A girl given to doom

There was a girl given to doom,
she spread darkness and gloom
A clown met her on his way
and cried desperately all day.

In time she got married
sorry but her husband she harried.
"More money, more life, more pleasure"
She would scream full measure.

Now poor hubby could not give all that
so she discarded him, like a torn mat.
A handsome young lover she acquired.
who she so fully admired.

In time the young lover felt trapped
his lust for her completely sapped.
So he quickly scuttled so very far
You couldn’t reach him, by train or car.

Our woman of doom and complete gloom.
In a chartered airplane did zoom.
A sharp machete she carried,
I would be ever so worried.

Her lover she finally found,
and set on him her hound
But he was not a simple man
with the hound he made friends and ran.

Now the woman is back with her hubby dear,
and he is having affairs galore I fear.
Her sharpened tongue is now readying
for dirges that she will soon be singing!

Old Fink in the Rink

Old Fink raised a stink
in the skating rink!
The skirts were too short,
He was distraught...
"Every time the girls jiggle by....
I say fie oh fie oh fie...
Why was I not younger
and more of a looker,
My bald patch is just not a turn on
I feel like a moron
I feel hot under my collar!
But, sadly Uncle they all holler"

About Rhyming

The Wise Poet spoke, and wisdom reigned.
I got to know my skilled are just feigned.
This woman has become the soul of nothingness
and there is no guilt in her lack of wiseness.

Temptous breeze, caressed her cheeks
but she compared it to smelly leeks.
Words merely bead for her on a nylon string,
like a multicolored cheap throwaway thing.

But, but, but, What joy they bring,
lighting up the face to help you sing,
like a piano tuner, with no musical skills
like a mechanic with a role to fill.

And as the poet hoots, wiser than most,
I just raise to a very proud toast.
To words, to poets and all writers
To all lives strange and cynical fighters

All rhyme must smoothly sail on
This is the beginning the dawn.
Rhyme and hey let words take over
I promise you I've written this cold sober

The Tale of the Minks

Now I shall tell you a sordid tale
That will make you very pale
Mrs. Mink walked in with her lawyer,
Who was a terrible liar.
"You Mr. Mink have not given your wife a coat,
Now she has come to give her divorce note!"
But old Mink he got out his feather
and he is now living in sin with the lawyer!

There is more to the Minks

Ah the story gotten more sordid.
So very naughty and torrid
But I will but give you a censored tale
As someone may report abuse without fail.

Well the wifey too joined in after a while.
And now they all have a rather sporty smile.
Life of course was never the same,
When they played a happy French game

On Writing Rhymes

The clichés, the whirling dervishes, all find their place,
The rhymes that they so ornately and beautifully grace.
Sometimes words speak of a strange dichotomy,
that creates a wonderful chasm that haunts me.
In the lightness of spirit and wonder of form
We are breaking rules and so many norms
As night splits the day, or maybe the other around,
Written Rhymes are talking, without making a single sound!

On Smut

Oh with the smut, we are usually in a rut
Our minds are all caper, our mouths shut.
Let's just chill and think of life as fun,
something we live while on the run.
And then my good virtual friend
even smut will be fun in the end!
(A few rule rules we will bend)