one word equestrian: humor
dismount,horsemen apocalypting
their frugal ways,
televangelism's finest hour
baked beans
skilleting the post-prandial
urges, decaffeinated
blunders
tax season mania
tinsellated
pas de deux
sliding down
the nearest travesty
collisions most weary
defenestrated funnel cakes
blending hodge
with podge, while
proctors envy the New
Hampshire boys in all
they genteel
Eli thievery,
Nathaniel and all his
bells and whistles,
Decatur-way they be
belles and whassles -
in the ginger room
apostles most wry,
bread leavened
beyond repair,
after the girds
are loined
purloined
the roundabout way,
judicial mercury
poisoning
afterbagging the cabarets
tassels in the sweatlands
i...knew just what you'd say -
bless the beasts & all
the chillun
we be the best
bestiaries
down all them
tertiary ways.
Labels: Mrs. Beeton
posted by murat11 at 10:41 PM
6 Comments:
Why are you defenstrating funnel cakes? They are such delicious snacks. This is such a fun poem. I like the apocalyptic horsemen frugally racing away from the televangelists. Those purloining demogogues with the leavened bread of lust do have a special place in modern bestiaries, don't they? Especially when they don't pay their taxes... So many fun things here. It's hard to know where to tesser to next.
Teresa: Whatever else it may be, surely it is an Eau'd to the Four Unhorsed-men...
Then I say, let's defenestrate an unhorsed, defrocked televangelist!!!
T: Done. You tellin' me you don't miss ole Jimmy Swaggart - not even a lil bit?
oooh laws, Jimmy Swaggart?
televangelists full of hot air? I'm with Teresa - keep the funnel cakes - throw out a tv evangelist along with his Rolex.
Us dirt clods can look to our own households with Mrs. Beeton's help.
This could stand all alone:
sliding down
the nearest travesty
collisions most weary
sigh...
Dee: Looks like the ladies have it, and girl, you ain't no dirt clod. Maybe rich blackland prairie...
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