Blocked

I can’t find an idea.
There are nonrights or wrongs.
My mind is fully empty,
Except for 80’s songs.

If I can’t find the words,
Maybe I’ll use emojis instead.
Wow. I have no poetry at all,
And emojis hurt my head.

So, this time tomorrow,
I will take my pen in hand.
I’m sure I will write something.
And then will have it panned.

Land Cruise

Ships are heading back to Europe.
We try to go along for the ride,
With the blue ocean outside.
Transatlantic cruises.
Big fun for everyone.

Sunday, we drove down to Ferris.
It’s a pleasant little drive,
Heading down I-45.
Dairy Queens and Mexican food.
Big fun for everyone.

It’s not exactly a cruise.
It was a jaunt, so to speak.
We weren’t gone a week,
We were home to feed the dogs.
Still, big fun.

Well, miniature big fun.
I need some Vitamin Sea.

Father Long Words

When I was back in college,
I took six long hours of Speech.
One of my classmates loved it,
It was preparing him to preach.

He joined the Seminary.
They gave him room and board.
He learned the secret handshake.
He was consecrated to the Lord.

He loved preaching his homilies.
He never noticed the time go by.
His parishioners would take notice.
His sermons made them cry.

It’s not that they weren’t moving,
Or his chosen words weren’t very strong.
It wasn’t even his repeated subjects.
It’s just that they were bloody long.

They called him “Father Long Words”,
But only behind his back.
They were plotting how to sneak out,
To try and find a snack.

Finally, someone called the Bishop.
They said, “He speaks too long.”
The Bishop said, “The Spirit is within him.”
The Bishop said, “Just play along.”

It took months of complaining.
But the Bishop finally heard.
He came to the Church one Sunday.
Then he said, “That is absurd.”

The Bishop heard Father Long Words,
He dozed off about half-way through.
So, he answered the cries of his people,
After snoring loudly from his pew.

The Bishop had him transferred.
Father Long Words moved around.
He would preach in a different parish,
Until that flock drove him out of town.

Everywhere he preached,
The people listened to him at first.
They listened and they listened,
Until their bladders almost burst.

The Church finally blamed Americans,
For not appreciating the Word.
Father Long Words escaped to Ecuador,
Where they knew he would be heard.

Down in Quito, Father Long Words
Entered the famous Guinness book.
He preached two hundred thirty-seven minutes,
Because that’s just how long it took.

The week after the World’s Record,
The Pope flew in from Rome.
The Church was overflowing.
No parishioners dared stay home.

Father Long Words preached two hours.
He paused for breath, and started further.
That’s when the Pope jumped up and shot him.
The police have called it a Mass murder.

(Bless me, Father, for I have sinned with this poem.)

Goodbye

It’s been a long month,
But only thirty days.
The challenge is over,
We go our separate ways.

As we go into May,
Random thoughts will fly by.
I’ll be writing by chance,
Not because I will try.

Thirty poems is not much,
Not even a book.
Unless you self-publish,
For a Kindle or Nook.

Busy

This will be a busy week.
As I paddle up Shitz’ Creek.
I hope everything will go well.
Since lately things have gone to Hell.

Paul said it’s just Another Day.
We’re almost to the month of May.
I’m running out of good ideas.
What else rhymes with “flour tortillas”?

One more poem to make the month.
However, nothing rhymes with month.
I guess I need another word.
Luckily, none of this gets heard.

The Cedarville Line

Southbound on the Cedarville Line,
My Texas home is on my mind.
I’ve only got four States to go,
It’s a long, long way from Ohio.

Indianapolis goes flying by,
Someone behind me starts to cry.
I’m not the only one alone,
But at least (at last) I’m heading home.

The Land of Lincoln’s just a blur,
I turn around to look at her.
Her crying stopped a few miles back,
Now, it’s just the clicking of the track.

St Louis and the engines needed fuel.
The dining car refilled the gruel.
I grabbed another cup of joe,
Just a few more hours left to go.

Oklahoma, we just blew right past.
Next is Texas, home at last.
Cross the border to the Lone Star State.
Hurry now, let’s not be late.

Made it home on the Cedarville Line.
In fact, we made it right on time.
Texas underfoot at last.
Northbound before the summer’s passed.

Mom’s Lament

Nobody loves me,
Everybody hates me,
Guess I’ll go eat worms.

My dogs don’t love me,
Unless I’m bearing treats.
I try to hug and kiss them,
Guess I’ll admit defeats.

I let them out to play.
I feed them two squares a day.
They pee on the floor, it’s OK.
Their hair makes me sneeze more than hay.

Am I bitter?
Not even a bit.
So, they sit by Dad.
I won’t have a snit.

They really love me.
I’m sure of that.
But if I find they don’t,
I’m getting me a cat.

Murphy’s Lament

Mom, why are you bleeping?
Can’t you see I’m sleeping?

I don’t need to pee outdoors.
I already did, over on the floor.

Is it time for me to eat?
If not, I’m going back to my seat.

I don’t like the lady with the scoop.
She harvests all the tasty poop.

You’re putting drops in my eyes?
Where is my tasty cookie prize?