Faking Profundity

I wrote this in response to two posters I know from the Slate's fray...a place I used to frequent. One poster is a serial plagiarist, and the other a christian fundamentalist who claims the moon landing was hoax.

Seriously. This guy has no problem believing in a virgin birth or the resurrection, but landing on the moon? A myth.

So this ditty is what came to me thinking on these limpdicks' deeeeeep thoughts.

Mother Mary, stars are falling,
frightened, spent among the beads.
Schizophrenics eating moonpies,
string them on your rosary.

Sixteen candles pierce the frosting,
Every moment tis of thee.
Thirteen Fridays make a season,
Aces four, a symmetry.

Al Khwarismi, Hemachandra
Fibonacci’s Plagiaries
Algebraic Algorithms
invented by Rome’s enemies.

Differential, Parametric,
holomorphic tendencies.
Lunar Cycles, Lunar Tickles,
scribbled incoherencies.

Car-di-nals with absolution,
sacred numbers, counting me.
in a bowl or in a basket
Avogadro, set us free.

Dancing two-step, dancing barefoot,
Dancing Angels on a pin.
Rate-equation, new mutations,
counting toes is not a sin.

I rhymed some words that sounded like
mathematical philosophy.
I sprinkled terms and dropped some names
purloining their profundity.

© badpoet

When Cheney Finally Dies

i will dance naked
in the streets,
three sheets
to the wind.

i will raise the flag,
and kiss the feet
of perfect strangers.
i will sing anthems.

praise be
to all that is holy.
the fugly,
motherduckling
sheet of piss
is dead!

© Catnapping

From the Alphabet Series: E

Take it from me:
There is no glee
greater for thee
than missing your knees
when stopping to pee
behind a tree,
where no one can see
your naked wee weee.


© badpoet

Little by Little

Over the next few months, as I complete illustrations for them, I will be moving my doggerel to The Odd Neighbor.

Once I've illustrated half of them, I will move all the rest, (keeping them saved and unpublished, until they too have fitting illustrations). Once I've done that, I will delete this blog.

Texas Cowpokes

Tall Texans
in the saddle,
lookin' out
at all them cattle.

Longhorns fear
these lonestar menfolk,
lookin' for
which one to cowpoke!

© badpoet

Jupiter Hound

Jupiter Hound
wore his crown with a frown
cuz he lived upside down
in a town underground.

A life on his head
wore his little ears down,
and the points on his crown
were all smishy and round.

© badpoet

Dick

It’s horribly hard
bein’ president,
with that damned constitution
to circumvent.

But I’m content,
cuz it’s such a gas
having George around
to scratch my ass.

© badpoet

From the Alphabet Series: H

Hirsute Harridan
Horrific Howling Hooker
Hustles her Heels, round.


© badpoet

Love Pomes Should Rime

I shaved my legs.
You waxed your ass.
We shared a six-pack.
You held your gas.

You drove me home.
I gave you head.
You passed out cold
in the middle of my bed.

Sweet lump of dough,
please give me a sign.
Is this true love,
My Valentine?

© badpoet

Lucky Duck

Two men in a truck
after stealing a duck
for their Sunday potluck,
ran into some luck,
not so good. (It was f**ked.)

This really does suck
said the men in the truck.
In the muck, we are stuck.
And we’ve only this duck
to pluck. Oh, yuk yuk.

F**ked luck, clucked the duck.
In the muck, you are stuck.
If a deal is soon struck,
then your luck, which is f**ked
might change, and not suck.

If you promise to pluck
some other fat duck
for your Sunday potluck,
and leave me to run amok in the muck,
from this muck,
said the duck,
I will get you unstuck.
And your luck,
it won’t suck.
This I promise, as a duck.

So the deal was struck.
And the men chucked the duck
from the truck into the muck.
And the unplucked duck
changed their luck to unf**ked,
And the truck, from the muck,
came unstuck, yk yk yk.

© badpoet

A Cautionary Tale

When brother Mitch
was really rich,
he threw a witch
into a ditch.

It was a bet
he made to get
his best-friend Brett’s
new Red corvette.

Without a hitch
He pitched the witch
But here’s the switch:
There was a glitch.

From in the ditch,
the witch did twitch
and wiggle her nose
at brother Mitch.

He started to sweat
and was soon beset
with urges to pet
Brett’s pistolette.

I’ve got an itch,
said brother Mitch.
Just let me kiss you,
and be your b**ch!

Okay, said Brett.
I’ll be your honey.
But I’m keeping the Vette
and taking your money.


© badpoet

What a creeple

He hated Iraq
So he bade us, attack!
But he lied to the people,
so in shit, he is deeple.

© badpoet