John Wayne’s Bobbit


A little something from ’93. A little off-color.
Sung to the “Beverly Hillbillies”

Come and listen to my story
‘bout John Wayne Bobbit
a little ex-marine
with a really nasty habit

He’d abuse all his women
with punches and with rape
when his hand wouldn’t work
he just had to fornicate

Screw that is, jump bones, damn hormones.

Well Lorena said to Johnny
you can’t do that any more
so Johnny boinked her one more time
and threw her out the door

Then he went to sleep
and left his wiener unprotected
Lorena figured no more rape
if Winston was de-neckted

From the body weaned, guillotined.

She opened up the back door
in the kitchen she did sneak
she grabbed a nine inch bowie knife
in the bedroom she did peak

Johnny was a layin’ there
his lizard out in view
Lorena had no second thoughts
she knew what she had to do

One quick slice… very nice.

With his Member in her left hand
and the Bowie in her right
she tugged on Johnny’s Johnson
and beheld an eerie sight

With one quick swipe from Bowie
the evil critter went a flyin’
and Johnny Boy was left there
grabbin’ Stumpy and a crying’

Overnight transvestite.

Well Lorena took the Wiggler
and down the street she did go
cops, paramedics and firemen
were searchin’ for it high and low

They found it in the bushes
and they packed it up in ice
they brought it to the ER
with old John to reunite

Reattach, home at last.

Well the moral to this story
is easy to comprehend
if you mistreat your life partner
She’ll get even in the end

For the doctor sewed and stitched
but found he’d done the job all wrong
for when Johnny gets excited
it don’t go up, it goes straight down.

Up-Comings Due and Payable


Sitting at the desk
his mind somewhat dazed
as he finishes his breakfast
trying to remember this day’s agenda.
He can hear people outside…
the excitement growing
as entrepreneurs make a steady dollar
and the call for cold beer resounds.
His mind somewhat dazed
he cannot remember the occasion
but he fills with a false pride
as he recalls all the things he has done.

Organizing those who believed the lies
marring the enemy with twisted tales
dismantling institutions of long ago;
replacing them with a free-reign circus
creating animosity where it had calmed
pitting his victims against each other
while he and his cronies made money;
payments from the oppressed as he
promised… change…
they were too predisposed to realize
they were living his brand of change.

His thoughts rudely disrupted…
with a swat on his arm
an invitation to follow;
he is told the crowds await his arrival.
He remembers all the times
he was cheered and bowed to
standing ovations fit for a king
revered and protected by so many.
He enters his arena and revels in the cheers
used to being escorted, he follows
and, in usual fashion jogs up the stairs
waving to all as the cheers grow louder.

In his stupor, he sees an award of some sort
a man hanging the monstrosity around his neck
he is asked to speak and does not disappoint
emboldened by the crowd’s reaction, he continues
so smitten with himself he does not see
cheers of old have been replaced with jeers of new.
Clarity grabs him, shaking him from his daze
the last words he hears searing like red-hot pokers
pushed through his ears…
“may God have mercy on his soul”.

He remembers today, and time slows…
he feels the floor open below him
his weight forcing him down
bound like an animal he cannot move.
All misdeeds revisit and understanding comes
he is disgusted with his life, but is left with
no chance to apologize, to make right his wrongs
he begs for forgiveness from the one he rejected
for he knows no virgins await him.
As the rope tightens and he feels the crack
his last vision… looking down to see
the devil awaiting him with outstretched arms…
His debt…
to be repaid through eternity.

Good Eats


Labored breathing
damp clothes wrap your body in a tight suit
sticking to your skin
making movement difficult
and eyes burn from sweat
as dirt jams itself under your nails.

Forty pound buckets of water carried
two at a time, heavy
as the sun tries its best
to drop you where you stand…
relief comes in seeing the results
of your months long efforts.

Asparagus, two more years for yield
peas and carrots picked from the field
sauces made from garlic and ‘maters
last year’s blight doomed this year’s ‘taters
zucchini quiche and mixed squash dishes
green beans fill bean casserole wishes
brussel sprouts with herbs for good measure
light salads from lettuces… such a pleasure
more to tell but my mouth is now drooling
it’s dinner time; no I’m not fooling!

What’s Better than Morning Coffee…


Faint recollections…
wisps of smoke almost gone
evidence of an act
barely enough to draw a memory
each faded memory the same.

Early morning affection…
a loving act as she
brushes her lips against mine
and tells me she loves me
before she slips away into my sleep induced fog.

My last hour of sleep
filled with extra warmth
as a sweetness lingers on my lips
and her words fill the catacombs
of my mind.

Dreary Setting


In response to a prompt from clownponders.wordpress.com

Cold and wet walk down the aisle
a perfect marriage of discomfort
as dark angry clouds send
large cold drops catching all
who dare to challenge
chilling everything to the bone,
loud crisp booms of thunder
rattle the brain and
magnesium white bolts burn eyes.

Sanctuary compromised…
dampness permeates bedding,
the tattered cat hair covered coat
laying on the worn out couch
an unpleasant option
and the large branch scrapes across
the corrugated metal roof
while dancing the jitter-bug
to the never-ending wind-song.

Burnt pizza remnants on oven walls
a reminder of bills unpaid…
no forgiveness, no heat, no hot water
as bare wood floors befriend the elements
turning a cold shoulder
and the smell of damp dirty laundry
accompanied by an over full litter box
and the pungent smell of days old garbage
offends the senses.

It Isn’t Rock ‘n Roll, But We Like It


Parasites have taken root
like the mistletoe, attaching themselves
uninvited, spreading ever so slowly
living off the life blood
finally condemning their host to death.

Birds innocuously spreading the parasites
no one sees the treachery
instead, reveling in the mistletoe’s beauty
it is absorbed into our culture
for we are blinded by pretty things.

We listen to the spreaders of parasites
the songs they sing sweet to the ear
ambiguous, their songs we do not understand
yet we welcome them into our lives
for their songs make us feel good.

And the politicians gather
singing their songs in unison
the orchestrated show unfolding,
the maestro’s baton mesmerizing us…
the Piper has won.

As we watch promises morph
becoming things unrecognizable
our concerns become side-tracked
with new songs of promise…
but the music is so beautiful.