Cupidity

Concealed by a fern in the Best Western bar,

The hunter surveys the speed-dating bazaar

And lonely hearts gathered from near and afar

At the cowboy-chic watering hole.

 

Keen predator’s eye swiftly lights on a mook

In ill-fitting Wranglers and crooked peruke,

His un-ironed Polo the color of puke

And physique like a telephone pole.

 

Directly across from this charmless Don Juan

Droops a bland Aphrodite, more pigeon than swan,

A stammering wreck with too much makeup on.

The huntsman has chosen his prey.

 

Reaching into his quiver he draws out a dart,

Contagion a-drip from its pointiest part,

And shoots it straight into Don Juan’s timid heart

Then does Aphrodite that way.

 

“If you’ll pardon my sayin,’” the man says, distressed,

Blood suddenly boiling with amorous zest,

“Our two-minute date has been simply the best!

Let’s us be a pair, you and I.”

 

Deep passions aflame, she replies with a sigh,

“Like a chocolate fountain that reaches the sky,

I am your sweet gal, now, and you’re my sweet guy

Dipping pretzels as one till we die!”

 

The hunter, triumphant, retreats to the bar,

Celebrating the kills with a cold PBR,

And flipping a dime in the bartender’s jar

Gives his diaper a hitch reloads.

 

That’s just how it goes on Saint Valentine’s Day,

With violent cherubim firing away

In savage attacks from behind the buffet

Making storybook princes from toads.

 

Undead Reckoning

Beneath, an ancient terror sleeps

Within a crypt of endless night

Its casket dreadful secrets keeps

Its cape a shroud to life and light

 

No breath of air escapes its throat

No heartbeat drums inside its chest

Not dead enough for Charon’s boat

But of no mortal spark possessed

 

It stirs within its Stygian tomb

Mind reaching up to taste the sky

The sunlit world falls fast to gloom

The hour of dark ascension nigh

 

It rises from its coffin bed

Unfurls great bat wings, left and right

A feast of blood served warm and red

Will sate unholy appetite

 

With awful strength and not a sound

It rushes from the ghastly vault

Through passages far underground

Intent on murderous assault

 

Erupting from the darkened heath

It wheels and pauses in the air

Surprised to see arrayed beneath

Its human prey massed everywhere

 

In knots and crowds, all eyes upturned

They peer to heaven, motionless

Yet of the fiend they’re unconcerned

Transfixed by grandeur measureless

 

Too late, the creature turns to gape

With yellowed eyes upon its doom

In vain it races for escape

To Earth’s impenetrable womb

 

A sun-bright golden beam breaks free

A shriek of rage dies on its lips

It wasn’t night, but rather the

2017 eclipse

The Slacker’s Lament

 

On Labor Day the working Joe

Can toil and industry forego

And lounge about the bungalow

An idler by decree

 

For me, a slacker head to toe

It’s been a yearly source of woe

That shirking work is only so

For he a worker be

 

I find employment wearying,

Attached to Boss Man’s apron string

Nor would I venture anything

On pure initiative

 

In winter, summer, fall and spring

Of my own indolence I’m king

Persistently malingering

The bum definitive

 

To lift does not appeal to me

I wouldn’t tote for any fee

Indeed, to stand would disagree

Lest I should break a sweat

 

To ride a desk would seem to be

An exercise in constancy

Two things I hope to never see

Not even on a bet

 

Fact is, no useful chore do I

Have any mind to even try

The public weal to fortify

My social debt to pay

 

And so when each September’s nigh

I loaf upon my couch and sigh

And wish I had a job to shy

By right of Labor Day

Sweet Nothings

Returning to my desk one day

Encountered I a wee surprise

Upon the blotter sweetly lay

A candy heart before my eyes

 

HEY YOU it smiled, in letters red

A cheerful greeting, certainly

But what the morsel left unsaid

Was just who left it there for me

 

How wonderful! A secret friend

Anonymous and passing kind,

To thus my flagging spirit tend

And gently ease my weary mind.

 

For two days I did marinate

In fragrant broth of friendship true,

Ere word came from my candy-mate

In compressed sugar ME & YOU.

 

“Indeed,” thought I. “we noble pair,

United in camaraderie.”

But then SWEET LOVE ‘peared on my chair

And things went downhill rapidly.

 

Who was this amatory boor

Pursuing me with candied guile?

What awful passions lay in store?

What tooth decaying mash-notes vile?

 

 When tasty KISS ME hit my desk

I filed a beef with Personnel.

BE MINE struck me as so grotesque

I called the state police, as well.

 

MY PET, SOUL MATE and YOU’RE SO FINE

Made every day a horror show.

ALL MINE and MISS YOU crossed the line,

And on their heels XOXO.

 

These days the office is a place

Of sniffing dogs and rent-a-cops.

My colleagues hate me to my face,

And still sweet torment never stops.

 

CALL ME a BABY if you will,

But ASK ME if I’ll see this through,

And to myself BE TRUE until

I find out who’s CRAZY 4 U.

Star-crossed

magi

A beacon from the firmament

A globe of fire in star-lit sky

An omen surely heaven-sent

To guide the wise to wonders nigh

 

“Our road leads west,” the kings agreed

“Our fortunes bound to yonder star.

With sturdy hearts and all due speed

We must away to lands afar.”

 

Assembling modest retinue

The learned three betook their quest,

Celestial pharos e’er in view

A burning purpose in each chest.

 

Across the plains of Samarkand,

And choking desert wilderness.

 O’er gasping mountains toiled the band

Through regions strange and comfortless.

 

At last, upon a night divine,

Arrived they unto Bethlehem,

To there behold no stately shrine,

But rough-hewn stable waiting them.

 

“Praise to the Lord!” the wise men cried

“That in this humble place doth bide

Philosopher, exalted guide,

The child in whom all fates reside!”

 

At calm repose a newborn lay

Serene upon a bed of straw

Its mother rested steps away

The visitors approached with awe.

 

“Accept these gifts, Madonna Fair

For this, your Son of blessed birth,

We offer gold in princely share

To He who will bestride the Earth.”

 

“Rich frankincense, a treasure rare

Befitting Heaven’s champion,

And myrrh to sanctify the air

Surrounding this, our Holy One.”

 

The mother, clearly unimpressed,

Just took another bite of hay.

The child no gratitude expressed,

But bleated in an anxious way.

 

The Magi were confounded sore

Had they displeased the newborn king?

A shepherd boy rose from the floor

And said “You see guys, here’s the thing…”

 

“That gold and stuff is great,” he winked.

“For such as them what wears a crown,

But these are sheep.  I kind of think,

You want the kid two mangers down.”

lamb1