the duke in the jungle

by nick nelson

he duke rode into the jungle on a horse made of tin with a box of chocolates under his arm and was never seen again the horse showed spirit and thew the duke off he awoke in a feather of moonbeams and heard a discreet cough what have we here? a smooth voice enquired he looks fairly respectable but his contract has expired i would like some refreshment the duke heard himself say bring me a cup of sparkling sunshine on my favorite silver tray not so fast, fellow the voice reproved you are my prisoner and must get in the groove you must put on this yellow bow tie and this suit of pepper and salt but whatever happens after this it will all be your own fault how has it come to this? the duke cried in despair all i wanted was to be free and all i wanted was my share the voice grew silent and the door clanged shut and the river went on running beside the little hut

apple banana

by nick nelson

apples are red bananas are yellow chistopher columbus was a stout fellow he sailed the ocean blue when the world was new and in a crowded space planted the flag of the white race grapes are purple grass is green daniel boone made the woods his scene he lived with his dog in a hollow log and did not trifle with his long rifle from mandalay to hindustan they said hercules was a mighty man tyrants trembled magicians dissembled emperors fled to the land of the dead samson and delilah sitting in a tree living life and reciting poetry sam woke up and son was gone golden horde on the horizon salome waved her silver fan holly wood, but genghis khan

indigenous meaningful

by nick nelson

indigenous what did you say? you heard me. it sounded like foaming i did not say anything which is it? first you say you heard me then you say you didn’t say anything - it has to be one or the other, it can not be both that is what they all say excuse me? fred wants the rent then pay him i paid him the whole thing last month - now it is your turn is that how it works? how else would it work? he did not do a good job this month - he does not deservet o get paid that is not how the system works oh, so now you are defending the system i deeply resent that. meaningfful what did you say?

sonnet

by bofa xesjum

a revolutionary new development and an extraordinary counterdevelopment were walking down an important street a privileged upstart took notice he was indigenous to the particular situation and loved freedom with every ounce of his being a definitive account will be forthcoming because it is only natural bad dog what exactly is groundbreaking about it? it portends to be subversive the power went out more meaningless meanderings can we get back to normal sometime this century?

19th century

by bofa xesjum

adam smith wrote the wealth of nations sitting in a railway station nietsche wrote the twilight of the gods he was an unhappy sod cafes and public parks were not conducive to karl marx he preferred the library’s quiet maybe we, too, should try it tolstoy wrote peace and war because he knew what life was for dostoevsky wrote punishment and crime but never threw me a lousy dime dickens wrote our mutual friender because he was a solid sender he also wrote house bleak but never really got on his freak jane austen wrote prejudice and pride and down country lanes did glide on endless carriage rides but never was a blushing bride mrs henry wood thought life was good but mrs oliphant was afraid of elephants mr thomas hardy to church on sunday was often tardy he wrote the obscure jude on monday in a surly mood

outcast

by anonymous

i have been in this place i can not remember when they would not let me in before and will not let me in again i have wandered in the blazing sun i have wandered in the dark i have wandered in the wilderness and in the tended park i hear a name called it is not my own is the voice from the sky or from an underground throne? clouds gather in battalions the sky begins to burst of all creatures why am i cursed? this is my kingdom i long to cry but i have been outcast and do not know why

the art of poetry

by rhoda penmarq

i can write a poem every day so can you your brain does not have to be active your heart does not have to be true one word at a time like a step upon a stair a rabbit runs through the bushes a bird flies through the eair words follow each other like sands upon a beach the last word is forever always just out of reach mary had a little lamb johnny filled out a form the world would be a better place if you know who had never been born people are nasty things will be better tomorrow they should learn to be nice after another rol of the dice see how easy see how easy it is it will all be revealed on tuesday because that is show biz