WHAT? HOW’S THAT AGAIN?

EASTER

How introduces  Logic
What says You Must do This.

How seeks Truth, no matter…
What seeks proof of a Kiss.

How is  based on Loving.
What says you wouldn’t dare

How is the way of the Tortoise.
What is the way of The Hare.

How is the flight of the Albatross
What is the way of the Free.

What is the Law, the Rule of Thumb
Free is the How for me.

 

 

 

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WHAT RHYMES WITH MORRIS?

lafayette-compound-007.jpg

Morris calls me Leeward.

Bill K sez “Yer Nutz.”

Kids still call me Papa.

To Leo I’m a Putz.

To grandkids I’m their Grampus.

Mother called me Spike.

Uncle Frankie loved me.

He called me Little Tyke.

To me I am a Poet

By any name at all.

Bruno, Leewi, Bobby Lee,

Life is still a ball.

Dang, I’m running out of rhymes here. Enjoy your day and make every minute count. (Hmm, what rhymes with count? Fount? Mount? Tantamount?
I know: Morris)

From: An Amo and Curio Folio. An Olio of Prose and Poesy by Lee Broom

Posted in Humor, One Act Play, Poetry|Tagged Grampus, Papa, Poet, Putz, Tyke |Leave a comment

 

THE HATER

EASTER

SUBJECT: HATE
B: THERAPIST
A: THERAPEE (the hater)

A: A friend of mine told me that I was a real hater. She said that I use the word “hate” frequently.

B: And you think that makes you a hater?

A: Well, yeah. Why else would I say it?

B: Didn’t you tell me a few minutes ago that you saw a film last night that you really loved?

A: Oh yes. It was a wonderful movie, a great story; I loved every minute of it.

B: Loved? Or Liked?

A: Oh, well I guess I liked it a lot. I see what you mean.

B: Dontcha just hate it when that happens?

WHO IS THAT IN THE MIRROR?

Big_BANG

Black holes and dark clouds and space dust are universal metaphors for what(?); that part of you that has no room for anything at all but the perfectly straight line that travels from the retina of your only remaining eye, returning when it will from the end of the universe, ignoring, no, completely oblivious to anyone else in you path(?); no, it’s the other way around, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

It’ll pass, Old Friend.

It’ll pass.

 

WHO NOT WHAT BY ZIPPETY ZOT

lee_broom

The WHAT of life is found ‘neath the neck.

The WHO resides in the head.

What I want to know by zippety zot

Is Who is this in my bed?

The body’s familiar, it has two legs.

But who’s at the other end?

A woman it seems, she’s not a horse.

So what path down was I led?

This must be a dream, of course that is so.

Another one’s coming and

Off I shall go

I’m going

I’m going

I’m gone.

Posted in Dreams, Humor, Poetry.

Posted in Dreams, Poetry|Tagged Dream, what, who, zippety zot.