Nonsense verse




Dwaky shaped a house of corn

Beneath the trees of green bamboo

Snarkley made a rude remark

To the lady with a shoe


“Snarker’s corners is the other way,”

remarked the horn-rimmed toad.

“Just follow all the blue blank signs

on the old Branker’s Road.”


The silent child named Jointless Chin

Tried not to laugh out loud

As tree drunkard piano-playing Sam

Passed on his yellow cloud


“Yo ho!” said Blinker Noon

“Does this road go very far?”

“No, Joe,” said Louker Tune,

“Not if you have a car.”


“If I had a car would I ask you now?”

said Blinker Noon surprised.

But Louker Tune just looked at Noon

Then flew up to the sky.


And Blinker Noon would just as soon

Walk away in shame

Than ask the Tune if it would be his ruin

He could not pronounce his name


The spiffy new joint at Maker’s Point

Should have some pecan pie

But Blinker Noon looked at Louker Tune

High up in the sky.


“Never you mind, I’ve got the time

and it’s time for me to go away,”

for the lady with a shoe named  Paradise Sue

boarded a ship named Chainy Tray


Blinker Noon just stared at Tune

At that platform in the sky

“What’s a blanket house with a wooden mouse

doing up so very high?”


Then Louker Tune came down to noon

Asking “Do you want to go up there?”

So he and Tune and a man named Lune

Went swimming in the air.


“Now I can see you don’t believe,”

said poor old Louker Tune

“But now that you’re here,

you have nothing to fear

because they’re all calling you high noon.”





Everyday when the sun goes down

I look and listen and scurry round

For some sight or sound or smell of him

That walks at night when lights are dim


He’s grosser than a bowl of pits

With eyes of green and lips of spit

And hair that snaps with a finger’s touch

Or melts like wax if it rains too much


When his sliding step whispers here

My bones freeze up; I block my ears

To the scream and gargle he calls a laugh

Or the swift bad slap upon my back


 He stinks of gin and juice and hops

And wonders why he’s not on top

A bath might give him more appeal

To a lizard, spider or wasteland seal


But not to me who he calls a friend

Or to other doomed to an equal end

We wiggle and wither under weary grins

And offer to buy him yet another gin.





When the world congregates inside your bowls

You tell me we should travel out of town

Boarding a shimmering People’s airline plane

To live among hot peppers and coffee grounds

You’ll wear a sombrero and tote a hound

Put horse radish of everything that you see

And me, I’ll follow behind with baggage in hand

Waiting for tip or stop or another place to feed

Waiting outside the bathroom door for any fee

Your cries sneaking under the door in pain

Gold streets, milk and honey will not do to

Hear the rapid condition imported from Spain

You shout “I know why we sank the Maine”

Then crumble in a child in ruin

“Help me please,” you whisper over the toilet roll

and I, in a kind mood, bring in a prune





So you got ants in the pants, do ya?

Jiggling round thinking nothing will move ya.

But an old car rumbling down dark road

Dangling panty hose


There’s always a girl sitting in your back seat,

Or one to meet walking on the street

And you cruise – slowly – windows down

Till they all come around


You polish that car from dusk to dawn

Till it shimmers brightly as you move along

You think they think good of you

Sitting there as you do.


So you got ants in the pants for sweet romance

Thinking that you stand a chance

As bigger, brighter cars pass by,

The men in those spitting in your eye.





In shoes of my bard I’m wading

Across brooks and trickles of mud

Italian leather and fine soft linings

Deeply soaked in river crud


And when I get my bard at home

I’ll yank him off by the ear

And show him the damage he’s done

While knowing he doesn’t care.





The military in their wise expertise

Have found a new and mean police

I don’t mean dogs or wolves or moles

Those things are all extremely old


The idea came up in Germany

Where the army had this great need

It seems some villains with merely feed

Had slipped around the canine breed.


“What we need is a lot of noise,

to guard America’s nuclear toys

something to wakeup when someone comes

which can’t be bribed or broke or flung”


which, of course, brings us the new police

a feathered, fretted flock of geese.





I always treated him like a dog, too

You know the way of the whip and chain

There wasn’t a lot he could really do

But moan in the corner and complain


Oh,. he couldn’t even think of escape

Not locked in the house like he was,

ONLY his eyes dared express his hate

Dripping like tears of acid or puss


Don’t let anyone fool you with a dog’s life

It stinks of more than shit and piss

It’s like living each day under the knife

Too scared to talk or take a risk


Well, he died today, too sick to care

Knowing that a dog’s life isn’t fair





It was not all that long ago

In the jungle near the sea

That a widow sat that you don’t know

By the name of Cannibal She

And this window she sat with plate and fork

And with thoughts of devouring me.


And I smiled and she smiled

In the jungle near the sea

But her stomach grumbled with more than hunger

As she said, “I’m Cannibal She

And there she poked at my middle parts

With thoughts of dividing me.


And this was the reason that I had to go

From the jungle near the sea

With a pot on the boil and steam rising

Behind my Cannibal She

And her two large sons stood right beside her

And laid their hands on me


And it isn’t that I was born away

From that jungle by the sea

But my feet still attached pulled me along

Away from Cannibal She

Leaving that widow to her empty plate

Without any part of me.





Dan stands like a wire brush

Tall as a small pine in a poor house hall

Skin tawny and sun brown blushed

And out-door rough over all


He can shriek like a diving eagle

Or sniff like a good fox hound

Tongue smacking over a potential mean

Or shimmering coin he’s found


Sometimes he’s old as the mountain itself

With a ten-year-old’s grin missing teeth

A lovable cur with the wickedest mouth

Of whom even the toughest men speak


But where he comes from nobody knows

We can only pray for when he goes





Beer doesn’t wear right on my tongue tonight

Too snug around the shoulder and heavy of head

Smelling of unhappy hops when I pull tight

and in bar light winks like an old friend dead.


Your voices wisps from the beer foam flat

Tastes so tragic as the juke box moans

And fingers of scotch take me all the way back

To fresher drinks I had when young


Tight like a rope is tight around my too thick neck

Each flat bubble popping with a strangling urge

A uniform of bad taste and last night regrets

Salty sickly smell of a lover’s purged


I wish you here I so could drink to you

When all old beers were still brand new





It isn’t enough to taste honey anymore

Too sticky to spend time lapping it up

And that faint order bumble bees adore

As addictive as the poppy’s drug


No, boy, you’ve got to keep ear to ground

These days when sweet rings can turn sour

You’ve got to feel out the market and look around

Before sticking your nose in the bucket of flowers


Be like me son, with my high look of success

I listen for the click of clock before investing

I sample with pinky before making a mess

Sniffing out fault first before protesting


Ah, how I wish you’d grow like me son

Honey can be as deadly as any gun





She said I tasted like salt water taffy

The sticky kind she used to buy on the pier

Just the smell of which would make her happy

Riding slowly in the back seat, ocean in her ears


She’d look straight in my face and sigh

And say I tasted sweet – but not too sweet

The sweat slipping beneath her long dry

Fingers, but then, too, I smell of street


Of grease and oil, stains shimmering asphalt

Motor humming anxious over ground

Tongue grainy and rough touching all

Of her at once, leaving her unwound


She believe I am Satan love

For whom her lust is not enough



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