Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Dear Santa- (Explicit)

Can I pick yea brain?
sing yea refrain
catch dat train
to a minty fresh glade
on a fresh escapade
schlepping  wit ju
or OUT on a date


Schlepping wit ju?

Sounds like a slur
of either Mexican or Jewish intent
and dat is not what I meant
to say

better check dat list
I think you may’ve MISSED
my name
while I was singing yea refrain
on dat train from Spain
which stays mainly on da plain
and it’s stays RAININ not snowing
which BLOWS big time
when you’re old and cold
and have a fixed income

AND JEESH dose antlers
are making me want to
chain you up and ride you like a horse
but I promised to behave this month, Santa
SHHH, steady!

So the MALL
go hop in yea sleigh
and I’m a size six
and I like blue and purple
and gold and shiny tings
hearts and flowers
ivory towers
not chicken wings
or old smelly T-shirts.

BUT after thirty odd years
of blood, sweat and tears
of cradles and vomit
blue moons and comets
I still prefer schlepping and schtupping
and some other stuff
I can’t mention right now
wit ju
OH MY!!!!

Laters, Santa ;)
Your Naughty-Nice Mrs. C

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Good Old Anger

Live not for Battles Won.
Live not for The-End-of-the-Song.
Live in the along.
Gwendolyn Brooks
The Pulitzer winner was born on this day in 1917.

Good Old Anger

I do know this
never going to happen.

We can write about it
until Venus comes back
but basically
we are a warring race
of mother fuckers
and there is no getting around it.

We will be fighting
shoving our fists
down each other’s throats
until the end of time,
Because it’s profitable

And because LOVE
doesn’t enter into the equation.
we know about love 
we hold it up
we show it off
we share it 

We read about it.
Wonderfully pithy
aphorisms are written every day
to make you feel 
all warm and fuzzy.

We draw it as we see it 
or from memory
because we need
to measure it 
but then we lose faith 
we forget that it’s still there.

We need to keep checking it 
to analyze it
for weak spots.

Its good old anger
that gets you through the rough patches
and irony
is how we do battle 
to overcome those demons
that come trekking 
out of the dark places
the swamp
trekking their mud
across your brand new white rug
not at all
about how much you LOVE that rug
or about how this may
alter the grand scheme
of your Zen-ness

So it’s going to have be
that wedges its size seven wide
down your craw
and takes the crowbar
and uses it to open up your eff’n cranium
you sick twisted

How’s that
for being in the 

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Difference is ME

The difference is ME
not some world
that you hang on a chain
your neck
stiffly smiles

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Love in the Time of Compost

Love allows that even a clothes horse 
can have an off day
and knows when to put the blinders on.

Love bows at the sacrificial altar
of burnt beyond recognition
with a branded tongue.

Love relaxes with the Kama Sutra
inhaling a strawberry soufflé
sensually whipped.

Love lets you have first dibs
on the massage chair
kneading and pummeling your
way to RELIEF---
then hands you a post hole digger
to plant a 3' tree.

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