Tag Archives: The Path

Buffalo Blondie Kills a Fly and a Gnat with a Single Swat (there were no pigeons around).

lee_broom

 

On display for all to see who were able,

”It is eye”

Said the natty, gnat, gnat on the nose of the fly

Who was perched on the nose of an irritable guy; “Take that”.

And the irritable man, he swatted away

At the fly on his nose,

And the gnat (there he goes),

As his world went awry, said “goodbye”.

 

And the irritable man with the tie in his hand

Completed the Windsor knot.

And tucking at this and that around the collar until satisfied that “handsome is as handsome does”

(He loved this tie a lot),

Except for the spot

Where the fly had landed.

So happy he was that the fly was now gone. (the fly never really knew what hit him on the return approach).

The gnat by the way, was just that, In The Way.

And the hand of the man went SWAT once again

And returned to the view in the glass in the lav

And perfected the knot in his Brooks Brothers tie and said “Dang,

I’m a handsome man.”

 

BUFFALO BLONDIE KILLS A FLY AND A GNAT WITH A SINGLE SWAT. (There were no pigeons about.)

lee_broom

 

On display for all to see who were able,

”It is eye”

Said the natty, gnat, gnat on the nose of the fly

Who was perched on the nose of an irritable guy; “Take that”.

And the irritable man, he swatted away

At the fly on his nose,

And the gnat (there he goes),

As his world went awry, said “goodbye”.

 

And the irritable man with the tie in his hand

Completed the Windsor knot.

And tucking at this and that around the collar until satisfied that “handsome is as handsome does”

(He loved this tie a lot),

Except for the spot

Where the fly had landed.

So happy he was that the fly was now gone. (the fly never really knew what hit him on the return approach).

The gnat by the way, was just that, In The Way.

And the hand of the man went SWAT once again

And returned to the view in the glass in the lav

And perfected the knot in his Brooks Brothers tie and said “Dang,

I’m a handsome man.”

 

MY SHOES DON’T MATCH

 

   Lee_Broom

MY SHOES DON’T MATCH

My shoes don’t match
I said to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointy toe
The other a moc
I noticed as I sat down.

I remembered a time
In Pershing Square
An orator holding his own
The end is nigh
Beware my friends
Repent before heading Home

Is he right I wondered
My shoes don’t match
I’d found them a moment ago
I repented not
They felt warm and snug
I left them on my toes.

My shoes don’t match
I said to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointed toe
The other a moc
Each slipped over
A woolen sock
The time was passing
Tickety tock
A smile replacing a frown;

I have another pair just like these
And they are my very own.

CRUMBS
CH SIX
Lee Broom.

HOW MANY WORDS RHYME WITH MORRIS?

 

MUD PIES

HOW MANY WORDS RHYME WITH MORRIS?

 
How many millions are in a trillion?

How many leaves in a forest?

How many souls exist in forever?

How many came before us?

 

Where is it written? Where are the answers?

Where is the heavenly Chorus?

When did the Big Bang Beget the beginning?

Is the answer there before us?

 

What if I told you I knew all along?

What if you held a Thesaurus?

A new interrogative might have an answer

Or perhaps it would simply bore us.

 

And so to the friend who

Inspired this ode

And helped me to stick

To the write of the road

I dedicate this to Morris

Lee_Broom
Lee Broom

 

 

 

 

 

 

Follow The Leader

3 18 14 CRUMBS CIA Alasaka

Follow The Leader

 

The best style is the style you don’t notice. Somerset Maugham

 

Follow the Leader,

A popular game

Better than anything known.

 

A Daisy Chain

Which leads to what?

A dull edge; to be honed.

 

Forget The Leader

Withdraw your Knife

And check its blade,

How keen?

 

How reliable?

Will it part

The Rarest from The Mean?

 

Now, to its sheath

Replace its Quick

Decisive, well honed Edge

 

And trust it, yes

To separate

The Morsel from the Bone.

Lee_Broom
Lee Broom

IT’S NOT REALLY DANCING

lee_broom

It’s not really dancing.

It’s the joy  we share.

It is deep within us, it is always there.

Some call it Love. It is April. It’s Home.

The Gift of Life; we know where it’s from.

 

We clap. We hum; will it disappear?

Perhaps we lack focus. What now do we hear?

The Sound of Silence?

Are we lonely now?

Yes, for the moment.

The Stillness of Tao.

 

Harken the rhythm. We’re not apart.

We hum. Yes we do, to the beat of our heart.

We hum with our pulse. Really? We hum.

And then…..

We rise up and dance.

 

But it isn’t really dancing… not really… is it?