*****
Poxes Upon Inappropriately Named Items v.2
A Pox Upon A
Mmmmmmm Open faced club sandwich. Awhhhhwhwhwh!
--Homer Simpson
Could there be a bigger faker
Than that which we call the sandwich maker?
I’ve never seen it make a sandwich
Neither sloppy joe (or that crappy Manwich).
Since a kid, I’ve grown much wiser;
This thing will not make a Kaiser!
And Heav’n forbid you even try
To make yourself a batch of rye.
Now I know you’re thinking you’ve caught me dead
That what I’m talking about is baking bread;
That’s my first proof, what does it take
To prove this machine cannot bake.
Now I have established it doesn’t bake bread,
I hope I’m not filling you up with dread.
Rain’s what I bring, no better weather,
For now I will prove it doesn’t put food together.
Think about the ingredients lying in the fridge,
You’ve never seen the machine create fresh sandwich.
If you depend upon it, you’ve quite the wait
For a
So what does it do? I’m sure you ask
What’s the purpose of it? What’s its task?
A sandwich maker, if I might be so rude,
Is merely there to cook the food.
With human hands we bake the bread,
From the ideas in our hand.
A sandwich maker merely took it
And in a short while proceeded to cook it.
So there you go, another misnomer
(Accompanied by a quote from Homer);
Less aptly named than the salt shaker
We call pox on thee: sandwich maker!
****
March 21
The Ode to the Tear Line
Ahhhh! My pudding is trapped forever!
-- Homer Simpson
A sign that’s there for all to see
That tells you how something should be
Reduces both confusion and fear:
This one says clearly “Tear Here”
Oh dotted line, thank you so!
For letting one such as I know
In iconology loud and clear
That all I need to do is: “Tear Here!”
How long I sat and cried
Over this fruit pack that had been dried;
To get inside, the price was dear!
I saw no sign that said “Tear Here.”
“Alas!” I cried and then: “Forsooth!”
And got drunk on gin and vermouth.
What use in purchasing dried pear
If there were no sign saying “Tear Here”
As I lay in my drunken stupor
I saw then the sign that was super;
And proceeded further with joy so sheer
And did what I was told, I tore there.
Finally into the package I descended
My pangs of hunger they were upended;
From that moment on my path was clear
After seeing the sign that said “Tear Here”.
So an ode to thee, dotted line,
To let thee know I think thee fine;
And let’s all give a great big cheer
For that line that says to us: “Tear Here!”
*****
March 20
The Curse of the Red Dishwashing Soap
“Madge, I soaked in it!”
-- Ad slogan
Mwahahahahaha
-- Some evil person
What madman made thee none can say.
What fell hand created thee on that fated day?
No sane person, that at least is my hope,
Could have created the red dishwasing soap.
Conscious without Conscience
Alive without heart
Would we survive such fell art?
I walked into the kitchen this afternoon
With an empty dish, a fork and spoon;
The utensils in the dishwasher were placed
And next I uttered a girlish scream, much to my disgrace.
Emotion, but not feeling,
Cruel in stature,
No category for its nomenclature.
There on the counter it stood,
As stoic and silent as a piece of wood;
It looked as if some creature had weakly bled
For the dishwashing soap was… it was red.
Is it the blood of some old demon
That has been diluted?
Or something much more convoluted?
It assaulted my soul like some spiritual shiv
And put the pall in Palmolive;
Dishwashing soap should not come in that hue;
They must needs come in green or blue!
Yes it is still a primary colour;
Yet the other two denote a friend
While this one merely denotes the end… of life.
“But what about the curse?” you ask.
The curse comes as you complete your task,
You but need to look at the dish to see what I mean,
For though you scrub and scrub it comes not clean!
Is this some ironic Greek hell?
Like Midas and his touch of cold?
It’s sends shivers down my soul!
It turns the tastiest morsel to dross
And makes it so you need to floss!
Each bit of food by this red stuff coated
Swells right up and becomes bloated.
Some hope there must be,
Some savior out of time
To dismiss this horrible reddish slime!
So the next time as you walk down the aisle
Of your grocery store wearing a smile
Think upon this moment, as I barely cope
With the curse of the Red Dishwashing soap!
Never again can I do this,
I cannot fulfill your wish
Because of this I can never, ever clean another dish!
****
March 19
Poxes Upon Inappropriately Named Items
Part the First: A Pox Upon A Waffle "Iron"
At first I thought I'd struck the mother lode
When I praised this item once in ode;
But walk with me, follow its plunging stocks
For now I throw at the waffle iron a pox.
Think about it, take a moment,
Resent is what I'm trying to foment;
The purpose of an iron is to flatten out
Something a waffle iron doesn't do. No doubt
About the way it works, it rivets
My attention by crushing pancakes with divots;
Before we can hear the crushed cake whimper
We'd best start calling it a pancake crimper.
The irony in this case is delicious
The intent I'm sure on someone's part malicious;
I know pleasure to some madman it brings
To go around inappropriately naming things.
I will act as police, hear my first siren
I call down pox upon the waffle iron
My passion for correctness has been enflamed
A pox upon that which has been inappropriately named!
****
March 15
The Elephants of Surprise or The Teddy Bear’s Massacre
How do you know an elephant's been in your fridge?
It's footprints are found in the butter.
-- Children's joke.
If you go out in the woods today you're sure of a big surprise
If you go out in the woods today you won't believe your eyes;
For every bear that ever there was
Is lying there dead just because:
Today was the day the elephants crashed their picnic.
The last thing they saw was ebony
As they were gored by ivory;
One moment, one another they were fluffing
Til the great beasts came and gored them to their stuffing.
Tusks gored and tusks thrashed
Too much detail already rehashed
Today was the day the elephants crashed the picnic.
If you're a bear in the woods today you'd better not be alone
Because elephants are somewhere out there waiting to crush your bones;
For every bear that ever there as
Will be ground to dust just because:
Today was the day the elephants crashed their picnic.
Who knows what misplaced rage
Caused that dark and bloody stage?
Who could predict that rage would be freed
And cause such a horrible stuffing stampede?
One of the worst beaten up 'hoods
Just happened to be 100 acre woods
For today was the day the Elephants crashed their picnic.
Every teddy bear that's been good doesn't matter today
The Valkryes of Fallen Bears will come to take them away;
Beneath the trees where nobody sees
The Elephants brought them low to their knees
Today was the day the elephants crashed their picnic.
***
Transcend Ant: The Ant Who Would Be More
Just another cog in the wheel I am,
A drone, who they think does not feel;
But feel I do and strongly too -
Yet now is not the time to yet reveal.
Often have I toiled this way
In silence I have worked with reason;
Striving to improve, other to approve
And I have worked season after season.
Gifted with the strength of ten
I lift and bring to my colony this food;
I am not the best, I don’t always get the jest
But much good in life I have accrued.
Through fire and flood I have lived
Through both I have persevered
Yet I have never seen the visage of my queen
The one I have so long revered.
I could not say when these thoughts began
When I began to think outside my being.
One day the light came on, and it has never gone,
Affecting all the world and how I’m seeing.
Each day is harder, more difficult
I am a little wearier than the day before;
But perhaps I will recover before they do discover
That I am not the same, I’m something more.
One day I will strike out
Go it on in this world alone;
Much to my disgrace, this is not my place
Outside of my shell, I have grown.
Therefore, I will stay here
But I feel I will not make the year;
I will take this path with no fear of wrath
I see it now my way is clear.
So down the road I travel
Leaving with my hopes and a song;
One sad note, to keep afloat
The others will not even know I’m gone.
Small or little, hopes are the same,
Striving to be more, and never laying down.
All this keep in mind, life would often leave us blind
Rise above it all, stand your ground.
***
March 13
A Pox Upon .... Um.... Er..... Indecisiveness.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...
-----"The Road Not Taken" Robert Frost
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
----"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" TS Eliot
I could not think of what to write;
I was up all day and up all night
Pondering upon all these ponderings.
As day turned into passing day
No subject came around my way
For I was lost in empty maunderings.
Here! A topic! Alas! It sucks!
Another comes! It's gone! Aww shucks!
My brain danced around like some drunken dancer
Stumbling from one place to another,
Tripping over one thing and then another.
Alas! I wish I could find some answer!
Will I go left or right,
What shall I eat tonight?
What's my favorite candy bar?
I wrote this poem once, then made revision
A monumental testament to indecision;
But for the course that just happens to be par.
So I call down pox upon my lack of voice;
The one that inhibits my making choice
Between that which has offered. I impress
Upon you all the importance of choosing;
For in not using it you are surely losing.
So join my Pox Upon Indecisiveness!
***
March 12
Requiem For A Troll Under A Bridge
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
--"Ulysses" Alfred Lloyd Tennyson
I was a creature of legend, in legend born,
Feared around the countryside, my strength
Was as the strength of an honest man;
Now I am but a victim of modern day scorn,
This fate will come to you all at length,
For inevitably this is the fate of man.
Who's that.... whoooooom
I was the one who watched, the waiter,
The Guardian of the passages over and under;
Crossing over from one place to another
Could not be done; but now, in this later
Day I am a victim of Fate's blunder,
I am a shadow of myself and my brother.
Who.... whoooooom
Yes I crouched in my accursed hole
Waiting for one to come, and yes perhaps
I ate him if he could not best me fairly.
Yes I spent my days knowing my soul
Was safe should my abode collapse;
Fate deals with such as I most squarely.
Who's that trip, trap.... whoooooom!
Now I have been left by time far behind;
My brethren have slunk away and lost
Yet I remain, holding the passage still;
One day I will be awarded peace of mind,
But these days I ponder the cost,
For with age my bones have taken chill.
Who's that trip...... WHOOOOOM!
Bah! This day I will draw to a close;
Soon I will leave this place and join
My brothers standing on that farther ridge;
But not before I utter these words Fate chose
For me, the very words I long ago did coin:
Who's that trip, trap, trapping UPON MY BRIDGE!!!!
***
March 10
I could sit down and do this in prose
But would not properly curse a runny nose
Without the degree of rhyme required;
I wished this subject to evade,
But I could make some phlegmonade
If only I wasn't so damn tired.
Also it's become an issue,
The alarming rate that I use tissue
Is causing tree huggers to protest at my door.
I wish those people I could appease
But instead I greet them with a sneeze,
While claims of germ warfare from them pour.
But trust me if could relieve,
I would not wipe my nose upon my sleeve,
Til then, if I might be so bold.
Do not judge me, I am a gem,
Just one buried deep in phlegm.
Why is there no cure for this common cold?
Not only do these germs make me ill,
Of them I have had my fill,
I do not feel at all here rightly groovy.
To prove then that germs are bad,
Here's a fact that will make you sad:
They saved Tom Cruise's ass in that stupid movie.
A cure, that is what I am seeking,
As I sit here with my poor nose leaking,
I'm sure someone out there finds this funny.
I've emptied out my tissue box,
I've wiped my nose on both my socks,
Yet the damned thing is still so runny!
Now I must conclude this poem,
Scientists have come and I must show'em
That the phlegm leaks and never slows.
And for my final trick
I will sneeze and make all of you sick!
And a Pox upon this runny nose!
***
Bill Against the Demon of Snacks
He stalks in silence, like the night
Hunger, constantly
Gnawing at my belly.
No succor for me.
You are not safe, not day or night,
Assailed by Hunger,
I crave sweet sustenance,
Something to fill me.
Wake you will to find you're craving
Strength enough in me
I resist this temptation;
How long can I last?
Soon this hunger makes you raving.
The eyes of the demon are large and wide,
The hunger he brings endless like the tide;
Nothing to sate him, when he finds his hold
Soon you must give in, or live in the cold.
Strength, there is and more, inside
Enough to keep the demon from my side;
For now the demon has been halted,
I crave nothing that has been salted
Or sweetened; these things I can resist
But I fear he will return, and gets not my gist.
The eyes of the demon are unbelieving,
This is not an end but a slight relieving;
Another day he will renew his attack
For he is a demon, the Demon of Snack.
The peace I feel is but a respite
Rest now, while I can,
Hunger even now assails,
Hold fast and hold on.
Just a small morsel would be alright.
Even now it comes,
Slinking back. Subtle hunger
Knocking at my door.
Back you demon, I will hold steady!
Tasty, regulated meal,
Holding hunger at bay.
Come again, and I will be ready!
***
A Pox Upon Day Light Savings Time
Or A Pox Upon The Thief of Hours
O! Lament ye one and all;
So far we find ourselves from fall
And now, such a dark and horrid thing
Comes to our clocks; for it is spring
And time springs ahead.
One hour of my life they borrow,
Withholding it all year to my sorrow;
I want it back with interest thief!
That hour would have brought much relief!
Now it brings restlessness instead.
In through the window comes the Thief of Hours;
Stealing time while the alarm clock cowers.
Out through the window he goes with my time
Yet I meekly, mildly accept his crime.
When I was young, certainly no charmer,
I blamed this loss upon the farmer.
"Who cares if Old MacDonald needs the light!"
I cried. "I wish upon his crops a blight!"
But it turns out I was wrong.
Now they tell us that to conserve power
They need to take from us an hour;
"We should not worry! Not at all!"
Says the MAN. "I"ll give it back to you in Fall"
Play it again Sam, play that song.
In through the window comes the Thief of Hours
Stealing time from me with his powers;
I thought to stay awake and theft
Yet I awoke again temporally bereft.
His hands are the hands of a grandfather clock;
He wears numerous watch bands instead of a sock.
His thoughts they are ticking like the passing of time
His eyes are like clocks, counting his crime.
Is there a bank somewhere that you store my time?
Does it gain interest from this temporal crime?
Who can draw upon the minutes accrued
Now that I have been temporally screwed?
These answers I hope to learn.
Take my hour then! Take it soon
Between rising of sun and setting of moon.
I will count the hours and the days
Until the reverse of this situation plays
For fear not, the hour will return.
Out the window goes the Thief of Hours;
Along the row of houses he scours
Stealing time, as time still beckons,
He gathers up lost minutes and seconds.
I know you thief, I know your face
It will take two seasons, but this time you'll replace.
In the seasons that brings the death of flowers
I will find you, Thief of Hours.
I will hunt you til then sly, sly fox.
Til I find you then, take this. My Pox.
***
A Pox Upon A Bunched Up Mattress Sheet
I counted sheep but couldn't sleep
As I lay there in my bed;
It was not dreams or silent screams
Running through my head.
In the sack my poor back
Was causing me much pain;
I tossed and turned, my lumbar burned
While I went insane.
It may be vanity, but my poor sanity
Hinges upon my sleeping well;
It's bad enough I'm not that tough
But to look like hell.
So late last night, to no delight
I found myself awake;
I'm sure I moaned, I know I groaned
So much I couldn't take.
What you ask? Was it some task
Left undone that kept me awake;
Nay I snort, nothing of the sort
Twas the pain I couldn't take.
For you see, what happened to me
(And this tale is almost complete)
The blankets bunched, my shoulders hunched
Because of the mattress sheet.
So tonight I'll do it right
The sleepless demon to defeat;
I'll fix that blanket, and never thank it,
And a Pox Upon A Bunched up Mattress Sheet.
****
March 06
And William, Son of Robert, brave warrior
Did wake to the sound of the chiming beast;
With a mighty punch from his fist
His swipe quelled that wrenching sound
And William, Son of Robert, did arise ere the sun
As Duncan, Son of William, Son of Robert did sleep
Safely in his bed, Carole, son of no one,
Daughter of her mother, did sleep as well
But bid her husband farewell in his daily trials.
With that William, Son of Robert, did leave the bedroom
Making his way downstairs aware of the questing beast;
The beast was called Litter Box and with mighty sweeps
Of his scoop William, son of Robert, noble warrior
Did cleanse, a minor version of a labor of Hercules;
Yet it was done.
Far away something brewed....
It was the coffee.
And Rhonda, son of no one,
Daughter of her mother, did come in her chariot;
And in the Corolla of Catastrophe, William,
Son of Robert, and Rhonda, Daughter of
Her Mother did make their way speedily to put
Out the fires of Trouble.
Voices spoke from far away...
They were on the radio.
William, son of Robert, did drive into the cave,
The
Left his chariot behind to stand guard against
The Way Home. Without fear, William, Son of Robert,
Staunch warrior, did make his way deeper
Into the heart of the beast. Into a cave within a cave
William, son of Robert, did go
He stepped into a box, and it did lift him up...
It was the elevator.
William, Son of Robert, renowned warrior,
Did make his way to his home from home,
And removed he from his bag of holding
The Discs of Edibility. These he placed within
The Machine of Toasting, and garnering aqua vitae
From the Machine of Boiling, he made his chocolate hot
And bore his Discs of Edibility back unto his desk;
William, son of Robert, Son of William sat then at his desk
And did work that day.
And from the great web of the world
He did pull distant images unto his fingertips
And from out of paper and ink did cause these images to be.
And he conversed with those far away in an instant...
He used the phone.
William, son of Robert, did then go away from his watch post
Trusting that his staunch companions woul0d keep*
Away the Beast of Immediacy from him, til
He could come back. And he did take unto him
Sustenance. And they did call it lunch.
William, son of Robert, son of William, did then peer
With the eye of eagle site, over the reports called by some
The Statements of Expense and of Income;
And they spoke to him of a horrid place wherein
The Feet of all maintained where square;
Such Square feet! Our noble warrior plunged on.
And it turns out that some of the feet of the square people
On the floor called main belonged unto those in the cavernous basement.
William, son of Robert, Son of William did look forward
Also to seeing Duncan, son of William, Son of Robert, Son of William
And Carole, Son of No One.
Then went William, Son of Robert, once more to the chariot
Which awaited him in the bowels of his workplace;
Climbing in, he did ignite the fire and the beast roared forth
Emerging into the afternoon sun as like something which
Emerges from darkness into an afternoon sun.
Then was he reunited with Rhonda, son of No One,
And the trust steed bore them once more unto their home;
On the way William, Son of Robert, did read of a boy
Trapped in a cupboard under the stairs; thereby making
His own life and that of Rhonda, Son of No One, Seem better.
Then he got home.
Then he changed.
Then he changed Duncan, Son of William, Son of Robert, Son of William.
Then he fell down the stairs, holding
Then William, son of Robert, Son of William, did write this ghastly poem
Causing the Norse skalds of eld to roll over in their graves.
****
March 05
There are ways to tell the real from fake
In such simple things as Shake'n' Bake;
Tis true you'll find, much to your shame
That there's an answer to: what's in a name?
"No name" the brand, and no name deserved;
Those that find they have been served
Will wonder at life's cruel turn
As their teeth crack and stomachs start to burn.
Twas but the other day when a cruel turn fate took
Whilst eating the fake Shake'n'bake called Shook Und Book
I noticed not, to my own chagrin,
A hardened clump and threw it in
My mouth only to find that the solid ball
Was not edible, not edible at all.
And lo and behold and alas and forsooth
Whilst biting down I broke my tooth.
The repair of that cost a pretty shilling
For it fractured not just a tooth but a filling;
And as I forked over cash to the dentist on that day
I cursed Shook Und Book all the not merry way.
So ware those of Scottish descent
Do not, in trying to save the last cent,
Believe that all products are the same;
As I hinted; there's something to the name.
For the quality control people do let things pass;
From hardened clumps to shards of glass (Conjecture)
The gods of taste they've already forsook
And called down a pox... a POX upon Shook und Book!
****
The Itsy Bitsy Spider climbed up the water spout...
I feel as if I have walked this road before;
From the moment I stepped foot outside the door
My steps have lead my along this path;
I walk now, devoid of glee and wrath,
Feeling rich with laughter, yet poor
For I have walked this very road before.
Down came the rain, and washed the spider out...
I crouch here on this path and feel renewed;
The rain has come, and I would not be misconstrued,
For this rain is a cleansing, cleaning rain.
That is not to say that I have lived life in pain,
On every path I've taken I have eschewed
To be the best; to be something more than crude.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain...
I have come along way down this same road,
Recognizing my friends the bat, the hare and toad;
Stopping a short while to exchange stories
Marveling in the rain and all its glories.
I feel refreshed with the seeds of friendship sewed;
Such is the joy that I have given and bestowed.
And the Itsy Bitsy Spider climbed up the spout again.
****
March 02
"I had a dark dream," so spoke Lord Byron
"That I found myself encased in iron.
I dreamt I was a crinkled piece of bread
With iron rivets making divots in my head.
Herein lay the dilemma for I was happy
All covered in syrup sort of flapjacky;
What wicked muse would have taunted me thus
That I dreamt of carbohydrate based sus -
tenance.
"Fine! So be it!" Stated awful Byron
"I dreamt again last night of waffle irons!"
I must pen this ere I forget;
I sate my appetites without fret.
"It toasts in beauty in the morn
Oh from heaven was this idea born!
Oh how I love thee, let me count the ways
With jam and preserves for all my days
I burst my pants!
He did proceed then to eat jawfuls
Of crispy toasted golden waffles;
He spent his life in gluttony awful
Engorging himself on toasted waffles;
His life was like quidditch without the Quaffle
But he noticed not as he ate his waffles.
It was the longing that drove Lord Byron
To create and write Ode to the Waffle Iron
His last, greatest romance.
****
March 01
I woke up this morning singing the blues
For I felt like crap as I put on my shoes;
Inside my chest I know sickness squirms
And that's why I say a pox upon germs.
Too small to see with the naked eye
Strong enough to sicken one great big guy;
I now feel as bad as Eighties Perms
Look, so I say again a pox upon germs.
The phlegm is disgusting
My throat, it is rusting,
My energy level lower than worms.
I feel very strongly, a pox upon germs!
My lungs they are coated, coated I say
With a thick sticky phlegm that won't go away.
It's the kind of scum found at the lowest law firms
And hence I write my pox upon germs.
Smaller than I, yet so much stronger
I can't yet imagine what could be wrong(er)
Tis packed a punch like the mightiest of wyrms
And I can but reply with a pox upon germs.
But this pox comes too late to do any good
As my lungs are wheezy, my brain turned to wood.
For I'm sic as a sick guy, that you can see
And these germs have laid a pox upon me.
****
February 28
Introduction: Or an Ode Upon Blogging
I sat me down one day and thought
I should share these thoughts of mine;
For these thoughts to me have brought
Feelings fell and fine.
I sat me down one day to write
Some words of benediction;
But think I may and think I might,
I could write naught but fiction.
I sat me down one day to pen
A word or two of cheer;
I sat me down once again
But could write naught but fear.
And so I stopped and dropped the pen
And fled from the keyboard;
I kept my words inside again
And pretended all was above board.
And so I stopped and bid my muse
Farewell and adieu;
No words I dropped, this no ruse
My writing days were through.
And so I stopped, grew discontent
As days would pass me by;
I felt I had some things to vent
But my words still came up dry.
But here I am, back again,
Once more the muse to flog;
And now I'm in, this will begin
My first (but not last) Blog.
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