Category Archives: poem

When the Old Mind Wanders…

10277312_545955055513607_4451936173664294288_n

When the old mind wanders…

They tell you you’re just too slow.

But thoughts like mine drift everywhere,

And the edges of the universe… are a place to go.

Maybe I should write in red.

And argue with the voices

That rhyme inside my head.

And break the rhyme scheme 

Here and there

Because of what they said.

Eden

Or maybe I should write in blue

Because I’ve been thinking in the nude

And laying all my secrets bare

Which really might be rude.

C360_2017-08-06-21-19-37-889

But the old mind wanders…

In the form of a poem,

And breaks and squanders

Tallest waves in mere foam. 

Leave a comment

Filed under artwork, clowns, goofy thoughts, humor, nudes, Paffooney, poem, poetry, strange and wonderful ideas about life

As If It Weren’t Enough…

20170716_061abab858

THE WISDOM OF THE LITTLE FOOL

A fool can’t really sum up all of life in a sentence.

But a fool tries.

A fool can’t really say something in immortal words.

Because a fool dies.

A fool can’t really do the job of the wise.

But never-the-less, the fool applies.

But a fool can write a really dumb poem,

And let it sit to draw some flies.

Leave a comment

Filed under commentary, foolishness, goofy thoughts, humor, insight, inspiration, photo paffoonies, poem, poetry, strange and wonderful ideas about life

Where We Go at Sunset

The sun is finally going down,

And shadows lengthen o’er the town.

And all the kids from their playgrounds fled,

To places where they’ll lay their heads.

Will ‘morrow come and bring new dreads?

The king refuses to put down the crown.

And aldermen steal the treasures from town.

So now our hope is in our dreams,

And we dream tomorrow’s not as bad as it seems.

Leave a comment

Filed under Paffooney, poem, poetry

The Iris of the Eye

Maxfield Parrish = the Girl with the Watering Can

Blue eyes, brown eyes… see differently,

Bur the eyes still see,

Immune to bright sun

Or comfortable with the blue-black shadow.

Whatever the color of the eye… the seeing is the important thing.

Have you ever noticed, that all the best artists,

The ones who see and record what they see the best,

Are now dead and gone?

And all we have left of them

Are the artifacts,

What their eyes beheld,

What their hand captured and interpreted,

In paint

Or picture

In book

Or song.

Or is it only that… the new eyes remain yet to be discovered?

Whatever color your eye is now,

The iris of the eye,

Won’t you look with me?

To see?

What yet we may uncover?

Not as good as Georgia O’Keefe, but still sexy and beautiful… even if it is by Mickey.

Leave a comment

Filed under artwork, commentary, empathy, insight, inspiration, poem, poetry

King of the Jungle

Be careful of this tiger kitty

He rules with an iron paw

And every rat and egg and bird

Can end up in his maw

He pees where he likes

And buries poo in your garden

And sings to the moon off-key every night

And never begs of you pardon

Leave a comment

Filed under artwork, humor, Paffooney, poem

Only With Words…

He looked down at his little-boy legs.

His little legs were bare.

He had never worn short pants as a boy.

His knees were sunk into the plush seat cushion.

He pushed himself up to the passenger car window.

He pressed his little face to the cold window glass.

Outside, as the train chugged on, the gently falling snow filled the trackside ditches.

He loved trains, though he hadn’t been on one as a boy.

But it was better by far than the table in the hospital…

Where he lay with a pain in his head and ache in the place where his left leg had been.

He remembered that there had been a green light.

So, this was not his fault after all.

But he loved passenger coaches on trains.

And there were voices singing in the snow outside the window.

Do demons sing at a time like this?

It didn’t matter. He hoped the train ride lasted a long time.

1 Comment

Filed under poem, poetry

A Poem Written on a Picture

C360_2016-12-27-07-57-11-113

-a poem written by Mickey and pasted on a picture.

Leave a comment

Filed under artwork, healing, humor, insight, poem, poetry

Re-Minders

Lately I have been having memory troubles. You know what I mean, when you walk through a doorway with a definite purpose in mind.and then, on reaching the other room, you have no earthly idea what that purpose was. It happens to me regularly. In fact, I can even start writing a sentences, and then I… What was I talking about? Oh, yes. I need to practice writing some more spectacularly bad poetry, before I forget how to do it.

Why did I use this picture? I don’t know. I have forgotten.

Re-minders

Sometimes…

My mind slips out of my left ear…

And I can’t remember things.

So, I have to search under the table…

To find my mind…

And then I remember that that’s not how a mind works.

******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Forgetfulness

Tell me now, before I forget…

What was I supposed to remember?

Was it something religious, important, and good…

That comes towards the end of December?

Was I supposed to buy something for somebody then?

I wrote a note to myself in September…

Oh, gosh! How could I ever forget that?

Now the fire is nothing but embers.

******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Finding Fairies in my Hair

Why do I have elflocks all snarled up in my hair?

Surely some fairies have been twisting it up there.’

But if I can catch one and make him confess,

He claims I don’t comb it, and that’s why it’s a mess.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Doofy Me

If I forget everything I ever knew,

Would it be possible that I am still smarter than you?

Old Socrates said he knew nothing at all.

And so he asked questions from Winter through Fall.

I hope I retain enough brain to remember

That everyone needs to wear clothes in December.

******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Yep, I still obviously remember how to write spectacularly bad poetry. It is my contribution to literature. Virtually all poets will be able to say, “At the very least, I am a better poet than Beyer.”

Leave a comment

Filed under autobiography, goofy thoughts, humor, Paffooney, poem, poetry

In the Outhouse

In the Outhouse (a poem by a terrible poet)

So, here I sit for a while to ponder,

While I’m taking care of needs down yonder.

I read the paper’s news-less ruses.

And think that here, at least, the thing has uses.

Leave a comment

Filed under humor, Paffooney, poem, poetry

The Reds and the Blues (revisited due to Covid)

Lord, grant me peace

In times of great violence

Grant me wisdom

As everything around me burns in ignorance

Let the cold blues

Be tempered with warm reds

Let me juggle life’s fortunes and misfortunes alike

Red balls over blue balls

Yellow, purple, and green

Over and under

The spiraling path

I’ll keep written records

In journals with pictures

And share my discoveries

With any who’ll listen

And I’ll always keep close in my heart

The people and places and memories

That mattered and shattered

The whole color wheel

Because Shakespeare once showed us the whole color wheel

Is necessary for magic to form on the page

And though yellow is also a primary too

It’s the reds that warm life as the color of blood

And the blues let us chill as the deeper color of ice

But let there no period be

To stop the color progression

Of this warm/cold blank verse

Nor rhythm or rhyme sully

The Reds and the Blues

Leave a comment

Filed under artwork, Paffooney, poem, poetry