Whatever Killed Carmen Miranda

There she was Carmen Miranda with her hat,
With seventeen pounds of apples and a fruit bat,
Singing “Mama Yo Quiero” while dancing the samba,
It was that or the tango and sometimes the Mamba,
Carmen Miranda the Brazilian bombshell of the fifties,
Piling on her head the plums the apricots and cherries,
Never before was someone so out of place like Carmen,
Walking around with a hat with a vegetables garden,
Is it wonder she died so young in her forties like that,
When her heart gave in carrying a ton of fruit on her hat,

Chisel and Rocks

This week my grandchildren are back to school,
Enough with the fun the games and the pool,
Let them suffer the way I did as a young child,
In the early days of my life when I was quite wild,
I went and bought the kids a new set of color pens,
That they can take to show their new school friends,
How easy kids have it nowadays, Ipad, Ipod, Iphone,
Not the way I had it in the days of chisel and stone,
Can you imagine carrying to school a chisel and a rock?
To carve away your homework, (this was my writers block),
Is it a wonder that now so many years later in my being,
I only write poetry and short stories, words on a string,
Imagine “War and Peace” written on a rock and slate,
Just carrying the index would put you in comatose state,
So be happy my grandchildren secondary fruit of my loin,
When grandpa is calling, better answer the damn Iphone,

Minimum Wages

Today they are discussing minimum wages,
It is all over the evening newspapers pages,
The fast food workers, the coffee shop kids,
Able to take home a few more cents, god forbids,
It is all right for the top person to make money,
But why does it have to be so absurdly funny,
Is there no limit to greed, paid $9600 per hour?
How many meals and drinks do you daily devour?
Eleven hundred workers get paid less all together,
Than the CEO’s of a coffee chain or fat dripping burger,

Mona, David and Venus

The day Van Gogh took Mona Lisa hostage,
That picture was on every newspaper’s front page,
The rumors were going on for a year or more,
Saying it was Michelangelo’s David’s private war,
To which Munch got into a fit and screamed,
DA-Vinci pretended to look his usual esteemed,
What is it about Renaissance artists (not Munch),
That brought them to fight, kick, and punch,
It got so bad they took the hands off Venus’s figure,
Because she gave Botticelli her open hand finger,

Pills and Millions

Ever since the new email law has been enforced,
All email issues have been resolved and endorsed,
Since July first when the law is in power in Canada,
We are better than these republics of the banana,
We are keeping the emails clean and business like,
We will withstand any attack or an email strike,
So this week I have gotten only a few reminders,
Of my Nigerian uncles, aunts and other binders,
I have been getting only sixteen offers for pills,
That grows my shrunk “member” as big as the hills,
Yes it is good to be protected by the new law,
Now off I go, my Nigerian millions to withdraw,


Putin and Obama, and the Dalai Lama,
Each in his way adding to the world of drama,
One is kind and peaceful, tranquility at its best,
The other two are a mess, to that we all attest,
Power hungry, nothing good about these two,
Bald headed men are more easygoing it’s true,
To that, I can attest first hand, as I am so kind,
Genghis Kahn don’t mention, never you mind,
So, from now on when to vote you are going,
Cast your vote where hair is no longer growing,

Archie Constipated

I was taking the dog for his walk,
So, we go for a short walk having a talk,
He stops here and there pretending to pee,
Or maybe to pooh, whatever the case may be,
So I asked him in a very polite manner, I said,
“Why don’t you go when we are out, are you dead”,
“Archie why don’t you go when we are on our walk”,
“Why are you saving your pooh around the clock”,
“Are you kidding,” said Archie his eyes were in tears,
You want me to pee and pooh when everyone leers,
You sir, you may do your business in the public eye,
I sir do mine in private or I rather explode and die,

Life Is What In Between Meals

Frankfurters with beans a little honey,
This meal is going to be right on the money,
A baked potato with melting butter on top,
If you insist, you can add a little ketchup,
A good chilly cold Indian Pale Canadian beer,
Such a snack makes your problems disappear,
And for dinner we start all over with gusto,
Ribs a-la bomb with a mix of some pesto,
Life is all about meals and food so delicious,
In between meals, there is life less nutritious,

The Values We Have

How much for a glass of water you ask,
How much can it cost, a few drops in a flask,
It’s a philosophical question, you must see,
Where in the world is this flask meant to be,
If in your house next to the sink and fancy faucet,
You will get it all free, with no income or profit,
But, if it was in the desert these water you seek,
With your tongue hanging out arid, dry for a week,
What price will you be willing to pay for such flask?
For a few drops of water, you will pay what they ask,
For value is set on things and items mostly for vanity,
How much water can one drink from a diamond, tell me,
What would you rather have friend, in the dry arid desert,
A necklace set around your neck; or some water to squirt.

Karl Zedong?

Why? You should ask all the time, you hear,
Why are the sky so blue and the water so clear?
Why there is hate and love is so scarce,
Why is mother so smart and father an ass?
Why the cat meows but the dogs do barks,
Why was Mao Zedong, but Karl was Marx,
Why looting a store is asking for justice,
Why a rich man is a man of much substance,

Summer Is Dying

Mid August, summer almost out this year,
Hardly had a chance to enjoy a good beer,
The days are cool and nights are even cooler,
Shorts during the day at night with sweater,
Days are still long the light hangs on until nine,
A few more weeks, off the beer and into wine,
Kids back to school for more useless education,
For their rightful share of creative castration,

Until I Am Told

LinkedIn asks me if Joe knows construction,
Facebook tells me in the Middle East destruction,
CNN tells me Ebola may be coming to New York,
My granddaughter’s book says baby delivered by stork,
Everyone knows the answers to everything today,
I saw a horse that was reading “50 shades of hay”,
Apparently, the bible has many versions for one god,
In Iraq, they will take your head off to prove the point,
It must be so amazingly good, to always be so right,
It seems except me everyone else has seen the light,
So, here I am in my ignorance left all on my own,
Until I am told by CNN, where I went so very wrong,

Robin Williams R.I.P

Good morning Vietnam, and Aladdin,
Brings a smile to your face, at least a grin,
He made me laugh in movies and stand-up too,
He was not afraid to say on live TV, “screw you”,
I loved him on “the Birdcage”, “Mrs. Doubtfire”
When he danced with the broom in a woman’s attire,
You’ll be missed Robin Williams, you left too soon,
All I can say to you now is “Nanu, Nanu”, you lampoon,

#Hash Tag

I think, maybe I am a little paranoid,
I have been checking daily on my android,
It seems it happens everywhere to everyone,
Once started it cannot be rid off and undone,
It does not even try to hide, it announces loud,
One might think it is so very much boldly proud,
It is growing in leaps and bounds one after another,
It seems lately I am everyone’s long lost brother,
Check it yourself how many are following you today,
LinkedIn and Twitter confessed to their foul play,
I saw today a written confession in letters so bold,
We see you sir you are now #Hash tag controlled,

The Lonesome Piccolo Player

I had taken a long walk today,
To a park hidden far, far away,
As I walked the narrow snaking path,
I heard a whistle sounded like a steam bath,
It was an enchanting sound from afar,
It was whining strange sound very bizarre,
As I walked closer to the source of the sound,
I could see a man sitting on the ground,
In his hands, he held a wooden piccolo,
On his head a Peter Pan hat in bluish indigo,
Hat with a feather as he played that flute,
That man could not play, not even a note,


I know there is a place in Zaire,
If you listen well you can actually hear,
The ants are eating away at the white walls,
Waiting for the termites from Victoria Falls,
I am now a dark angel, I swoop from above,
All that I do is truly the labor of love,
As the ants, eat away at the walls in Zaire,
To what purpose to me is very unclear,
We have so many clean of sins all are virtue
But I am a dark angel all I know is what I knew,

Late to a Meeting

Today someone was late to a meeting,
He sent me a message don’t get starting,
I am running a little late about ten minutes,
“Even I have” said he, “unfortunately my limits”,
First, said I, why run late if you can drive,
Thus, you can cut your delay to only the five,
Your coffee will wait have no fear my friend,
You will get here all right; we are on a dead end,