A Rise, A Rose, A Ruse

Now 9 hours into 11 years,

I reflect on shadows on pains on fears.

The world traded two towers

for two pools of tears.

A rise, a rose, a ruse.

My pop wed his wife

and sloppy they kissed,

then shared the aisle with a terrorist.

I cried with mobs

and pumped my fist.

A rise, a rose, a ruse.

My gal that day

caught new mom's bouquet

and saved a rose to loft today

into the hole

where they now stay.

A rise, a rose, a ruse.

But we won't bend

between the pews

or pray to end

this burning fuse.

We won't ascend.

We choose to lose.

A rise, a rose, a ruse.

The World, It's What's for Dinner

When I was young with savoir faire,

this blue-green globe had much to spare.

I’d climb the tree and breathe the air

and taste the fruit that grew up there.

But now it’s bare. Do I despair?

I did not share, avec mon frère.

I say no prayer. It’s your affair.

I do not care. I do not care.

Boil down all the oceans

and eat up all the fish.

Deep fried fragrant forests

make a crispy pine nut dish.

Melt snow-peak mountains

an put ‘em in the soup.

For dessert, a desert cake.

It's Java lava poop.

Tahiti's so meaty.

Djibouti's so fruity.

When stewed in the Pacific,

they're tasty and terrific.

Distill the atmosphere

into a happy, hoppy beer.

Tap a polar ice cap.

Cheers! The end is near.

Greece comes out my pores.

The Azores make good S’mores.

Chad's so cheesy.

“Hey! Two Berlins, over easy!”

Gnaw big bites of Bogota

with raw slaw Omaha.

On Sweden I’ll-be-feed’n

'til they banish me from Eden.

The Andes are my candies.

Helsinki’s in my Twinkies.

Hong Kong is a Ding Dong.

So 'm fat. I'll shed my thong.

A Cameroon macaroon

with prune Prague Rangoon.

Feast on Iran flan,

then quickly hit the Cannes.

Had a Big Iraq attack.

Took-home-a-sack-a-Hackensack.

Freshl-squeezed Tobago

on a cookie Cairo gyro.

Nevada enchilada.

No estoy cansada.

Kyoto burrito.

Tokyo taquito.

Stick a fork in old New York,

Dry rub Bronx and call it pork.

Key a Spam Savannah.

with flambéed Atlanta banana.

The Mozambique bisque

was a culinary risk,

but Milk of Micronesia

gets ya off yer knees, ja?

Malawi Guacamole

on Frisco Rice-a-Roni.

Memphis maraschino

on Reno cappuccino.

Puree Zimbabwe

on Santa Fe parfait.

Pan-fry Panacea

on a piece of Pisa pizza.

Drip dry old Morocco

on a Moscow Choco Taco.

Rome foam JELL-O =

a lemony archipelago.

Don’t think me uncouth

with a Duluth Baby Ruth.

Jeddah muffuletta

in a bruised Bruges brushetta.

Macon-wrapped bacon

was mine for the takin’.

Turkey Turkey Jerky

like pemmican Albuquerque.

Cut up Kathmandu,

drop it in fondue

with cubes of Kabul bouillon.

Voila – Khartoum Foo-Young!

           

Leftover Equator?

Save it for later.

An Ebola Zaire

lurks in Frigidaire.

Freeze Belize, please,

and put it between your knees.

Then nuke ‘em on good China

with caramel Carolina.

Whoa, Nelly! Oh, my belly!

So hungry and a sinner.

I consume my doom, my dummy.

The world – it’s what’s for dinner.

God's on our plate.

God is our food.

We forgot to thank Him,

and now we're all screwed.

Ode on a MaMaw's Mug

O' MeMaw, MaMaw,

Grandmother Jones,

felt your old new wind

chime my new old bones.

When distracted I was,

coffee ready to sip,

I slightly slurped hot

to knot burn my slip grip.

Then out rang my lava,

crying a potter-pang moan.

MaMaw chilling hotter,

screams of java - home groan.

“That's smart,” she'd say,

and she'd mean my tongue.

My cup she poured

before I was young.

War hot, coffee fought,

piping searing soldiers sung,

fills gills warm

to the holes in their bums.

Grasping chicory bubble comfort,

drinking beans like they're beer,

O' Nuclear Guts,

please ring the Rear Engineer.

This horizon tower cools now,

showing Row Z in my palm,

but silhouettes of Three-Mile Island

always make me calm.

Amusing births in basements,

bleeding colors hide the crack.

There’s mold on a table

by the freezer in the black.

She fires back upon

her red-faced mug.

Kiln a love burn lonely,

when your kin is lost in love?

MeMaw's swirling mug

ruddied bottom-silt drips,

glistening on beads

on bracelet stiff lips.

Ceramic dusting shores

lights her hair angelic.

Halo powders white

-- her sweet and low relic.

O' MeMaw, MaMaw,

Grandmother Jones,

this sin-cracked vessel

is the best that I own.

JAMIROQUAI (Not what you think)

(Jaberwocky parody as read by Sir Mick Jagger)

’Twas not ‘twas Dylan, and the Milli Vanilli Pogues

Did Fear and Glen Campbell in the Slade:

All M.C. Hammer’d were the Sigur Rós,

And the Nazareth Clash Dr. Dre’d.

“Beware the Jamiroquai, Alan Parsons!

The Fugees that Bjork, The Boss, Jeff Beck's!

Beware the Foo Foo Fighters, The Shins

& Fabulous Thunderbird Béla Fleck’s!”

He took his Bernie Worrell Duran Duran;

Long time Go Go's, the Hoople, Mott —

So rested he by the Toto Tom Tom Club tree

And Scott Weiland did he in thought.

And, as in KISS thought Ron Wood,

The Jamiroquai, with eyes of flame,

Came Wilco through the Bee Gee Thorogood

And Urge Overkilled as Creed came!

U2! U2! And Adrian Belew.

The Deep Purple Suede went Seger Sabbath Knack!

He left Grateful Dead, and with Talking Heads,

Went Mumford and Son’ing BECK.

“And Hanson Van Halen the Jamiroquai?

Come to my arms, my Beastie Boy!

ABBA Otis Day! Ry Cooder! Green Day!”

He Cracker’d in his Tool.

’Twas not ‘twas Dylan, and the Milli Vanilli Pogues

Did Fear and Glen Campbell in the Slade:

All M.C. Hammer’d were the Sigur Rós,

And the Nazareth Clash Dr. Dre’d.

Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards

(Schoolhouse Rock Parody – sung by Tom Waits)

I awoke on a bus in the rain,

from the cough and the cuss of a train. 

Heard a haggard homeward teacher

croon this non-sanguine refrain:

What's two fingers of a fifth of bourbon,

for three monkeys who threaten incursion?

Let's meet at the Division Bar and choose,

which monkey divides the booze.

Don't teach me how to think,

just buy me another drink.

The Dividend's got the dough.

Divisors move adagio.

If the Quotient is the answer,

then common core's the cancer.

Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,

in the jungles of Hollywood and Vine.

Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,

in our uncommon core divide.

D'danger dares divide.

M'monkeys multiplied.

Equation S'swings subtraction.

B'bringin' down n-numbers for a fraction.

In the graveyard of spirituality, 

an equation is a minor equality.

These very unmerry unvariables,

wax poetic unperishable parables.

Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,

in the jungles of Hollywood and Vine.

Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,

in our uncommon core divide.

Don't teach me how to think,

just buy me another drink.

The Dividend's got the dough.

Divisors move adagio.

If the Quotient is the answer,

then common core's the cancer.

OK, let's look at the problem.

A fifth of bourbon, let's call that 5.

That's the Quotient.

Then there are 3 dangerous monkeys.

They are the divisors.

1 x 3 = 3

Subtract the 3 from the 5 = you get two.

Two fingers, two fingers.

Bring down the number.

Repeat as needed.

Watch your place column.

I don't understand, I don't understand.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

There was a shooting at the school,

with a two dollar pistol.

The principal is the suspect.

Don't teach me how to drink,

just think me another think.

Indubitably.

Nebulosity

Let reign dance your brain trance

and the fog in your noggin.

All aboard the bored gourd!

Destination: Misbegotten.

The generosity of your nebulosity

– a cirrus circling twerk.

Your numbnut nimbus quirk

– a cumulus murking smirk.

A flabbergast of ghost and gas

aghast dark attic inaction.

My mist of gist just missed your list

and mystified reaction.

You’re a puff-puff pas de deux

of Tweedle Dee and Dat’l Do,

but as MY faults are FAR from few,

and my thicker ticker tocks anew,

know I'm lost without you,

and will never say adieu.

Don't Hold the Mayo!

(sing to the tune of Hank Williams' "Jambalaya")

Mayonnaise my tongue ballets in a lemon Speedo.
On Grilled Cheese, makes my knees dip like a Yo-Yo.
Potatoes, even Sushi Rolls, seem like a porno.
Buy it by the tons, slap it on my buns, don't hold the Mayo! 

Chorus:

Mayonnaise my new catchphrase. Did you get the memo?
Cures malaise, spreads lengthways, lassos your sorrow.
I hear more "Yeas," than I hear "Nays," bang it on a bongo.
Buy it by the tons, slap it on my buns, don't hold the Mayo!

(INSTRUMENTAL VERSE - whisk and spatula drum solo)

Greta Garbo shared guacamol' with baby Brando.
In a daze it put Macy Gray's pal Dana Plato.
It's so white, but that's all right, like my Ford Bronco.
Buy it by the tons, slap it on my buns, don't hold the Mayo! (Chorus)

Whimsy Nazi Mime

(a call for courage in the face of future tyrants)

Hitler's flimsy whimsy
was whimsied on a dime.
Phoned his foe Marcel Marceau
- whimsy Nazi mime.

"My possum's up a 'simmon tree.
Your monkey's on the ground,
pantomiming gleefully,
'Shake them 'simmons down!'"

Marcel Marceau would whisper low
his monkey murder word.
His tongue broke free, but hung on T,
and U came out absurd.

"T-U, turkey! T-U, tie!
T-U, turkey! Buzzard's eye!
Monkey hoard the possum's blossoms!
Drip the Nazis dry!"

Adolf coughed, teed off at golf,
with monkey, mime and friend,
but yearned to have them burned,
when possum walked in wind.

Libya the Corkscrewed Malady

(sung to the tune of Lydia the Tattooed Lady)

Libya oh Libya,

say have you seen Libya?

Libya, the corkscrewed malady.

Tripoli's so slippery, oil-gripped by the prick you see

Deflated-Dictator Gaddafi.

Libya oh Libya, please change Wikipedia.

Oh Libya that dude's got YOU SCREWED!

We're on our backs with your oil fields supreme.

We'd rub you back if you'd fill our canteen.

But you proudly wave back our green, green, green.

We can learn a lot from Libya.

(La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la)

Muammar's momma had misplaced her comma,

and now we can't spell his last name.

You say Gaddafi,

and I say Khaddafi,

but a jerk is a jerk, and he's lame.

(La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la)

His password for Facebook and Gmail and Yahoo,

give'm grief that's no end in sight.

Had no first pet or first job or first kiss,

so he shut down the whole goldern site.

Libya oh Libya, please change Wikipedia,

and let his reign FINALLY FALL!

On YouTube we laughed at your song "Zenga Zenga,"

now we watch as we rewind your bad game of Jenga.

And with a new post they will probably hang ya.

We can learn a lot from Libya.

(La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la)