Alpha Mail

The moment I turn down your street
There’s no one that I wish to meet
So step aside or feel my wrath
‘Cause I’m a walking psychopath.
I don’t care how you feel today
If so-and-so has moved away
Or that you think the neighbour’s gay
Because he took up macramé.
I’ll knock your pots then slam the gate
And feed that dog of yours I hate
A Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup
To make the ugly mutt shut up.
As for your kid, if he’s on hand
And asks me for a rubber band
He’ll get one right between the eyes
Then several more until he cries.
And what’s the deal with Amazon?
Do you buy for the Pentagon?
Is it too much to take a bus
And shop just like the rest of us?
Just one more thing: if you complain
You won’t hear from your gran again
When we hear something we don’t like
My friends and me, that’s when we strike.

Because I’m not like most men
For I’m your local postman

It Started When You Farted

It Started When You Farted: Witty Rhymes For Playful Minds by [John Ormsby, Andrea Benko]

It’s taken a lifetime to get here but it’s been worth it; I’ve published my first book of poems.

I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

You can find It Started When You Farted: Witty Rhymes for Playful Minds on Amazon.

All proceeds from its sale will go to support Teenage Cancer Trust UK.

Thank you for your support.

Here’s a review by Light Poetry Magazine in Chicago.

lightpoetrymagazine.com/book-reviews-summer-22/

Captain’s Log

Sir Francis Drake had what it takes

To sail around the world

And followed in Magellan’s wake

With England’s flag unfurled.

Along his route he plundered loot

Until the hold was packed

With millions from Brazilians

And the Spaniards he attacked.

On his return, the English yearned

To learn of far off places

Of queens and perils unforeseen

And men with painted faces.

Bess knighted Francis on his ship

While desperately hoping

He’d share his tips for crispy chips

And how to blow a smoke ring.

Soon after he was off again

And set sail heading west

But Fortune soon abandoned him

In this, his final quest.

Sir Francis survived cannon balls

And arrows tipped with poison

But in the end, when Nature called

It ravaged then destroyed him

For dysentery killed our man

Then almost caused a shipwreck

That’s why they sealed him in a can

And christened it the poop deck