The office

November 8th 2013


About executives I get disgusted

As they rant of the dignity of work

When their habits seem maladjusted.

Sometimes, a successful chap is a jerk.

Often I notice establishment schmucks

At the monitor desk where they linger.

They pick at their nose when scheming for bucks

Then complain that they must lift the finger!

"Here's a process we must make efficient!"

"We must automate the nose and the pick

So that all will have boogers sufficient

With a brilliant productivity trick!"

     Oh they are clever professionals indeed

     God how I hope they account for nosebleed! 




White, uptight, and outta sight

February 23rd 2018


Yoked to a worthwhile endeavor

Perhaps even hatred might be redeemed

But to live in that fashion forever

Would be a nightmare forever redreamed.

If such a status remained persistent

I'd consider the grim reaper's blade

And ponder becoming nonexistent

Then put up with the shit that rude people spade.

Oh I hear arguments from those that hate

The mean old politically correct

That America will somehow be great

When courtesy itself gets no respect.

Yes it's inconvenient to be diplomatic

Especially if you are white and rich

And know about the trailer trash tactic

Where you get what you want by being a bitch.

     Convenience whores become impolite

     With introspections emasculated sight

     And spoiled honkies are a social blight

     Convinced that the customer is always right.





Brought to you by the S.T.D.*

March 28th 2017 (an address to my critics)

*The Superlative Theatrics Department.


You must read Pope, Poe, Milton and Moliere

Then your nose too may rise up in the air

As you recite your most recent sonnet

Regarding toast with Blue Bonnet on it.

With words most people are a disaster

But my words will prove I am the master.

Your words no one will want to utter

But mine are as smooth as the finest butter.

Your crude thoughts are like margarine slices

Which you use for unspeakable vices

That start with unintelligible rants

And end with your hands deep down in your pants.

     Words, like margarine, will seem insincere

     Unless buttered by... The Midnight Sonneteer!




March 4th 2016


Ascend, wee daffy dill,

And bloom with plum and crocus!

Drive off the wintry chill

With your vernal hocus pocus!

Blast your horn up towards the sun

And it's brilliance that you mimic.

Prove forever and to everyone

That you're more than just a gimmick!

Show off thy nodding stalk

And lax, nutating leaves.

Around your beauty we will flock

And the glory it achieves!

Yes it's true your charm is brief

And soon your hue will fade.

Time will prove again it's thief

But your cheer has been conveyed

     And that I think I'd like to keep

     Long after you've gone back to sleep!




Bigshots

December 20th 2017


Leadership! The buzzword perpetual

Worshipped through the patristic eons

By the pallid preconceptual

And all their sadistic peons.

"All hands on deck to swear!'

Say the captains by beatitudes.

Then, by their demeanors you can compare

...antipodean human attitudes.

Actions prove when morality is lost

And ethos quoted more than followed

Are values that may as well be tossed

As less mud wherein the hogs are wallowed.

     Leadership! That faithful permission slip

     That let's them smugly flop, before they flip. 

 



Observations on Friday the 13th,

March, 2015 at 3:30 a.m.


I gazed into the Jovian disk

As one of Galileo's moons

Drifted into it's glowing form,

Melting like butter into a bisque.

Jove broadcasts crackling tunes

Formed by some lurking plasma storm.

The vastness of space blocks the sound

But many planets make noise.

If you're not able to hear

The heavens as they spin around

With their rotational poise

Then just view them when it is clear.

They pass quickly through the eyepiece

So be sure to pay attention

When compressing your view of space.

Keep your lenses free of piegrease

And scenes of honorable mention

Will wind up in front of your face!

A silent telescopic scene

Produces harmonious thoughts

of Jove's ethereal lightning.

Those distant bolts don't seem so mean,

Just far off electrical knots

That aren't very frightening.

Yet no thunder seems a blunder.

If only outer space had air

To transport Olympic fury.

Plentiful skies rent asunder

By godlike powers without care

I think would be much less dreary. 

     Or better still...

Some riveted steampunk rockets

Full of comely amazon chicks

On their way to make some pictures.

Some eyes might pop out of sockets

After watching such oddball flicks

Crafted without confining strictures.

Fine interplanetary skies

Can always use some improvement!

Let's bring back that retro space age

Of plentiful saucer supplies

And warp factor powered movement!

You just know it would be all the rage! 




October 29th 2015


Tommyrot, or not?

That is the word.

The word that most consider absurd.

Will it rot?

Yea or nay?

Or will it dry out in a day

Leaving only a bloodstained spot?

Will this memento mori stay

Or will you throw this verse away?

Try waking up and having tea

Then with this verse you might agree.

Either way it's better than what Tommy's got.




Lilac Nights

September 2017


A poets best work is done after dark,

That's the most romantic time to think,

And to make a more memorable mark

He needs to use an appropriate ink.

Well, there are many ways to please the muse

But the muse that helps after hours

Prefers that I use more charming hues

Which I think assist with her powers.

With them she gives the gift of glory

And endless beauty from a sea of dreams

That might be fashioned into a story

Composed from that ink's swift flowing streams.

     Great fancy and all her marvelous flights

     Transpire best on warm lilac nights. 





Orbits of Glory

September 27th 2016


Beauty steeps in it's own saucy aether

Mysterious to all but the Muse.

It wafts about as d├ęcor to wreathe her

And it serves to amaze and confuse.

If effort is made of both wit and grace

Some clearing may be made through the haze

And reward is had by seeing her face

And the honed thought her fine look conveys.

In her domain we find spheres of greatness

And the orbits of glory they drift in.

Such thinking suffers no sad abateness

From the poet residing in Sifton!

     Oh it's a humble suburb, quite boring,

     But it gets poetic genius soaring!




A Sonnet for the Solstice

December 20th 2016


Here we are at winter's solstice

Where it's tough to stay warm and dry.

Yet some things from summer I will not miss

Such as the lazy bumble fly,

Or excessive auto exhaust,

Or thorns on blackberry vines

And roadkill, by Goodyear tire embossed,

Whereon that bumble fly dines.

Such scenes on solar hot asphalt

Make summer such a wretched thing

Like that whole humidity gestalt

With it's perspiratory cling!

     Yes the best time on calendar or clocks

     is either one, or the other, equinox!




The Reason


Great care must be taken, that much is sure,

When communicating with people in verse.

It isn't always a surefire cure

But it's sweeter than a coarse twitter curse.

And since I possess the power of words

I must now set an example of grace

For the earth needs more than technocrat nerds

Or leaders that stain the national face.

They need something more than chaotic thoughts,

Something more than rapid couplets that drone

Or vulgar tunes amped by kilowatts

That no cavalier of old would condone.

     So now in the night, it is I they will hear,

     The haunting voice of The Midnight Sonneteer! 




Half moon beach

July 2014


The pelican shows aquatic grace.

It circles just above the sea

Then drops, and chops a wave with sword like face.

Plunging thus how could it's quarry flee?

It throws itself boldly into the fray,

Beak and webbed feet like a rocket's nose and fins,

The impact marked by splash and spray

Just beyond the surf's sandy, pounding dins.

These sorties take their toll. The beach is plumed!

Their spent feathers are snared by seaweed heaps!

Quills! Cut them just so and ink will be flumed.

A great gift from this place of neapy reaps.

     I think the muse controls these great birds

     Knowing well that great feathers make great words!