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.
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
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?
Alfred: What will you do when you lose the stores, when you lose your home?
Lee: I’ll sleep in my station wagon, swim at the Biltmore and eat at AJ’s.
Alfred: What’ll ya do for money?
Lee: I’ll have fifty thousand dollars stuffed in my pillow.
(A real conversation that took place in May, 1994.)
Being “True to one’s Self” trumps Unity.
Unity begins with a Handshake;
A Handshake begins with intent.
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?
It’ll pass, Old Friend.
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
Posted in Dreams, Humor, Poetry.
Posted in Dreams, Poetry|Tagged Dream, what, who, zippety zot.