Poems are just words in some order.
Some would say carefully arranged
words to rhyme or have some meaning.
“You think that I don’t even mean
a single word I say.
It’s only words, and words are all I have
to take your heart away.”
That’s a song by the Bee Gees.
An Australian band from down under.
Down under being the state of Australia.
Or is it Austria, no matter anyway
because they aren’t as great as our
good ole USA, we’re number 1.
Bee Gees, what kind of name is that?
Couldn’t it also be spelled with just a B & a G?
Then they could have added that comma
in the air thing and an s.
See what I did there with just a B & a G?
And when I say see, I don’t mean the letter C.
And when I say couldn’t it be,
why not just use the letter
B instead of b and an e?
I like stand alone letters that convey a message.
My favorite is I because that means it’s about me.
And I, am my favorite topic.
The word isn’t is short for is not.
It only saves one letter in the word.
It hardly seems worth while
as it takes me longer to find
that comma in the sky thing,
than it would take me to find
the letter o on the keyboard.
The America language is really weird.
It’s a jumbling bastard of other languages.
You’ve got your Latinese, Roamnesque, Arabica
and Spanishese and it all makes for one mongrel.
And those Bee Gees talking about
taking your heart away stuff.
What are they, heart surgeons?
When did the heart become the symbol for love?
Why the hell not the kidneys?
Think of the great job they do.
Without them you’d be in a painful
bloated type state of affairs, no?
Using organs to represent love
other than the ones intended for love,
if you get my drift.
It is just too much.
Don’t you hate that we have a to and a too?
And by damn a number 2.
Saying t-o-o means also in addition.
It saves time to say too, instead of also in addition.
Saving time seems to be a big thing huh?
Time is a huge concept thing around the world.
It’s funny we can capture that huge thing.
Yep, and put it in a watch you can wear on your wrist.
Not an Apple watch. just an old timey watch.
Imagine being so strong as to carry
the weight of the world’s time on your wrist.
Or in the old western days, guys had pocket watches,
in their vest pocket on a fancy gold chain.
Those paisley silk vests weren’t they striking?
Just really stylish neat with a derby hat on also.
Sad people don’t dress like that anymore.
Don’t you all agree people dress like slobs today?
Hooded sweatshirts with the hoods up.
Who do these punks think they are?
They look like goofs wearing a sweatshirt
on a hot, hot hot day in July.
Speaking of slobs reminds me of something.
I saw someone holding a slobbering baby recently.
You don’t ever want to shake a baby’s hand.
Or you know put your index finger
into its tiny hand like you see
stupid numbskull people do.
Isn’t baby slobber the worst?
It’s orange, red or purple.
It depends on what veggie gruel
liquefied slimy slop baby food
some vicious cruel parent fed them.
Slop, sloppy, slob and slobber funny how similar
those description words are. Right?
I say make them one word like, slopbery.
I do like the word slippers though.
I like a word that conveys comfort.
Perhaps, because my parents weren’t comforting.
Of course, no one wants to slip and get hurt.
That makes me rethink calling
comfortable footwear slippers doesn’t it?
I wonder what woman those Bee Gees
were singing about taking the heart of.
I bet she was hot like some of those
Australianese bikini girls you see
pictured on bottles of tanning lotion.
Beaches are funny as they don’t tend
to have much grass at all,
even though there is all that water.
That girl is probably “More than a woman
to me (oh so much more).
More than a woman to me.”
I like those girls with heavy accents.
I feel sweaty but I don’t think
I have “Saturday Night Fever.”
I’m done writing this poem
and I want to end by saying
“Life goin’ nowhere, somebody help me
Somebody help me, yeah
Life goin’ nowhere, somebody help me
Somebody help me, yeah
I’m stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha stayin’ alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha stayin’ alive.”
Why can’t people see I’m begging?
begging for mental help?
Title: If Trump Wrote a Poem
Amy Rigby:“The President Can’t Read”
“The Trouble with Jeannie”
“A hypocrite is the kind of politician who would cut down a redwood tree, then mount the stump and make a speech for conservation.” ~ Adlai Stevenson I