Freak Magnet

When walking through a field of grass
Most see a sea of flowers
I see a guy hand down his pants
Who offers golden showers

A simple introduction’s made
I’m holding my hand out
Next thing I know my fingers somehow
End up in their mouth

If I’m the least bit friendly and
I try not to affront
I’ll end up at a seance chanting
Or a zombie hunt

And if a somewhat normal friendship
Seems about to crop
I look upon it skeptically
The other shoe will drop

When it turns out she thinks she’s a cat
Or likes to pick her toes
Or maybe inhales chocolate milk
Directly up her nose

Or she’s about to suck my blood
In the midst of the night
Or she cries every time that Kim
and Kanye have a fight

Tell me do you think it’s me
A smell I am emitting
Some supersonic radar sense
Which I must be transmitting

A gullible expression they take
As an invitation
Or maybe just a general
Air of desperation

Or the way I try to stop from
Stepping on the cracks
When walking down the street with my
Invisible blue cat

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The One Line Poem Challenge

I was nominated for a new challenge. Everyone that is nominated is asked to add a line to this poem. It was originated by Rich at Wafflemethis┬ápassed on to Erika Kind, who then nominated me. I am passing the baton to Syl at Syl65’s Blog.

 

Autumnal hues herald dawn’s amber glow.
Nature paints in colorful flow.
Everything’s pumpkin from pop tarts to chips.

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Spirit of Radio

Edith worked the overnights
She sat there all alone
With nought a one for comp-ny but
His relaxed dulcet tones

That somehow did emit a sort of
Subtle sexy growl
And she would join immodestly
For his signature howl

“A whooo this is the sly dog here
I tell you I don’t bite
But I’ll bark and growl and take you
Through the lonely night

We got some Pistols coming soon
And then the Violent Femmes
So be sure to tune in right here
At KHY FM!”

And Edith listened as Sly Dog
Would play her favorite tunes
Pretending he spoke straight to her
Beneath the waning moon

She’d answer all his questions and
Converse quite easily
With the voice she found on her
Radio frequency

But one day Edith spoke to Dog
Near had a heart attack
Because dear Edith was quite sure
That Sly Dog answered back

And she tested her theory sure
That something was amiss
Until he said it loud and clear
“Hey what it be, Edith?”

From that day on they chatted so
‘Bout all that suits their fancy
Like whether the Foos were all that
And whether Sid killed Nancy

And whether it’s Beatles or Stones
Or if Kurt’s recognition
Would be so if he hadn’t died
Or Fender over Gibson

And times when it was just about
The sun was due to rise
They’d get all philosophical
And just talk about life

Then one night Edith came to work
To Sly Dog said “Hello”
But there would be no answer back
She thought “Where did he go?”

She tried to find what happened but
All her attempts were thwarted
When she found that all Sly Dog’s shows
Were always prerecorded

But Edith bound back quickly
And not one to be depressive
Now she swears her new best friend
Is Flo from Progressive

This poem is dedicated to Wolfman Jack, Rodney Bingenheimer and all the overnight deejays who were there before overnight meant prerecorded.

Also thanks to Syl at Syl65’s Blog for his poem 10:55: You’re On The Air for inspiration.

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Trampling At The Sampling

I circle like a vulture and
In deepest secrecy
Dare not divulge the nature
Or give out my strategy

And with the stealthiest of stealth
Unrivaled by a cheetah
I look on cups filled with cream puffs
Yogurt, spanakopitas

And with my wig and sunglasses
Practically incognito
No one will guess my gluttony
I wait on the burrito

She says it’d be 10 minutes so
I hover real near by
Studying a box of mac n cheese
I’ve no intent to buy

And soon the microwave bell dings
And surely I got dibs
But tell that to the woman waiting
With her seven kids

Nervously I do surmise
A serving less than ample
Dismayed as the burrito’s cut
To no more than 8 samples

Little fingers greedy clench
And little mouths that dine
Upon food that for all intent
And purpose should be mine

But what is this I come upon
In slow motion unfolds
The hands that eagerly stretch out
Of a poor three year old

Anticipation on her face
So pure and filled with light
All awaiting joyous tastes
Within the tiny bite

But all is fair in love and war
Some day she’ll understand
Just why I had to snatch the sample
From her tiny hands

I’m sure she will forget about it
By end of the day
And prob’ly wouldn’t have really
Enjoyed it anyway

And after that all bets are off
And destiny it calls
Along with soda, ice cream, meats
And two jumbo meatballs

Cheeses, crackers, sausages
Nuggets shaped like stars
As I cut a blind man off
To grab granola bars

Cookies, coffee, gummy bears
All worthy of a try
As well as some strange chewy stuff
I can’t identify

And vegan gluten free wheat cakes
That taste a bit like tin
A candy coated laxative
And children’s vitamins

And with all tables visited
It’s time to head on out
With bile in my stomach and
A bad taste in my mouth

And as I’m headed for the door
A woman there does greet
Me to ask me if I bought something
She would check my receipt

I say to her that I did not
And thank her for her service
But giggle that she’d think I’d
Actually make a purchase.

Inspired by a local story you can read about here, which turns out to be not nearly as funny.

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You Think You Want To Be A Witch

I see the disappointed faces
As they stare at me
And hear insulting comments from
The mean panel of three

Sharon Osbourne, Madonna and
On the right Taylor Swift
The judging panel of You Think
You Want to Be A Witch?

So I stand there with Stevie Nicks
Our diaphanous host
Sharon starts with comments that
For sure hurt me the most

“I thought your brew was rather thin
It lacked the bitter roots
And I think that you forgot
To add in eye of newt

It made your victim’s skin scaly but
That is all that you managed
And your broom flying is at best
Directionally challenged

You spent your time watching You tube
In your crystal ball
I’m afraid this witch crafting
Just isn’t you at all.”

Stevie reminds my fans to vote
If they find that untrue
And then turns to Madonna and
Says, “Madge let’s hear from you.”

“At first glance I thought you were
Some great enchanted mystic
But now I think it’s just cause you
Were wearing that black lipstick

My mind is changed I think you prob’ly
Should just stick to pink
And your dance of conjuring
Is really out of sync

I sure don’t think your cackling
Did even cause a scare
I’m afraid that as a witch
You haven’t, like, a prayer.”

And so with that said, things are turned
Back to our rockin’ host
Who reminds the viewers just
How much I need their votes

Which somehow fails to make my spirits
Even start to lift
As Stevie says “Now it’s your turn
What do you think Ms. Swift?”

But Taylor looks up with smile
Plastered on her face
Her eyes somehow expressionless
She says “I think it’s great!”

So Stevie says “Marissa it’s sure
Looking pretty bleak
What do you have to say to this?
It’s your turn now to speak.”

I say “Thanks for your criticisms
Plainly I can see
That perhaps the witchy life
Just isn’t quite for me

My potions didn’t do the trick
My broom and hat askew
But despite my deficiencies
There’s one thing I can do.”

And then a lightening burst came through
And then the clearing fog
Where once the panel of three sat
Now there were just three frogs.

With endless thanks to Annabelle Troy at Jane Eyre Gets Real for the inspiration.

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Oh Caterpillar, We Hardly Knew Ye

Oh hookah smoking caterpillar
We scarce knew ye at all
After all you were but just
A mere 3 inches tall

Poor Alice was annoyed with you
But maybe you were joking
Who knows what’s in that head of yours
Or in the pipe your smoking

But in the end I guess it seems
You turned out pretty nice
For it seems you gave dear Alice
Some pretty sage advice

Although I fear there’s some critics
Who sing a different tune
And question those who’d tell a child
To ingest mushrooms

But let’s not be judgmental now
About your little gaffe
And wonder if Old Father William
Did get the last laugh

For though some will be certain to
A butterfly you grew
The sad truth is you’d end as guts
‘Neath some poor bastard’s shoe.

Written from a prompt to write an obituary for a fictional character.