A Pox on Sir Walter Raleigh
Dissertation on the Fly
Frustration is no friend of mine
Yet he follows me around;
No matter where I want to go,
That's where he will be found !
I simply can't escape him,
Though I try to run and hide;
Until he gets his licks in,
He's never satisfied.
He has a thousand guises,
Which he's not afraid to use
To enforce his lowly standards
And make me pay my dues.
He can act like he's arthritis
Or a neck that's stiff and sore,
Or a headache or a coughing spell
Or a three when I need four!
Sometimes he is a motorist,
Sent out to thwart my day.
Or maybe he's a TV ad
Who has to have his say!
No matter who the bounder is,
He loves to make me mad.
Sometime each day he lets me know,
That once more, I've been had.
I've seen the famed windmills of Holland --
I've shivered in France in the rain.
I've sipped the pale ale of the British,
and seen a real bull fight in Spain.
I've broken brown bread with the Germans --
I've climbed the high Alps of the Swiss,
but of all the bad roads that I've traveled,
I ain't never seen nothin like @#%&*** this!!
A POX ON SIR WALTER RALEIGH
I hate Sir Walter Raleigh
May his bones forever rot.
I blame him for this filthy
Shameful habit that I've got.
If memory serves me rightly
He's the noble English knave
Who from Indians got tobacco,
And became its constant slave.
Had he used his royal noodle
In that trading situation
And refused to smoke that peace pipe
He'd have saved the English Nation.
I sit here now and curse him
For his seeming lack of wit,
Wishing he instead of me
Was going crazy trying to quit.
Thirty hours now since I started
On my cigarette-less diet ...
Wife and kids and several others
Thought I lacked the nerve to try it.
They were right, I'm feeling shaky ...
My resolve has sprung a leak.
Light me up another Marlboro.
I'll wait and quit next week!!
A bumblehead illiterate
was thumbing through a book,
admirin naughty pictures there,
that someone else had took.
He couldn't read the wording --
(he was only thirty three)
and had gone through life a sayin
"This here schoolin ain't for me."
His daddy tried to counsel him
and mama, she tried too --
He turned a deaf ear to 'em both,
as he was wont to do.
He learned to run the "boob tube"
at a fairly early age,
and got hooked on them talk shows
which now seem to be the rage.
He listened in on Oprah,
and that flaky Donahue,
and to Sally and Geraldo,
and that Williams feller too.
They wallow in the lifestyles
of those down on their luck,
and prove that exploitation
is the way to make a buck.
He told his mom one afternoon
that he could plainly see,
"The folks who host these talk shows
seem an awful lot like me."
"I think I've now decided
what I'd like to do the most --
is prey on the downtrodden,
and become a talk show host!"
THE TALK SHOW
The quality of talk shows
On the TV tube today
Is enough to make most normal folks
Get up and walk away.
The likes of smug Geraldo,
Sally J. and Donahue
Make it clear that exploitation
Is the Talk Hosts' thing to do.
They search conventions's outer edge
To find their willing prey;
The wierd and their fixations
Fill the time slots every day.
Hosts justify their presence
In this less than select quorum
With the strangely founded notion
That such drivel needs a forum.
The deviates, the drug addicts,
The hookers and the rest,
All get their chance to stump
Before the talk host at his best.
I wish I owned the network--
It would suit my purpose fine,
To remand these glib tongued flunkies
To the unemployment line.
Since this is quite unlikely,
I will exercise great care,
And depend on my remote control
To keep them off MY air.
28 July 1992
There are sports I'd watch on T.V.
at some time most every day,
but incessant advertising
interrupts the pace of play!
If it isn't Dave of Wendy's
it's some notable 'who's who,'
pushing "fat free" for your diet
so that you can lose weight too.
See a man who's hawking new cars
or a script involving "Cheer"
giving way to dolled up cowboys
touting wrangler jeans or beer.
Then each of many stations
takes a turn to honk its' horn,
imploring you to watch their ads
all day from early morn,
After which there's news and weather,
saying "watch, we'll be right back"
when we've used up nine more minutes
of dull advertising flack.
Your choices are unending
if you're disinclined to scoff...
But I have a built-in scoffer,
So I turn the damned thing OFF!!
I'm pleasured to learn there's another extant
whose fed up with the plastic wrapped pack
and the perils involved tryna get something out,
whether standing or flat on your back.
The packaging world takes great pride in the fact
that their mission, according to plan,
is to make a cocoon of a plastic so strong
it defies the full strength of a man.
Unless you're endowed with the strength of Goliath,
or carry a scissors or knife,
You'd best be prepared for a long standing scuffle,
with tension and swear-words and strife.
The only recourse short of blowing a gasket
is find the head honcho and say,
"go hang your damn widget back up on its hook....
cause I'm not gonna buy it today!"
DISSERTATION ON THE FLY
It's difficult to train the fly
To pass the table goodies by,
Or not to buzz around your face
While dining at the pizza place.
The fly, by nature is a pest
Put on this earth to test, I guess,
The patience of both man and beast
While seeking out a fly-type feast.
Those things which they select to eat,
They trod upon with sticky feet;
Then land with crass impunity
Upon your steak, or cup of tea!
They pay no heed to spoken word,
And oral threats they think absurd.
They're wary and are seldom caught
By any well-intentioned swat.
You shoo them off as they buzz by,
And they just think you're saying hi!
They dive into your root-beer float,
Then land upon the wall to gloat.
It should be clear by now that I,
Don't really care much for the fly.
Here's what I do to cope with it:
I douse 'em with a dose of "Flit."
A well known downtown dental lab kidnapped my upper plate.
The ransom note they sent to me, caused me to be irate.
The invoice for their services was more than I could bear...
I scanned it, did a double take, and started in to swear.
I vowed I would not pay that price for one lone plastic tooth.
I hadn't been that angry since days of misspent youth.
Then after several toothless days, my ire began to wane,
Cause my soup and oatmeal diet had begun to be a pain.
So I paid the tidy ransom though it festered in my craw,
and reclaimed my shiny denture which was now without a flaw.
But to satisfy my ego and to keep my conscience clean,
I made believe I'd lost that money in a Vegas slot machine!
© Don Tidwell, 1953-2003
Brought to you by Poets Collective