The rainbow is God’s promise
Not to end all life again
A sign that all He wants is
For mankind to be His friend.
Forgiving past transgressions,
God protects Man as he goes
And yet, we’re right to question:
What’s the deal with volcanoes?
My origami friend once told
She’s well-known as a centerfold
And has no current plans for ceasing
While her bottom line’s in creasing
The hunch that Evolution sold
Extolling those who break the mold:
Life’s go-getters, the versatile
Does not include the crocodile.
Throughout its 80 million years
As each Age comes, then disappears
Left standing in the starting blocks
The croc has yet to change its socks.
Quite unconcerned with each debut
Of nature’s latest ingénue
These veterans forgo the pomp
In favor of a stagnant swamp.
In life, the way to win the race
Is at a slow but steady pace
The croc has this down to an art
Plus 80 million years’ head start.
Convinced my friend was now a mime
Marcel did not deny it
More so, he has been for some time
I thought… you’ve kept THAT quiet!
I did you wrong
No other way to say it
No other way to play it
This is our song.
A careless lie
You lingered in the doorway
No words, but this was your way
Of saying goodbye.
Don’t let me go through this alone
Don’t leave me out here on my own.
Tell me who to be and what to say
Just set the rules
I’ll play
Walking through the streets, another stray
Just name your price
I’ll pay.
But you’re not here
Some time now since we’ve spoken
The last bonds being broken
Cutting you clear.
I heard from friends
You almost wrote a letter
Perhaps, when things are better
But until then…
Those little things we need to do
I’m finding harder to get through.
Tell me who to be and what to say
Just set the rules
I’ll play
Walking through the streets, another stray
Just name your price
I’ll pay.
If I gave you the dice
Would you roll twice?
Pinocchio, despite his lies,
Still hoped he’d find a match
Then soon learned women don’t date guys
Who come with strings attached
To many an anemone
The fear is any Yemeni
Who ofttimes like an enemy
Sauteed and slightly lemony
When Carter’s party found the tomb
Of Pharaoh King Tutankhamun
They gazed upon the scene with some dismay
At cups and bowls strewn all about
Discarded clothes, some inside-out
In random piles of total disarray.
Add rotting fruit, some moldy bread,
Old board games found beneath the bed
And robbery was feared with utter gloom.
Though if he’d had a son, or two
He would have known, as parents do
That’s how most teenage boys will leave a room.
What did they face
In such a place
Striking them dumb
Leaving them numb?
Piteous sounds
Cold rifle rounds
The stench of death
In every breath.
No hand to hold
No growing old
Falling as rain.
Never again.
The budding poet soon suspects
The pointlessness of: Solve for x
Mr Ormsby At Large 