Awol At The Mall

Map and compass, water bottle,
Check check check and check
Bandages, tinder and whistle
Hanging from my neck

But despite the preparedness
Of my survival pack
I struggle to identify
Whether this discount rack

Is the same one that I’ve seen
Some three hours before
Or if I’ll find the exit out
From the department store

I know I’m not to panic but
This sure is getting dreadful
I no longer see the trail I left
From my Wetzel’s Pretzel

The salesgirl has directed me
But somehow I’m condemned
To end up turning up in the
Perfume section again

Where some women keeps spraying me
with the Drakkar Noir
I look a confused housewife but
I smell like a French whore

And so my circling continues
It’s really quite upsetting
I think of maybe starting a
Rescue fire in bedding

My water ration’s running low
A most rueful subsistence
When bright lights of Target I see
Shining in the distance

Intent am I to get to where
The far off lights are glowing
I focus in on them and look
Not quite where I am going

I topple a Christmas display
A very stressed salesman
And what seems to be the whole of the
Kardashian clan

And finally I reach the mall
Like a woman obsessed
And just miss a collision with
Santa’s Fun Time Express

Shoppers give me funny looks
But I don’t give a damn
I only hope my family
Remembers who I am

And on a mission that perhaps
Sweet freedom will be mine
I make a beeline out of there
At the first exit sign

And as I breath in the fresh air
I kneel to kiss the ground
Only to find a much greater
Dilemma to be found

For as the night time air gets cold
And the sun fades to dark
There’s no way in hell that I’ll
Remember where I parked


To Do Away With Black Friday

In the 24-7 town
A solemn gavel’s raised
And so it is begins the weekly
Meeting Of The Days

Thanksgiving’s first to take the stand
He says “Let me acquaint
You with a detailed list in which
I make for my complaint

I’ve always been a day of peace
But lately I have found
That things are getting worse with that
Black Friday coming round

It used to all be pretty chill
I would run my course
And then be like I had my day
And now you can have yours

But lately he’s all over me
I tell you it’s a bummer
Dude just comes in on me like
He’s all stealing my thunder

And plus all that he stands for, well
It’s really sort of shallow
He comes in on my coattails and
The people get all aggro

And so after you hear my words
I hope it’s understood
When I propose we just get rid
Of Black Friday for good!”

Shocked murmurs sprang around the place
And things got a bit crazed
Till a man got on the stand
The Grand Poobah of days

“I hear what you are saying T
There has indeed been tension
I propose we go to Black
And stage an intervention”

So up into his room they went
Intent to make it verbal
About the problems that they faced
While sitting in a circle

And soon Black came into his room
And saw them all arranged
He listened to them talk about
The reason for a change

But Black just looked with furrowed brow
While listening to their woes
And then he gave a knowing nod
Said “I see how this goes.”

Then at the speed of lightening lawyers
Came in from afar
The VIP and President
And Debbie from H.R.

And though they tried to blow it off
As just a bunch of smatter
Came governors and senators
To speak about the matter

Apologies in statements sent
Protests and admonitions
Mass firing of who’s charge
And soon came a decision

That every year they’d honor him
In the familiar ways
But now’s there’s a petition out
To call it Beige Friday.


A Thanksgiving Collection for The Misanthrope

Some turkeys taste best when they’re fried
Other’s when they’re roasted
Some say they’re best served cold inside
A sandwich nicely toasted
And I’ve consulted master chefs
And well renowned cookbooks
To find my turkey must taste best
Before the damn thing’s cooked









Stuff yourself with candied yams
And turkey like a glutton
Cause it ain’t Thanksgiving un-
til someone pops a button

Disaster strikes the Murkleys after they gorge themselves at Thanksgiving dinner.


Whatever sugar I may add
The cranberries taste bitter
Year after year the puckered lips
Yet I am not a quitter
Because this year I’ve figured out
A pretty fool proof way
To work around all this stress
And save Thanksgiving Day
But new dilemmas do arise
From which I can’t escape
How I do I get my sauce out of
That weird conical shape?









I’m staying home for Thanksgiving
I don’t want to mingle
Tell Aunt Sheila I’m unemployed
And yes I am still single
Tell Uncle Sal to slow down on
The whisky and the rye
And duck for me when we find out
That turkey’s really fly
I’m staying home for Thanksgiving
Don’t need nobody else
I’ll overeat quite fine, thank you
When I’m all by myself
I’m staying home for Thanksgiving
Because I’m filled with fear
We’ll recall why we see each other
Only once a year

Another submission for the Photo Challenge which I am so honored to have been nominated for by Erika Kind.

Also, anyone who is interested, can read my Metalhead’s Holiday Gift Guide published by Geeks of Doom.


What Would Lemmy Do?

Lemmy he don’t really walk on water
But he just might sleep with your daughter
Aint’ gonna save your soul
He might save rock n’ roll

He came to earth on a motorcycle
And when he did he chose his disciples
Then they went to rehearsal
Fast Eddie Clarke and Wurzel

What would Lemmy do
What would Lemmy do
What would Lemmy do
Whatever it is he’d do it better than you

Lemmy’ll save us from terrorist attacks
With just a pipe and a shot of jack
He don’t use no nukes
He wears his daisy dukes

And Lemmy he might never make it to heaven
He’s got a Marshall amp that goes to 11
Try nailing him on a cross
And he’ll tell you to get lost (f*** off)

But Lemmy, he’s a good man
He’d give you the shirt of his back
He can make the starving a feast
From a burger and a shot of Jack
And when he speaks wisdom comes
That is so true so amazing
It frees your soul though you admit
You’ve no freaking clue what he’s saying

Lemmy wasn’t born in 4 B.C
It was a few years later you see
And now he’s living in sin
With Mary Magdelene

And there was no immaculate conception
He’s probably on his third resurrection
He’s comin’ back from the dead
To tour with Motorhead

These are song lyrics from our family band The Cheesebergens about our lord and savior Lemmy Kilmister. For those unfamiliar I am including a clip from his documentary.


After the Cow Jumped Over The Moon

Hey diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle
The dish ran away with the spoon
For a shotgun wedding that was most upsetting
And destined to leave them in ruin

The Spoon’s family said, “how could they be wed?
You see he is only a minor.”
The Dishes were coping but secretly hoping
She’d leave him soon for some fine china

I guess I’m going to kind of cheat by adding this as my first submission to the photo challenge I’ve been nominated for by Erika Kind. I actually came up with the text first but…shhh…don’t tell anyone.


First World Problems

I’ve traveled far, I’ve traveled wide and everywhere I roam
I see the faces buried in an iPad or iPhone
A choice is made, a lit up screen, it’s easy to forget
That there’s a world existing out beyond the internet
But what it is they’re looking at is clearly beyond me
You’d think that the one saving grace of this technology
For all the time they swipe and type, well one would well imagine
They could at least return an email in a timely fashion


The Audition

I told them we were gonna be
The biggest thing alive
And that they’d have to be between
18 and 25

We’re set to take the world by storm
When we go out on tour
With music sounding nothing like
Whatever came before

Must have gear and attitude
Prepared to sell your soul
For the gods of sex and drugs
And of course rock n’ roll

Looking for a six string slinger
With a pretty face
A monster drummer, heavy thumper
Down to play the bass

Must have chops, cool amps and wear
some awesome leather clothes
And remember I’m the boss
Whatever I say goes

I can’t afford to pay you but
We’re sure to achieve greatness
And you will not be sorry when
We all are rich and famous

So come on down tomorrow, make it
Between 8 and 10
Be impressive and for sure
I’ll see you losers then!

And so I waited there at 8
And I was pretty sure
That there would be line of people
Snaking out the door

All who worshipped gods of rock
And goth and heavy metal
But instead just a tumbleweed
I sat to watch dust settle

And hoped someone would come in soon
That had the moves like Jagger
Instead I got a man who dragged
With him a balailaka

Clearly he would have had to be
Bout 90 if a day
And soused he offered me a swig
Off his opened Claret

An older bloke behind him came
As our triangle player
I told him he could have the job
If he knew any Slayer

A man mutt’ring obscenties
Said he would play the trumpet
A chick brought in some bongos looking
Every bit a strumpet

Fore I knew it, at the door
Another ancient fellow
Who said he heard we needed someone
Who could play the cello

And to round our line up out
There was a rather cute
Girl dressed up like a geisha who
Said she’d play the flute

And of course in order to
Enhance the balailaka
We got some chick named Gill who said
She played some mean maracas

And though this isn’t quite the band
On which I had been set
I just figured “oh what the hell
I’lll take what I can get”

There aren’t many groupies and
We rarely will get paid
But we really don’t sound bad if they
Turn up their hearing aids

We play funerals and bingo games
Nursing homes and more
So catch us at a gig on our
Lock Up Your Grandma’s Tour

But just in between you and I
I’ve a sneaking suspicion
My band mates erred that day and they
Came for the wrong audition

They made a right ‘stead of a left
But don’t you dare to tell them
That this is not in fact the back up
Band for Willie Nelson.

Over the weekend, my friend and fellow blogger Inchcock made this graphic for his blog Marissa’s New Band, which in turn inspired this poem. Pictured are fellow bloggers Shirley Blamey on lingerie and congas, Rachel Carrera on geisha dress and flute, Danny Soz on trumpet, Mike Steeden on balailaka, Duncan on cello, Inchcock on triangle and Gill on maracas.