My Mother and my Father

Out of the Light they Lie

The Warrant would not find them

And here ‘Tis only I

‘Tis only I

Shall hang so high

O let not man remember

The Soul that God forgot

But fetch the county kerchief

And noose me in the knot

And I will rot

For so the Game is ended

That should have not Begun

My Mother and My Father

They had a likely Son

And I have None

Note: This is the only poem I feature on my blog that I did not write. I read it in an autobiography of the famed lawyer Charles Darrow. It was written by an unnamed author.

The poor wretch was convicted as a murderer. He was condemned to hanging. I found the poem to be quite haunting.

C’est la vie mon amour!

– Donald Reith

Whether Ye Be Enemy or Foe

Don’t Pass Under The Mistletoe 

For there you will be under attack 

By my Longing Lips 

For a Lasting Smack

If this should turn you to the Hooch 

Then I will be on the Prowl again 

For an even Bigger Smooch

Beware the stare of the Sensuous Scrooge!

Scrutinize the examining eyes that set upon your brooch

 

 

 

 

I watched with awe

As you came ashore

After sailing from far far away lands

You built your towns

On none were frowns

With sheer grit

Determination

Faith

And bare hands

I figured that one fateful day

Where we would play

And share our future destiny as friends

For that fateful chance

To laugh and dance

Where our mutual goals would depend

I have my ways

And you have yours

On each others strengths we could lend

And we could build

And see fulfilled

A New World Order

For all to comprehend

We are so different

In so many ways

I didn’t think this day

Would ever come to be

That in the end

Instead of try to befriend

You would treat me

Just like a piece of meat

Gobble! Gobble!

Walk Up a Seesaw

Guffaw

High-Five a Paw

Lick it Up

Don’t Use a Straw

Leave Your Scent

It’s the Law

Who Needs Nail-Polish

When You Got a Claw

Eat your Meat

Raw

Hee-Haw

I’ll Be Your Best Friend

When You Come Back

In The Door

I Lost My Mommy

And My Daddy

You evened the score

Toodle-Doo

Till We can Run

Again

Where the Grass is Green

And no one is mistreated as that scoundrel Poor

I would like to tell you a story today

A story of how my confidence in life went astray

That one fateful day

On the Jersey Bridge To Nowhere

It started with a call for an ambulance

After experiencing sharp pains in my chest

These pains I could no longer bear

Please get me out of here!

On the Jersey Bridge To Nowhere

The ambulance at last had finally arrived

I was relieved to be finally put inside

Now here I will reside

On the Jersey Bridge To Nowhere

The paramedics are finally here!

Their arrival to the hospital half-way there

Had filled me with great cheer

I heard one whisper, ” It’s too late I fear.”

On the Jersey Bridge To Nowhere

And so here I sing my sad song

Of the day gone inexplicably wrong

Of the ambulance trip that took too long

Why had the governor done me wrong?

On the Jersey Bridge To Nowhere

Corruption and hypocrisy

Are the enemies of democracy

This I thought as I struggled to breathe

And my ever present vigilance

Fell to eternal sleep

On the Jersey Bridge to Nowhere

https://www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/family-woman-died-doesn-blame-bridgegate-article-1.1571844

I shall layeth down 

My cloak of redemption

It shall cleaneth you 

Of all manner 

Of compensation

For just as my temperament 

Doth squabble feebly 

With the present foibles 

Of my most difficult current hostilities

Time

Sweet majestic 

Unwavering time

Doth reconcile in me 

An assurance of tranquility 

Shall invade my troubled waters 

And calm the turbulent seas 

To but a ripple

As if transposed 

To a lake 

Where the sun doth shine 

From the heavens

And prosperity 

Will live in my house 

Once more

The rain In Spain

Falls gently on the plain

In New York City it backs up sewers once again

Creating puddles that take two weeks to drain

Oil slicks abound the terrain

Causing motorcyclists lots of pain

Cursing and swearing is what sustains

In the abundance of late-running trains

The Mendacious Jester
Lets untruths fester
To put on his political plays
His gilded tongue
Roams loose among
The Ignorables
Who long for
Yesterday
His billionaire manufactured skits
Puttin’ On The Ritz
Are theatrical and receive
Lots of puppet praise
With outrageous aplomb
He nears closer to the bomb
Whilst the cheering throngs
Ready Democracy’s grave