No End

I saw a hat shop called Lids,
I saw a tire shop called Skids,
Bottoms-up is an underwear shop,
A children’s store named Lollipop,
A restaurant named The Last Supper,
The brown cow named Dear Udder,
A food chain company called No Frills,
A Hitchcock movie that has no thrills,
The Band is the name of a rock band,
And this is a poem that has no end,


As if we did not have enough as is,
We now have  a fine bundle of this,
Wars and planes and death all over,
Now we got the Ebola virus moreover,
I wonder what is to be next on the list,
With weak leadership that does not exist,
At least we know that we can count on Obama,
To keep playing the part of a Prima Donna,


They call me Scarface Phil and I am mean,
250 pounds of muscle and one tough chin,
A fierce gaze a shaved head and a mad look,
Instead of a hand, I have a large sharp hook,
They call me Scarface Phil behind my back,
Or their faces I shall most definitely smack,
Everyone knows that for years with cruelty,
I have been writing the most horrid poetry,
They don’t call me Scarface Phil for naught,
Sometimes I may miss a comma or even a dot,

La Poheme

I wrote a few operas in my history,
A couple of books and a dark mystery,
The operas are closer to my heart the most,
It talks of love of hate and the Holy Ghost,
I almost wrote Tosca and Turandot what a gem,
Eventually I have settled writing my La Poheme,
Now I am working on my next opera “Car-Men”,
About the lives of NASCAR drivers on ESPN,

The Trees Talk

I read today a scientific study from BC,
That declared trees talk like you and me,
They talk using underground network of roots,
And not overhead using their network of fruits,
It is an elaborated system of signals, they use,
To talk, discuss, date, and even reproduce,
I understand that it was discovered after Berlin,
When the trees found out, Obama was listening in,


Plugging Away

I see people walking by in the street,
Their bodies strangely move to a hidden beat,
Some seem to be playing a virtual piano,
I once saw a man singing in loud soprano,
When I go on my daily walk, I see much,
Hundreds of people that are out of touch,
All with their ears plugged and corked,
Missing a turn where the street is forked,
Unaware of the buses and trucks and bikes,
Of others taking their daily walks and hikes,
Enclosed and confined within their ear plugs,
Behaving as if they are on a bag full of drugs,
I should know as I walk the same path every day,
I started in Toronto and ended in San Francisco Bay,


What’s for dinner tonight I inquire,
If I don’t eat soon I shall expire,
I haven’t eaten for a whole three hours,
I can feel my body drained of powers,
So what is for dinner tonight please tell,
Or is this what it feels like to be in hell,
What’s for dinner tonight I should know,
Since I am the chef of this joint, Yo