POETRY
 

Ipso Facto Guano
.
What difference indifference?
All pleasure units are in a row,
Awaiting the scurry,
With nowhere to go.
.
Busy oneself,
With endless distraction,
Suppressing true thought,
Quelling fruitful interaction.
.
To be still and know,
Will slow the tempo of the show.
Ergo the status quo,
Ipso facto guano.
.
.
~Micky Dee~
…08-31-14…



Fleeting Moments
.
She’s not compelled to love me.
Like God, it is by grace.
And one doesn’t rest on laurels,
In the middle of a chase.
.
So love has never been?
And love can never be?
Like justice, love is blind,
Fleeting moments are what we see.
.
Fleeting moments pass us by.
A longer gaze may glaze,
Like candy for the eye.
And set the heart ablaze.
.
Fleeting moments of clarity,
Frees temporarily.
Solitude is an island,
In a vast chaotic sea.
.
Vessels pass on the horizon.
The wind blows through my ears.
The eyes become hollow orbs,
From the exile of the years.
.
Fleeting moments are little comfort.
While writing letters in the sand.
And messages in some bottles,
Never reach the promised land.
.
Fleeting moments of sincerity,
Like ships passing in the night,
Rarely anchor the soul,
And seldom see the light.
.
.
~Micky Dee~
…08-28-14…

 

Some People
.
Some people are like the roses,
With beauty all afire,
Having an aura to lift the spirits,
As they spur and inspire.
.
Some selfishly take without returns,
Breaking tender hearts,
Some people just aren’t human.
Some people are smelly farts.
.
.
~Micky Dee~
…08-28-14…



Chekhov’s Gun
.
In act one the fabric of folly,
Is coming undone,
As on another blank wall,
Hangs Chekhov’s gun.
.
In act two there’s a shrew,
A trap door on the floor.
The only sound,
Is a cacophonous downpour.

.
In act three there’s a tree,
With the proverbial noose.
The shylock and Sherlock,
Are setting hounds loose.
.
Sound bites obscure the present,
Blurring the tale’s history,
Rendering the play,
To slight of hand, facades, and mystery.
.
Damocles’ sword now sways,
And soon must fall,
But Chekhov’s gun,
Still hangs on the wall. 
.
~Micky Dee~
…08-21-14…
.
.
Not yesterday. Not today.
Not on any other day,
Has this tragedy,
Ever been my play.
.
~MD~



Bertha De Blues
.
I call her Bertha,
Bertha De Blues.
Every chance she gets,
She’s on some booze.
.
She’s my nostalgia,
Of the women in my past,
Most of whom stayed stewed,
To make a relationship last.
.
There was Leah Tarde,
Lotta Bolloni, and Lotta Noyes.
They loved their wine,
And younger boys.
.
I fell for Lacie Shorts,
And Frieda Gogh.
I amused Minnie Miles,
And even  a Hedda Snow.
.
I tried Jean Poole and Joy Ryder,
And a Mary Chase with Natalie Cladd,
But it only made Miss Deeds,
Lida Lott, and Mona Lott Mad.
.
I almost forgot the Anitas,
Anita Job and Anita Ficks.
But I’ll stick with Bertha De Blues,
With the pretty smile and no tricks.
.
.
~Micky Dee~
…08-24-14…



 



CYCLING



 


Riding With Elvis
(Tour de Elvis 2014)
.
It was a bit of a struggle,
Climbing Hatley Farm,
But all the king’s horses,
Were just getting warm.
.
The next trial would come,
On Millingport,
But I knew the route,
If I needed to abort.
.
It was a cordial ride,
A piece of cake,
As we tickled our pedals,
By Badin Lake.
.
I was hanging on,
Like a long toothed lizard,
When on Stony Gap,
I strained my gizzard.
.
Norwood came and went.
It was no big deal.
All I had to do,
Was to sit on a wheel.
.
We were reading news papers,
At the back of the pack,
As that trail from Aquadale,
Set off an attack.
.
But we held it together,
To Charlie’s store.
There was a city limit sign,
And off they tore.
.
Just a couple miles left,
But my legs were shot,
And I can’t give,
What I ain’t got.
.
I was paying my dues,
And singing the blues,
I saw Elvis at the front,
With his blue suede shoes.
.
He was combing his hair,
Then he was really gone.
I was all shook up,
With a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on.
.
Too many long hard miles,
Had taken their toll,
As I watched Elvis and company,
Shake, rattle, and roll!
.
~Micky Dee~
…08-23-14…





Walk




08-17-14
 



 


 


 
     
 

 

 

 

 

 

 


ARCHIVES

 


HOME
Home Sweet House Fraud