The Poet

The Poet

Saturday, September 18, 2010

The Bee Is In The Shoe (for my daughter) by Ronald S. Porter

When the leaves of sorrow start to fall-
and, you take down lovers' pictures from the wall
and the bathtub is full of strangers;
When nothing seems to ring true;
Its time to grab your hot cross buns
go upstairs, and clean your guns
because baby the race is almost run
and the bee is in the shoe.

If all your friends forget your address
and all priests come to your house, to confess
should every dime cost you a dollar
If the rednecks all start feeling blue;
Throw your principles in a sack
move real fast, out the back
nobody's going to cut you any slack
'cause the bee is in the shoe.

When surrealists come through your window panes
and your favorite songs all contain sad refrains
Then existentialists get stuck in your chimney flue
when monkeys dance in debauched revel
and pediatricians circumcise on the bevel
and you can't get straight using a level
you know the bee is in the shoe

when everybody is faking the funk
and you can't find your groove
the bee is in the shoe my friend
Then you know, you got to move!

The Last Days Of Troy

Rattlesnakes and scorpions and Happy-Meals are scattered across the path.
Random phantoms amble in tandem, upon sacred cow and golden calf.
Jester's perch in coconut trees; fire crossbow bolts at monkeys and laugh.
Defrocked flocks of screeching preachers run to shun the sun and holy wrath.

Figure skaters rub anal lube on their blades to add speed to slide and glide.
Chicken Little plays the fiddle and shouts
The earth is rising, run and hide!Backstabbing bitches in burlap britches, wait in ditches to grab the bride.
While Mustang Sally hitchhikes rides and cautions her cousins to take it in stride.
All the bookies, crooks and hookers are all arrayed in layers of leather and lace.
They say Orphane Annie and great-aunt fanny somehow vanished without a trace.

The Jack Of Hearts and some Jakarta tart pursue leopards who leap and race-
to pursue the shrouded crowds who cry aloud
how do we get out of this place?
The drummers are drumming, kazoos are humming; the parade has gone on past.
Kokomo Joe hoes a tough row and asks Edgar Alan Poe W
hy does time go so fast?Little Bo Peep slaughtered ten sheep and now prepares a roast mutton repast.
The walls are bleeding, the smart ones leaving; buddy, I don't plan to be the last!