POEM # 13

And ode to all the women
I’ve known and loved
Who have wrapped me in their pleasure
Who have honored me with their lust

Never was it a husband and wife matter
No were any of us merely shacking up
They were lovers true who
Gave me their trust

So much the easier was it then
To mount a farce again and again
No one expects the nice guy
To slip them something on the sly

I speak not of roofies
Nor sleeping potion in their gin
For I wouldn’t offend with
Tricks so ordinary and plain

But I did pass them something
Which they soon learned
Caused a rash and a sharp
Tickling pain

And maybe when they had seen
A physician and after the rash
Had been treated, its mark by then
Mere scabs

Did they realize that all along
I had been the cause of discomfort
For you see trusting reader
I have crabs

POEM # 10

Champagne Cocktails
Bawdy Talk

Fake ice cube with fly
In your cup

POEM #8

Surprise slum lord
Years of high rent
Rodent infestations
No heat, faulty electrical systems

Locking me out
Loosing my deposit
Leaving me in the street

Will all haunt you soon

Toilet, toilet
I used the cistern above

Call it going top shelf
The water never comes clean

POEM # 4

The party ended far too soon
We sat by the lake on the hillside
And stared at the purple moon

A cloud granted us shadow cover
And Bill Boy told his tale, his lies
Like frost his lamentation hovers

“I did not me to offend Ms. Micking
T’was but a joke, a little humor only
Her funny bone was I picking

She had no call for such protestations
I was only having fun like all good
People of all colors, all grand nations

I wish she had allowed for the birthday cake
There was no reason to call off the party
On my honor and my pride the vomit was fake”

POEM # 11

If I said
it only cost me 99 cents
would you believe it

as I inflate it
and the rubber expands
can you see it

when the cartoon
becomes visible
would you laugh

because when I place
it under grandma’s chair
at easter dinner

you are sure to hear it
hear the whoopee cushion
do its magic

POEM # 16

Ragweed season has begun
The pollen count is high
Your allergy attacks
Ever grow nigh

And the kerchief you use
The one you always keep near
Stitched and monogrammed
By the one you hold dear

Has a surprise inside
You’ll not discover
But it has to do with me
And my secret lover

It will not be visible
To your naked eyes
But its pungent scent
Is sure to soon arise

For when you bring it
To your red face
To stem the mucus’s flowing
There’s likely to be a trace
Of whom I just finished boning

You see after your wife finished me
As we lay tangled in the loft
It was your treasured kerchief she
Used to wipe me off

POEMS ‘BOUT PRANKS

POEM #1
Bag of flaming doggy do
In the middle of the living room floor
Who might have left it here
Is it for the king from St. Thomas Moore

Perhaps it’s Roger’s
finding the pubic hair in his cup
I hardly believe his hound dog Shane
Could have filled that brown bag up

Is it yours Marietta due to the baby
Which I indeed proudly gave you
Or have you found the letter J I left
When down there I shaved you

No matter with thermal gloves
I shall scoop it from where it rests
For when it comes to bags of flaming
Dog shit, doorsteps are the best