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I cannot envy educated fools Who never learned the value of advice They play a game with convoluted rules I know they've been to all the finest schools They learned to speak succinctly and precise I cannot envy educated fools Perhaps it's that they seem to lack the jewels To risk-it-all...

* but dawn's creeping mist surrounds young and old alike with death's cold embrace

Divin’ in a dumpster Hopin’ lunch I’m gonna find Knelt on somethin’ squishy-- Just a nasty melon rind Underneath a diaper I spot gold, and none too soon Basting in bum’s vomit Lay a freshly dead raccoon. thanks, dave. this is well on its way to becoming a proper poem. sorry, kathy, but I was...

There once was a fellow named Preston With reason, his girl was restin' She begged, "Please, no more-- I'm feelin' too sore. Look elsewhere to do your molestin'!"

Cast about the snither and the snogs Bundled up slunders tie knots then goorahg. Furbiles, sweeping trails through lamoons Hours of quiet snimmiring for every shagoon Left alone in a queft of turvitude With no ramfiggle and only one schtood Terrifince of melisey melancholy long amood.

The Uni-bomber liked to be alone. I think he used a lot of big words, too...

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

A rotten old blot named Bin Laden Abbottabad, found to be squattin’ Like swatting a fly, Got shot through the eye And that rag on his head became sodden.

I know of this lady named Kath And her love of the bubble-bath But three girls in a tub Is a bit of a rub I mean really, you do the math

I know of this lady named Kath And her love of the bubble-bath But three girls in a tub Is a bit of a rub I mean really, you do the math

Poor little feller...lol Nice--Really nice!

They tell of this fellow named Dave Has a stink like he's fresh from the grave And like Ambrose Bierce His is just as fierce Uses dung as an aftershave Did you know there's a guy Undefeated? His poems read like they were excreted So please hold your nose If your reading his prose Cause the...

In a muddy barren field a forgotten bicycle lays weeping rusty and broken tears dreaming of hot winds and carnival screams from a long-ago summer night. Ashley, you just floored me. Holy smokes...made me feel awful good. 5-7--it kinda got to me, too. Thanks, babe. still might tweak it just a...