Old Age and Other Natural Predators

I Realize You were Only Doing

What Comes Naturally,

But I have to Scold You, My Pet

I know you only meant to make

A dandy first impression

By killing this whole crowd, but Jake,

Behold my grave expression–

For it is impolite, I think,

And maybe even naughty,

Recruiting everyone in sight

To play the role of Body–

Your nature calls you to the task,

I knew from your first GRRR!–

But some restraint gets less complaint

Than utter massacre.

I thank you that you rout the moles

And rodents by your labors,

Dear Jakey Boy, but next time leave

Your teeth out of the neighbors.

On the upside, the house next door is available now . . .

Dizzily Dark Imaginings

Tiny Terror

Hummingbird Unmasked

My beak’s a single fang I sink in artery or vein

And none suspect me of this drink but clinically insane

And paranoid-type fantasists whom no one else believes

When they accuse the pretty bird that flits in flowers and leaves.

Though tiny as a bumblebee, I may grow round and bloated;

The nectar of your heart is how I keep my Ruby-Throated

Good looks and family heritage (and, not the least, my name),

My shapely belly and my speed of flying fast as flame.

It’s not that I’m nefarious, invidious or rude,

But merely that I have a taste for human blood as food,

And do not fear: I’d never kill you outright when I dine—

Far rather sip and savor you as vintage claret wine.

 

Happily Haunted Houses

Her Monument

In a strange little homestead lit by electric light

is a passing builder’s fancy floating in the neon night;

the spirit of the artisan flits by, nocturnal blue,

and shoots the moon by swooping through the ashes in the flue;

she drifts in starry glimmerings beyond the crooked room

where comet dust is settling on the folly of her tomb. O,

let lie the tools of wisdom where your little homestead rises,

and cry Hurrah! for moonlit nights

and foolish enterprises.

Someone to Watch *All* Over Me

[In a Really Creepy & Inappropriate Way]

Thought I was your stalker, violent,

Sneaking on you, ninja-silent,

Pervert peering in your casement,

Clear from attic to the basement,

With my satellite trained on you

All the way from where you’ve gone to

From my distant lair? I’ve got you

Hid from trouble while I watch you–

Baby, you’re not scared now, are you?

I’m just trying to watch out for you;

If I didn’t, who could keep you

Safe and sane, awake, asleep–Who?

I’m your hero, watching closely

So you won’t become morosely

Sad and spooked at all; to

Keep you safe and sound; I call you

In the morning and way later

Just to keep away the hater

That might try to nab your collar,

Take your keys, your watch, your dollar,

Keep you sleepless, full of sorrow–

Sleep tight, Babe! See you tomorrow.

What, *me* scary???

Penny for My Thoughts

Not to Worry, There’s More in the Bank

Do not despair that I have set low price

Upon my intellect and all its blooms,

Its wild embellishments, creative rooms

Filled full with every possible device

Invention and intelligence can build–

My brilliance shedding dazzling insights far

As light can travel from the largest star–

My memory mansion’s rooms are this far filled,

And yet I charge a pittance, just a cent,

For all the riches I have made to date,

And fling them with abandon, though so great,

Along the curb beneath your pediment.

Why would I cast my wealth thus at your feet?

Like pennies, I am also obsolete.

He Cracked a Wicked Little Smile . . .

 

. . . as he was hatching his plots . . .

Quack Quack, Etc.

There’s nothing adverse

That I throw in the sauce

As I start to rehearse

The demise of the Boss

But as I descend

To the end of the day

It’s more tough to pretend

To be lightsome and gay

When I feel in my marrow

The building of rages

Brought on by the narrow-

Ness by which he gauges

My quest for perfection

In service to him

Whose extreme predilection

For being quite grim

As you guess is a needle

To nag and annoy

Like the high nasal wheedle

Of a self-centered boy

Until something explodes

In the back of my brain

At some one of his goads

And I go quite insane

So I must kill him gladly

By end of the day

And go off quacking madly

As I’m carted away

Big Hairy Deal

 

I spy one creepy old fly . . .

Thanks but No Thanks

If you really know a Good Thing

when you

see it,

(it seems to me) you ought to have

a better idea of

how to

be it.

It’s not that I’m not struck by

the scintillation and dazzle of your

super-fantastic-ness

in person,

it’s just

that I can’t imagine it’s possible

for anyone who is just like you

to worsen.

What I mean is that for someone

who truly seems to

think he

is God’s Gift to Everybody and

stupendous and miraculous, you sure

are

stinky.

Just a shell of his former self . . .

Creep

A plethora of pleasures

A deluge of delights

A heap of halcyon happiness

Awaits your days and nights

If you will only let me

Pour on you lavish love

I’ll gladly stop the nastiness

That you accuse me of

Pirates of All Sorts

Always Someone Else’s Problem

‘Twas the pirate Rumbustious Rudy

Who felt it his life’s work and duty

To divest someone’s self of his piffling pelf

And retain the remainder as booty.

Of Dire Days and Nebulous Nights

 

 

Missing You

The kettle on the hob is hissing

Without cease, for Kettie’s missing—

She dashed out to check the door

And hasn’t come back anymore;

Although we saw a pair of shoes

And stockinged legs amid the ooze,

Heels up, in yon green murky swamp,

We dasn’t get our own shoes damp

By plunging toward her in the rough

Glutinous muck, and soon enough

The heels stopped kicking anyhow.

No one will come for coffee now,

For though ‘twas us stood at her door,

She slipped; shan’t visit anymore.

Slightly Bent

Emmylou and Louie went

To town together long ago—

They went to town, for all we know;

Although they both were slightly bent,

We think they just went off to town,

Not that they were bumped off, ambushed,

Stabbed, poisoned, or shot down;

But given they were slightly bent,

Our finding them quite stone cold dead

Was not a shock, it must be said,

So we’re not certain where they went

Or what they did or what it meant

Or whether in the town or out,

Or if some others were about

That had a slightly different bent,

But anyway, the two are dead,

Both of them, Emmylou and Louie,

And lest I should become all gooey,

That’s the whole that need be said.