767 Humor poems

The Swiss just do whatever like masturbating their doink-doinks deep in rural France in the shadow of Mont Blanc. Heavy, dependable and prepared for whatever the Swiss vago-simulacrum recognizes as larder King Hussein and President Fabio, always just about to touch each other on their devolved sparkle-offs and Neil Patrick Harris appreciation pages. Everyone knows when these bizzarre Swiss cometh they cometh with fluffy Beatles-like six packs of shit-covered reindeer knock-knocking like a bummer. Glitter is the Swiss Army knife of the most bedazzlingly ridiculous emotions: the part just before the paranoid cheese-maker says, “Whatever you do in Palm Springs, don’t yodel”—a most unusual Swiss Miss mixture of very early skunk and the robotic sadness of women’s mold heavy, greasy, dense and low, like lethargic sea-green gardens with a buzz overpowering, like modern outdoor inbreeding.

I Said the Table to the Chair, 'You can hardly be aware, 'How I suffer from the heat, 'And from chilblains on my feet! 'If we took a little walk, 'We might have a little talk! 'Pray let us take the air!' Said the Table to the Chair. II Said the Chair unto the Table, 'Now you know we are not able! 'How foolishly you talk, 'When you know we cannot walk!' Said the Table, with a sigh, 'It can do no harm to try, 'I've as many legs as you, 'Why can't we walk on two?' III So they both went slowly down, And walked about the town With a cheerful bumpy sound, As they toddled round and round. And everybody cried, As they hastened to their side, 'See! the Table and the Chair 'Have come out to take the air!' IV But in going down an alley, To a castle in a valley, They completely lost their way, And wandered all the day, Till, to see them safely back, They paid a Ducky-quack, And a Beetle, and a Mouse, Who took them to their house. V Then they whispered to each other, 'O delightful little brother! 'What a lovely walk we've taken! 'Let us dine on Beans and Bacon!' So the Ducky, and the leetle Browny-Mousy and the Beetle Dined, and danced upon their heads Till they toddled to their beds.

I plan to be the world authority on peafowl. Believe I'll be offered a chair someday at the chicken college. —Flannery O'Connor Certainly are nice to want to give me that dog. I raise peacocks— you can't keep dogs and them on the same place. People come here have to leave the dog in the car else the peachickens take to the trees with nervous prostrations. I have twenty-seven. Place sounds like a jungle at night. They yell and scream at the least atmospheric disturbance or mechanical noise. Sitting on the back steps, I spend days studying how they could decorate the lawn to advantage. They prefer to sit on the tractors, the top of the chicken house or garbage can lid. I adjust to their taste, which is anti-dog. Thanks but I'll take the thought for the dog. Appreciate you wanting to give it. Come visit. Nothing to do here but sit, walk, collect red bug bites, show you a peacock before his tail gets ratty.

Raccoon you better be cool Thought I saw you on Broadway Eating King Fish’s barbecue Some people claim raccoon you pretty Swear raccoon tame like a kitty But raccoon bites you if you get too close I saw raccoon on Lenox Avenue Stealing milk from a baby Thought I saw a black cat on the corner But it was nothing but old raccoon Raccoon let me school you Raccoon you know you too country You better leave the city Raccoon they got rats in New York City Big as you and just as ornery Nobody in Harlem studying you raccoon So you better go about your business Raccoon you better get wise Look what playing possum got the possum

When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousin, at the nappy, And gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonie lasses.) O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober; That ilka melder wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roarin fou on; That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises! But to our tale:—Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious: The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy: As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white—then melts forever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide: The hour approaches Tam maun ride,— That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,— A better never lifted leg,— Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares. Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane: And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze: Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou can'st make us scorn! Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light; And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast: A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge; He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip sleight Each in its cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae the rape— Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft— The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit Till ilka carlin swat and reekit And coost her duddies to the wark And linket at it in her sark! Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens! Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!— Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies! But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock. I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie; There was ae winsom wench and walie, That night enlisted in the core (Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore. For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear); Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r, Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jad she was and strang), And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig: There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle— Ae spring brought aff her master hale But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son, take heed, Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear.

Don’t tell me the cat ate your math sheet, And your spelling words went down the drain, And you couldn’t decipher your homework, Because it was soaked in the rain. Don’t tell me you slaved for hours On the project that’s due today, And you would have had it finished If your snake hadn’t run away. Don’t tell me you lost your eraser, And your worksheets and pencils, too, And your papers are stuck together With a great big glob of glue. I’m tired of all your excuses; They are really a terrible bore. Besides, I forgot my own work, At home in my study drawer.

1. X-Men #141 & 142 2. Defenders #125 3. Phoenix: The Untold Story 4. What if. . .? #31 5. New Mutants #1 6. New Mutants #2 7. Micronauts #58 8. Marvel Universe #5 9. New Mutants #14 10. Secret Wars #1

Billy, in one of his nice new sashes, Fell in the fire and was burned to ashes; Now, although the room grows chilly, I haven't the heart to poke poor Billy.

I will pull an airplane with my teeth and I will pull an airplane with my hair. I write about cats. Cats, when you read this, write about me. Be the change you want to see. I’ve legally changed my name to Whites Only. Changed it back, I should say. DO NOT  TRY THIS AT HOME made me the man I am today. That, and the University of  Phoenix. Old man, take a look at my life. Charles Simic, in the gloaming, with a roach, take a look at my life. I’m a lot like you. A man stands up and says I will catch a bullet in my teeth!That’s incredible! He eats a sword, hilt first, and spits up a million people persons. A dolphin pulls an airplane with its blowhole and keeps the black box for itself. Bottleneck dolphins don’t even have bones, yet here we are, giving them medals ... This is my ass. And that is a hole in ground zero. I know which is which. It’s the one with the smoke pouring out. This is my handle; this is my spout.

There was an old man of Thermopylæ, Who never did anything properly; But they said, "If you choose, To boil eggs in your shoes, You shall never remain in Thermopylæ."