Everyone runs here and there calling for Merri,
They all need her help for their work at the dairy,
With so many interruptions, she has no time to tarry.
But Merri’s sincere surrender is gentle and sweet,
She turns her life over to Jesus and doesn’t miss a beat,
Living in the present moment, she washes the Lord’s feet.
Charlie’s childhood dream
was about to come true
As he bravely awaited
his blast-off into space,
But at T minus 31 seconds,
things started to turn tense
When the countdown
suddenly stopped;
Fortunately, after many anxious
hours, all systems were go,
And the rocket boosters
powerfully ignited,
The stately spacecraft
lethargically lifted off,
As if it had been awakened
from a somber slumber.
The spacecraft thunderously
roared and rumbled upwards,
With red fiery flames
dancing behind,
And black billows of
smoke quickly clouded the
Launching pad like a dark,
gaseous galactic nebula;
Charlie shook in his seat
as if he were riding on a
Rough road in a rickety,
rollicking stagecoach,
And in two minutes of breathtaking
acceleration, he was
Traveling over three
thousand miles per hour.
He was now thirty miles up
and halfway to space,
When the rocket boosters
abruptly disengaged,
The two of them toppled
and fell downward towards
The bright blue ocean like
giant worn-out pencils;
Still accelerating, the
orbiter speared upwards
At the scintillating speed
of one mile per second,
Charlie’s orbiter now flew
like lightning, and in a
Mere thirty seconds
he was soaring in space.
Charlie was then surrounded
by stars in the black sea
Of space, and he felt
wondrously weightless,
Now gently gliding around
Earth, he was fascinated
As he watched the sensational
brilliance of the sun;
Below, he saw the beautiful
blissful blue globe and
Was awed by its peacefulness
and by its grandeur.
Interestingly enough,
Charlie’s spiritual life
Has followed a very
similar flight path,
Years ago, his petitions
and other prayers seemed
To vanish into the vast void
of a bleak black hole;
This was because his pitiful
prayers were mumbled
Meaninglessly in the last
few minutes of the day,
His rockets had little spiritual
fuel for a journey to Heaven,
So his life’s countdown
suddenly stopped.
Without enough spiritual fuel,
Charlie knew that he
Risked crashing and burning
in the fearful fires of hell,
An open-throated grave
that savagely swallows
Sinners and belches forth
filthy fumes of smoky sulphur;
He knew he needed to
double down on his prayer
Life to give greater thrust
to his mission,
So he went to mass more,
and delighted in the
Divine Office a little at a time
throughout each day.
Because of Charlie’s awakening,
he made the decision
To make persistent prayer
the top priority of his life,
At first he didn’t notice a
change, but with patience,
His spiritual life lifted off
and safely reached orbit;
Soon his spirit was freed
from the burdensome bonds
Of serious sin, and he felt
wondrously weightless,
He gracefully glided towards
the flaming monstrance
Of the Son, and His
rays of Divine Mercy.
From the happy heights
of the heavens, his
Panoramic perspective
really changed,
Life appeared so much
simpler through the
Detachment of prayer in front
of the Blessed Sacrament;
The petty possessions,
the worries of the world,
The fettering fears,
the doomsday deadlines:
They were all so surprisingly
insignificant compared
To a fabulous future
filled with perfect peace.
MacScrooge steered his sailing ship
Towards the swirling maelstrom of mystery,
He heard that it held one of the most
Tantalizing treasures in all of human history;
Old sailors say millions of sparkling
Diamonds are twirling round and round,
Spinning like a glittering galaxy,
The maelstrom makes a murmuring sound;
When he entered the Forbidden Sea,
His ultimate goal was near,
He had heard that the vortex was deadly,
And there was certainly reason to fear;
But more than anything else he wanted
To own an envious pile of wealth,
Perhaps if he kept a safe distance,
Then he might succeed through stealth.
From afar the magical whirlpool
Shone with shimmering, glimmering light,
It was completely blanketed with diamonds
Floating so very bright;
MacScrooge eased his ship carefully
Into the whirlpool’s serpentine tail,
The waters seemed so peaceful
That perhaps his mission wouldn’t fail;
As the waters crept along sleepily,
Many gems by MacScrooge were collected,
With a heavy net he snatched them up,
And there were many more than he expected;
His insatiable appetite for riches
Grew through his laborious task,
MacScrooge’s beard dripped with sweat,
So he took a drink out of his flask.
MacScrooge became so obsessed with diamonds
That of surroundings he lost all sense,
But when his ship suddenly surged forward,
He abruptly became very tense;
He noticed that the ship’s speed had
Augmented in a very disturbing way,
The sea rapidly became rather turbulent,
And it was turning into an ominous day;
Black clouds swiftly eclipsed the sun,
And extinguished nearly all of its light,
MacScrooge’s heart sank like an anchor,
And he trembled with terror and fright;
An icy, wicked wind began to blow,
And he saw the waters violently churn,
Sadly, MacScrooge knew it was too late --
He was beyond the point of no return.
From the center of the whirlpool
There was an explosive and thunderous blast,
MacScrooge knew that something dangerous
Was approaching very, very fast;
Then the vortex vomited sulphurous lava
That sprayed high into the skies,
And molten rock fell like blazing meteors,
A dreadful sight for his eyes;
The flaming boulders struck the sea
And every diamond was ignited,
When MacScrooge saw the maelstrom on fire,
He had never been less delighted;
Faster and faster the murderous maelstrom spun,
Like a whirling wheel of fire,
And all of these events were triggered
By MacScrooge’s inordinate desire.
MacScrooge had arrived at the mouth
Of the vortex, and clearly this was not good,
While his ship was burning in ferocious
Flames that hungrily ate its wood;
A vile, horrid, foul stench arose from
Deep within the cavernous abyss,
This was far, far different from his dream,
Of power and worldly bliss;
His ship plunged down into the funnel,
In a death spiral leading towards hell,
And clutching the helm tightly,
MacScrooge cursed and swore as he fell;
Then volcanic lightning blasted him
And cooked the flesh off of his head,
The skeleton ship disappeared into the void,
And, tragically, MacScrooge was dead.
When Lady MacScrooge heard the shocking news,
Terror gripped her heart,
Like MacScrooge she lusted for power,
But now she wished to make a fresh new start;
She would try to avoid all temptations
That invited her to hoard,
Instead she would strive for love and peace
Just like our Blessed Lord;
MacScrooge did only what he wanted,
And that’s how he rolled the dice,
He avoided not the near occasion of sin,
And that’s when he paid the price;
Since MacScrooge gambled with temptation,
In the end he only got hurt,
It would have been better for him,
If he had remained sober, vigilant, and alert.
The captain loved the anchor
Of his elegant cruise ship,
He utterly adored that anchor,
It was solid silver and gold and
Was decorated with diamonds,
It sparkled in the moonlight,
But then a sudden storm swept
Over the sleepy sea and
So the anchor was lowered --
He clung to her metallic body,
Blinded by his foolish attachment,
Then as the anchor splashed
Into the thirsty black water,
The sharks’ blade-like teeth cut
His flesh like a million daggers,
Mangling his wretched body,
And his soul sank deep into
The bottomless abyss of
The Dark Sea of Doom.
Based on Dante’s Paradiso
As we look up into the warm face
Of the glorious, majestic Sun,
We are free from the weight of sin,
And so we gently soar upwards
At the serene speed of Light,
Into the marvelous Marian blue sky.
As we approach the Heavenly Realm,
We peacefully pass through the leaping
Flames of the bright Ring of Fire
Which orbits our little blue planet;
Then our ears are serenaded by
The lovely Music of the Spheres,
Each sphere slicing into space like
The melodious bow of a violin.
We begin by visiting the First Sphere,
An ever-changing inconstant orb,
And there we find those happy souls
Who, though unintentionally, broke
Their vows, and so, are in the lowest
Tier of Heaven, glad but not nearly
As happy as many other souls,
And yet they are content and they
Feel no envy whatsoever towards
Those more greatly blessed.
On the Second Sphere we see the
Virtuous seekers of holy honor;
Their happiness is clearly greater
Than the souls of the previous sphere
As they sing the praises of God
And dance with quiet contentment
In a place where fear does not exist.
On the Third Sphere are the amorous,
Who sinned with hearts full of lust,
But, by God’s holy grace, they learned
To love the most holy Son of Love;
Thus, these fortunate souls dance with
Overflowing joy, for they are saved!
On the Fourth Sphere are twelve
Saintly doctors of the Holy Church,
They form a bright human garland
In the air that is even more dazzling
Than the stars that shine behind;
Their hymn of praise resounds
Through all of the Heavenly Realm,
And their generous love is all in all.
On the Fifth Sphere are the valiant
Warriors of God who are arrayed in
The formation of a large cross and
Their radiance is of a still greater
Intensity as they taste peace and joy
Unlike anything ever known on Earth,
They are like shooting stars darting
Across the sky in their holy ecstasy.
On the Sixth Sphere, the souls are even
More beautiful, even more dazzling;
Here are the courageous, where the
Just and temperate rulers dwell in
God’s peace, and above we can see the
Heavenly luminaries arranged to form
An eagle, surrounded by glowing lilies,
High up in the sparkling clear sky.
On the Seventh Sphere the holy
Contemplatives live in a perpetual
State of sweet harmony, happiness
Following upon happiness, as they
Reflect with deep satisfaction on the
Inexhaustible Mysteries of Love;
They are surrounded by a globe
Of heavenly crystalline,
And on top is a Golden Ladder
Upon which saints soar
To the lofty summit of God’s glory.
As we ascend still higher, we arrive at
Our next destination, the Eighth Sphere,
Where the intense and ineffable ecstasy of
Love deliciously fills all of these good souls
So completely and so eternally;
They smile with incomprehensible contentment
As they look back through the universe
And see the Earth, minuscule and
Insignificant, and yet greatly loved
By the Lord, the King of the Universe;
Then through the theological virtues of
Faith, Hope, and Love, we are ready to
Pierce deeper into the Heart of Love.
We arrive at the Primum Mobile and
Through the magnificent Mystical Rose
We can finally see the Empyrean itself,
Where God, who is Light from Light,
Is surrounded by choirs of angels:
Seraphim and cherubim, thrones and
Dominations, virtues and powers,
Principalities and archangels -- all in
Ceaseless praise and holy jubilation.
This is where all words fall short,
For nothing can ever describe just
How good is the source of all goodness,
How beautiful is the source of all beauty,
How true is the source of all truth --
How can we even begin to describe
Spiritual union with The Divine Mercy?
The sublime serenity of eternal peace!
The dreamy delight of everlasting joy!
The sweet sensations of endless love!
A Variation of Shakespeare’s Famous Soliloquy
The Child
To be
Or not to be,
That is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler
For Mommy to surrender
To the slings and arrows
Of sacrificial love,
Or by aborting,
End me.
The Mother
To die from guilt while
contemplating abortion:
To sleep, to sleep
No more!
Perchance to have dreams --
Or eternal nightmares --
Of what I am about to do
To my innocent baby;
When I have shuffled off
The mortal coil of his
Umbilical cord and
Allowed him to be
Dis mem ber ed,
I dread something worse
Than death: Hell,
The undiscovered country;
Thus, conscience can make
Heroes of us all --
Soft you now,
It’s never too late,
So my fair baby shall live.
The Fall
Cambria’s tight and sexy little outfit
Stirred Julius’ powerful lust,
His pulsating passion filled his strong sails
With a sweetly sensual gust;
Her heart was hooked in an instant,
As she looked into his handsome dark eyes,
He charmed her with his honeyed words,
So she thought him an enviable prize.
Dear Father, please make them a creation new,
Forgive them: they know not what they do.
Their glances magnetically locked together
In a twinkling starlight gaze,
Then both of them were spellbound
In a delightful and enchanting haze;
Later on that delicious, romantic evening,
Their heartbeats raced as one,
But lost in an exciting emotional whirlwind,
Her virginity had been undone.
Dear Father, please make them a creation new,
Forgive them: they know not what they do.
The Suffering
Cambria was treated like a piece of meat,
And was whisked into the operating room,
With people rushing around everywhere,
She felt a very strong sense of doom;
Then a man came in and introduced himself,
While he anxiously kept an eye on the clock,
He hurried around as if pressed for time,
And for her this was a really a shock.
Dear Father, please make them a creation new,
Forgive them: they know not what they do.
Piece by bloody piece was ripped from
Her poor and innocent little child,
As body parts lay in a flood of blood,
The thought almost made her go wild;
Cambria walked out in a depressed daze,
As if someone secretly stole her soul,
She fell fast, into an empty emotional abyss,
And doubted she would ever feel whole.
Dear Father, please make them a creation new,
Forgive them: they know not what they do.
The Divine Mercy
Cambria sluggishly dragged herself around,
In the clanking shackles of her sorrow,
Through years and years of depression,
She dreaded the coming of each tomorrow;
Somehow, and she knew not how,
She found herself alone in a little church,
And weeping tears of truth and honesty,
Her soul she began to search.
When we follow the Light of the Dove,
We will always find Merciful Love.
Later that day as she went to confession,
God soothed her soul with a healing balm,
Her face was flooded with happy tears,
Soaking in the twenty-second psalm;
It felt as if holy honey, warm and pure,
Was poured into her lacerated heart,
She discovered the love of Divine Mercy,
Who helped her make a fresh new start.
When we follow the Light of the Dove,
We will always find Merciful Love.
This is a Shakespearean tale about Dr. Macbeth,
A wealthy abortionist who knows all about death;
He deigns to call the little ones “fetal tissue,”
Since for him it’s no more than a PC issue.
Have mercy, for his life is so tragical and so sad,
Forgive him, Father: he doesn’t know that it’s bad.
He slaughters the babes as if they were pigs,
No problem, for they’re as soft as small figs;
His tongs crush their skulls like an egg’s brittle shell,
As demons cheer and laugh in the black heart of hell.
Have mercy, for his life is so tragical and so sad,
Forgive him, Father: he doesn’t know that it’s bad.
When he fails, he just lops off the kid’s head,
A simple way to make sure that he’s dead;
Then, he stealthily sells the babies’ body parts,
For he earns good dough from lungs and hearts.
Dear Father, please make him a new creation,
Forgive him, that he may find your salvation.
Dr. Macbeth, we might say, doth murder sleep,
Because he holds unborn life so very cheap;
Beware! For fair is now foul, and foul is fair,
But does Dr. Macbeth really care?
Dear Father, please make him a new creation,
Forgive him, that he may find your salvation.
Based on Dante’s Purgatorio
Let’s now take a tour through the Purgatorio
By going back to Dante’s Alighieri’s time,
It’s all about poetic justice over there,
So let the punishment fit the crime!
They start at the base of the mountain,
From sea level they gradually ascend,
On an island surrounded by ocean,
Their souls must gradually mend.
The arrogant carry heavy boulders,
Their proud faces hilariously frowned,
For their weight crushes their bones,
Making a mighty crackling sound.
The envious up on the next level
Are stuck in an emotional rut,
They want to pull their hair out,
For their eyelids have been sewn shut.
The wrathful are on the next level,
Blinded by angry black smoke,
They try to breathe in some oxygen,
But hate makes them gag and choke.
The slothful are sleepy-eyed sluggards,
And yawning’s what they do for fun,
But now they scramble like maniacs,
Though exhausted, they run, run, run.
Next we encounter the greedy misers,
Who lie with their faces in the dust,
As scavengers they searched for money,
Wanting wealth like the upper crust.
As we continue, we see the gluttonous,
They stretch but can’t reach the fruit,
It maddens them, making them crazy,
For their hunger indeed is acute.
Ascending higher, we reach the lustful,
Who leap high through the fiery flames,
They do it to win their freedom,
In the Purgatorial Olympic Games.
On Earth, these souls were very selfish,
And their sins, oh yes, they were many,
Sadly, they chose Justice over Mercy,
So they must pay back every last penny.
Yet they journey up towards Paradise,
Cleansed so much better than soap,
For the Purgatorio is a true blessing,
Since it’s so full of heavenly hope.
Based on Dante’s Inferno
Let’s now take a tour through Dante’s
Inferno by going back in time,
It’s all about poetic justice down there,
So let the punishment fit the crime!
Hell is shaped like a giant funnel,
And it leads to the center of the Earth,
It’s an ugly place with a vile stench,
And it’s certainly not known for mirth.
In the Vestibule are those neither good
Nor bad who are like the living dead,
And as they are stung by wild wasps,
Their elastic eyes pop out of their head.
In Circle One are the honorable pagans,
Who lived by the glory of reasoning,
These souls are feeling sad in limbo,
Since they will never taste heavenly seasoning.
In Circle Two are those with carnal passions,
Who allowed sensuality to abound,
Lustful lovers are kissed by a whirling tempest
In an eternal merry-go-round.
In Circle Three are the vomit-stained gluttons,
In a squalid snow unholy,
Three-headed Cerberus loves their fatty flavor
Even more than a tasty cannoli.
In Circle Four are the hoarders and wasters,
Whose only idol in life was money,
They all have heavy weights on their backs,
And shuffle around kind of funny.
In Circle Five the wrathful are swimming
In the swampy Stygian mud,
They look like the drool a cow spits out,
After it has blandly chewed its cud.
A flame from the Great Tower
Marks a shift from upper to lower hell,
This flashing fire signals hell’s capital
In lieu of a funeral bell.
In Circle Six stands the City of Dis,
Shrouded with the smokiest fog,
The heretics are cooked in flaming graves,
As if they are a barbecued hot dog.
Circle Seven is a little bit different,
And it’s divided into three separate rounds,
The sinners are suffering in divers ways,
Making all kinds of screaming sounds.
In Round One are the violent souls,
Mad warlords who wanted to be boss,
Their heads bob in a boiling river of blood,
Like meatballs in tomato sauce.
In Round Two the suicides have turned into
Trees that have black leaves on top,
Their souls are bottled up inside,
Very much like bubbly soda pop.
In Round Three the blasphemers lie on burning sand,
And it makes them really sizzle,
They must have heard the forecast wrong,
Because there is a fiery drizzle.
Circle Eight is also quite unusual,
Divided into bolgias numbering ten,
Each bolgia is a deep, cavernous ditch,
More filthy than a swine’s muddy pen.
In Bolgia One are the selfish seducers,
Who perennially rush around in a mob,
They look like interns late for the subway,
Who are afraid of losing their job.
In Bolgia Two are the flatterers,
Who speak words of sweet sugar-coated goo,
One of them falls into the pool of excrement,
And swallows a mouthful or two.
Bolgia Three is lined with a honeycomb of tubes,
For simoniacs who misused their position,
They’re crammed head-first into each of them,
With their feet ignited by nuclear fission.
In Bolgia Four are the fortune tellers who
Thought predicting the future was pretty neat,
But now they have their heads on backwards,
And they look like twisted pretzels when they eat.
In Bolgia Five, the grafters look like fried frogs,
Peering out from the boiling black tar,
When a demon raked one with a grappling hook,
It aggressively massaged his bloody scar.
In Bolgia Six are the hypocrites, wearing
Beautiful robes of the heaviest lead,
With buckling knees, they’re sweating bullets,
And their faces are turning strawberry red.
In Bolgia Seven are the thieves,
Who are grievously guilty of blame,
The serpents squeeze them very tight,
And like matches they burst into flame.
In Bolgia Eight are the evil counselors,
Whose murky malevolence is most dire,
They could really go for some lemonade,
Since they are wading in a lake of fire.
In Bolgia Nine are the sowers of discord,
Who are decapitated by a demon who looks drunk,
One of them palms his head in his hand,
Like a basketball player preparing to dunk.
In Bolgia Ten are the crafty counterfeiters,
Who loved to print monetary junk,
Now their skin is crusted with horrid diseases,
And they have a stench like a fricasseed skunk.
In Circle Nine are the beastly betrayers,
Whose souls are so grimly black,
The devil chews and chomps on them,
In a crunchy never-ending snack.
Finally we’ve reached the bottom of hell,
And our fascinating journey is done,
Hopefully Dante is pleased with the result,
As we’ve had just a little bit of fun.
But the moral of the story is to remember always
The very true words of St. John Vianney,
He put it quite well when he said with utter sincerity,
“Hell exists!”
With the sensual swirl and clustered
curls of her wild, wicked whirl
Of hair, the wanton white witch
stood on the mound ready to hurl;
The saucy wench went into a
windup most sultry and seductive,
Her voluptuous goddess-like physique
flamed as a volcano eruptive;
She fired a cutlass-like curveball,
ready to slice into the lion’s soul,
And the ball sang through the air
like a Siren, quite out of control.
There stood Aslan the Amazing,
the spectacular baseball star,
He royally dug into the batter’s box,
ready to hit the ball far;
Then, the Spirit spoke: “If you gaze
at her fair face, you shall be undone;
Through Truth, unmask her sickly soul,
and the battle shall be won!”
Clutching his bold, brave bat, he crouched
like a catapult ready to spring,
Then, as he humbly surrendered to
the Spirit, he took his first swing.
His bat flashed around like lightning
and filled the crowd with wonder,
And as the ball hit his bat, there was
the sound of crackling thunder;
Filled with chastity and purity,
he crushed a laser-beam home run,
And gently trotting around the bases,
he was as radiant as the sun;
When he was in the near occasion
of sin, Aslan was on his guard,
And that’s why he’s now strolling
down Championship Boulevard.
A Variation of “The Lord of the Baseball Diamond” (with a revised conclusion)
Seven-foot Sauron stands imperiously
like a goliath on the mound,
Wearing his glistening, gleaming armor,
he longs to be crowned;
His wind-up is Smaug-like
and slithering and serpentine,
As if he’s been guzzling and gulping
hot Mordor turpentine;
Brimming with poison pride,
he frantically fires a fastball of power,
That rings through the air
as it aims to devour.
But Gandalf hits a flaming line drive
that decapitates Sauron’s poor head,
This fire-eyed fool paid for his arrogance,
and that’s why he’s doornail dead;
Sauron was buried on the pitcher’s mound,
where it came to be known as Mount Doom,
That night there were post-game fireworks
that erupted from his fiery tomb.
Seven-foot Sauron stands imperiously
like a goliath on the mound,
Wearing his glistening, gleaming armor,
he longs to be crowned;
His wind-up is Smaug-like and
slithering and serpentine
As if he’s been guzzling and gulping
hot Mordor turpentine;
Brimming with poison pride, he
frantically fires a fastball of power,
That rings through the air
as it aims to devour.
Recognizing the temptation,
Mr. Baggins the most honorable,
Surrenders to the Spirit and humbly
lays down a bunt phenomenal;
The baseball sneaks softly
down the third-base line
And Mr. Baggins thinks to himself,
First-base is all mine!
Then, like a slingshot, off to
first base he invisibly darts,
And the burglar makes it safely
because he’s so smarts.
Q-war-reling:
even the fearful word
forebodes a future filled
with deep darkness;
impatience heats to
simmering anger
then it boils over into
raging revenge
then it ignites into
bloody battles
then it explodes into
world wars.
Lancelot Loverboy was his true name,
Pornography was his heart-thumping game;
Peeking at pics of sexy Doll Tearsheet,
His big bloodshot eyes were red as a beet;
But the more he looked at girls who were hot,
The more his eyes swelled, and larger they got;
And like Pinocchio’s long wooden nose,
Each one of his eyeballs just grows and grows;
Lancelot’s lewd obsession never stopped,
Then like a balloon each eye loudly popped;
He listened to Emotion’s lustful lies,
So that’s why Loverboy finally dies.
Every single day he’s at the first tee,
Swinging madly, the ball hits a big tree;
For five long hours he rips up the turf,
He treats his caddie as if he’s a serf;
Hooking and slicing all over the place,
A swinging corkscrew without any grace;
He wastes yet another day with his clubs,
Nothing but frustration with all his flubs;
All of this wouldn’t really be so bad,
But his son needs quality time with his dad.
The smug Mrs. Malaprop confidentially
spoke to her newest apprentice:
“This recipe is only for those affluent
in the language of the culinary arts;
It is absolutely imperial to use berries
that have the same constancy as caviar,
This gives the pie a wealth of flavonoids,
such as radical-free anti-accidents;
The key is to use an inordinative amount
of sugar to make it exceedingly rich,
In fact, undubitably, the pie must be
baked with an upper-upper crust."
For centuries weddings have been the same,
A boy and a girl to the altar came;
They chose a maid of honor and best man,
Always honoring God’s eternal plan;
But now boys join with boys and girls with girls,
As their large rainbow flag proudly unfurls;
Is our homeland one that totally rocks?
Or have we just opened Pandora’s box?
Without any doubt we must be PC,
Because, yes, this is the land of the free;
Therefore, let’s be sure to be inclusive,
For we don’t want to be called abusive;
Why must a civil union be a pair?
Somehow that just doesn’t seem to be fair;
Perhaps three, four, or even five might wed,
Though they might be hard to cram in one bed;
But why not also wed their pet poodle?
Just throw in the whole kit and kaboodle;
But if they can wed their cute little dog,
Then what about their flatulent green frog?
And if they wed humans and animals,
Then why not even add a few cannibals?
In fact, they don’t even have to stop there,
Maybe they can add a tiger and bear;
They prevent their marriage from getting dull,
When they also wed a cadaver’s skull.
A Circular Poem with No Beginning and No End
revolution?
it all starts when the
emotional electrons of
selfishness and fear
crash and collide,
thereby causing a chain reaction
that sparks the pulsating protons
and irascible ions of
savage seething anger and of
horribly hellish hate,
and this in turn ignites the
molecules of misery that
electrically explode into
woeful wailing wars and
dreadful devastating death;
but the question is this:
will there ever be
an end to
Did he learn how to
share?
Or did he shoot his popgun
because he didn’t
care?
Was this lad a contented little
child?
Or with fear
did his radical head run
wild?
Did he eat his meals in
peace?
Or if there was no meat,
did his impatient fury never
cease?
Was this boy ever
kind?
Or did his terrorized teachers
raise a furor thinking he lost his
mind?
Did he turn the other
cheek?
Or did he revengefully
call every enemy a
freak?