of the Day

When I have a cup of coffee in the morning
Just as rays begin to make their way
Through the slats of my venetian kitchen,
Or at least the blinds are I-Tie anyway,
I ponder things that I will soon be doing
And hope that they will turn out for the best.
I'll make my way through every bloomin' challenge
And collapse in bed by midnight to get rest.

Pining for Summer

The county fair isn't for ages, but something has me in a mind for it.

Are you going to the county fair?
Ice cream, corn, some piggies and sheep?
Remember cash with which to get fat.
Vittles are a true love of mine.

Ioway

The rolling hills of Ioway
Are likely for awhile to stay
Til soil erosion wipes away
The rolling hills of Ioway.

The corn in fields of Ioway
Is never ever going to stay
'Cause pigs and folks will eat one day
The corn in fields of Ioway.

Fly Tape (a reflection in brief prose)

We once visited a farm. 
The farm had flies. 
Many, many flies. 
I blame the cows. 
And their... you know. 
We had had enough. 
We bought fly tape. 
And hung it. 
The flies were curious. 
"What is this hanging thing? 
Sure smells good!" 
And they landed. 
Big mistake. 
"We are stuck!"
Yes, they were stuck.
Tape is sticky.
My cousin was there.
He and I counted the flies.
Their misfortune was fun.
It's okay.
They were only flies.