All Good Children


One, two, three, four, five, six, seven;
all good children go to heaven.
When you get there, God will say,
“Where’s that book you stole away?”
If you say, “I don’t know”
he will send you down below
where everything is red hot peppers!

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven;
all good children go to heaven.
When you get there, the angels say,
“[schoolname] children, right this way.”


— Anon—

Kids playing jump-rope in the city_ColleenBrowning

Version: Kids playing jump-rope in the city; Colleen Browning

Sleep on This


nsurrection from depths how low?
consultations of martial law
with the guy from MyPillow®:
“F,” the rating of all—
from crack to CEO;
from cracks:
all the A-holes you know.

*[ WSB ].



irflow pipes and
tom-tom drums,
the rhythm becomes

frenzy of cadenza
between the beats of the bar;
the tempo from the tactus
on which the accent rests,
fast and slow the steps
of metered feet:

tango disco
waltzing salsa
jazzy jig
bourrée ballet

the spirit testing limits
almost breaks away.

*[ WSB ].

Sawdust on the Floor

Mr Kite

Version: The Pablo Fanque’s Circus Royal Poster [1843]

A Circus

The big tent buffers the empty skies
that remind of uncertainty and solitude.
Without the hijinks of clowns, wonder dies:

an alternate existence full of disguise.
In seats the gathering folk are glued;
the big tent buffers the immense skies

that swallow the small workaday lives.
Nightly the calliope world is viewed:
Without flaming-hoop tigers, wonder dies,

all the sparkling costumes that mesmerize,
for onlookers thirsty for the magic imbued.
The big tent buffers the empty whys

of sacred grounding or a roll of the dice.
Idling trucks wait for the show to conclude;
without trapeze and high wire, wonder dies.

So the circus goes up for a new town’s eyes;
the humdrum welcomes a gay interlude—
the big tent suffers the endless skies:
without a circus, I wonder what dies ?

*[ WSB ].

Last Gasp

Riot dim

Version: Mike Theiler/ Reuters

hugs came to Congress:
full of fear for the progress
toward the redress

of past injustice.
Nor Dixie flags nor muskets
will preclude racists

clinging to their past
from becoming the outcasts—
new world with no castes.

All of them fascists,
the black bile of the masses
soon will be banished

So take your last gasp;
back in your hole like an asp:
relics of the past.

*[ WSB ].

The Religious Pamphlet


New year: new you
This Year,
[all of the clichés]:

handplow, groundear
nosegrind, mindgear,
eyesprize, backwall,
firefeet, shoulderwheel;

keep thy gaze
on the golden square, not
upon the devil’s ware.

Fist of prayer

  1. Thumb for those closest
    to the heart’s drum;
  2. Pointer for anointing
    direction voicers;
  3. Bird for the secular tall—
    often absurd;
  4. Ring for the downtrodden,
    sickened, or weak;
  5. Pink for the self
    and to always stay meek.

God’s plan for saving woman . . .
and man


Church Children
Necessity in church of not peeping—
people are sleeping.
Little boy prays,
“Lord, if you can’t make me a better boy,
don’t fret,
I’m having a real good time as of yet.”

Harold be thy name.

Life in a Jar
The jar lid barely fits
due to the brimming contents,
the threads full of grit.
Golf balls, pebbles, sand, and coffee grounds
fill the space of life the glass surrounds
interstices packed with objects small,
tidbits about the valued golf balls.
There’s room to sort by import
otherwise, you’ll come up short,
and, no matter how full your life may be,
there’s room for a friend and a cup of coffee.

Pious People
The life strata
churches, no matter
the demographic data

otherly love, gift to above,
Lordly vow, strength when down,
hope for next, joy of text.

Bible Quiz
brought to you by the letter “Q.”

Do not be partial to partial;
sum is better than some.

Not an Angel
In resurrection, death brings
not a new host soldier with wings.
Paul writes of mystery:
it is not sleep that comes when we die
but change in the twinkling of an eye;
a trumpet, then immortality.
Angels: not divine or human;
Jesus –lower– tasted death for everyone.

Stay Hitched
The wedding knot coupling couples
often binds not, becoming a slip knot,
the rigging loose for the marriage launch,
half sailing into choppy waves and squall.
Seek thee a counselor, not a canceler
and give the sacred vow a chance.

Valued Sacrifice
Great spirits in the drought:
everything dying,
Comanche dancing for days.
She-Who-Is-Alone with buckskin doll
—features painted with berries, with leggings beaded
and a belt of polished bone, the head feathers brilliant blue—
a warrior doll: cherished possession:
the only remnant of ancestor shadows
cast by the drought.
The shaman returns speaking of selfishness
and valued sacrifice as recompense
the ashes scattered to the four winds.
In the night sounded by the red-winged bird,
the girl sacrifices her beloved doll:

morning bluebells
sprang where ashes fell—
rains came as well.

Of course, superstition is unfounded.



Version: via UniverseToday

inter snow melts
away in the glow of love:

tenuous the
one where your being merges
with another.

Hearts that frequent lofty monorails
arch from frost to catch fiery comet tails.

*[ WSB ].

[Bicycle Built for Two]


Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer, do!
I’m half crazy,
All for the love of you!
It won’t be a stylish marriage,
I can’t afford a carriage,
But you’ll look sweet on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two!


— Harry Dacre —


*[ WSB ].