Canadian Frenchman, Francois,
Speaks English in heavy patois.
He bought a new chair—
It’s black and it’s square—
He’s proud of his soft, new noir squoir.
Black Square
Category Archives: light verse
To Spin Like a Top
My friend, a Sikh, has allergies—
Some serious—no remedies.
My pal, the Sikh, in turban ate
Bad food to make him turbinate.
Steely’s Homonym
A smithy, the name of McFeely,
Was proud of his battle site, really.
He wrought up a marker
But as it grew darker
Foes stole the steely steel stele.
Husbands Gain this Wisdom
Ask the wife for one small item—
Comb, a pen, a writ ad litum—
She’ll rummage purse capacity.
Don’t ask!–know perspicacity.
Cat Pun
Incontinent cat of a cat-loving owner
Left some of itself on a couch in the corner.
The owner showed love more than I’ve ever heard:
He sat—and he realized—yet stayed undeterred.
Men’s Dark Conceits of Night Pt. II
As lead meets lobe
And slices through
A man’s extinction’s mess
Created thence
Through palms all red
Drip through her finger-sieves.
“But why? But why?”
Too late, she sees
That he’s erectilized —
But fading now
To puttied clay —
And falls she to her knees:
Too late to stop
The shot of lead
That led him, damnédly,
To take to hand
One sil’vry shot
To launch eternity.
Indentifies As = Pretends to Be
No assignations.
Just leave it to me.
One quick look
And it’s B or it’s G.
To my Better
One man wields words so well, I’ve wondered:
Is no left-leaning cow unsundered?
Wryly, Riley’s lithely rhymes
Often mime the chapel chimes.
Profligate, this word-stuffed beast
Bests celebs who are the least.
Waxes, times, religious awe
That drops my soul’s dumb, gaping jaw.
And then perhaps there are his best–
Pure grams of gold–an eggéd nest.
I wish I had his constancies
To match his craft, his constant sees.
Bathroom Love
Happens, it does, in a house of two loos
That husbands and wives utilize them in twos.
At one at the same time dispense we our waste!
The effluence merges, and love voids the place
Of solids and liquids, each giving chase
Down into plumbing and into the sewage–
An intimate mingling! Ejecta and brewage!
Oh, blessing of sorts! Oh, lurid perfection!
Celebrate we this wet cosmic connection!
Toxic Sock Farm
I have a problem with my feet.
In winter of all times each sweats–
Olfactor’ly my nose doth meet
Odorific fulminance.
*
Sad, Sino-socks—none can contain
What each should best be hidin’.
Wife, she winces, pinches spent
Pairs from the toxic garden
*
Into laundry chutes they’re spurned–
Returned to Sino-Biden:
“These, your profits, these you’ve earned
“In China’s breast abidin’.”
*
Yet as I wear the pairs Red-crafted
Doff the pairs each night.
Consign them not to laundry baskets–
Noses, eyes, from site.
Todd Ehlers - Author Site 