Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The Alphabet Project P through T

"P" is for Pedestrian

I once saw a street sign that cautioned “Peds Xing!!”
I thought to ask dad how a ped might appear
But just then my manhood denied me the question
A “man” wouldn’t ask, he’d just burp and drink beer

So I pondered the issue while riding to nowhere
I figured a ped must be human of sorts
Perhaps one was tiny, like ants, or amoeba
Well surely the peds would have pedlian sports!

They’d play, in their tournaments, “Run through the traffic”
The rules would be simple; “try not to get squashed”!
For most of the peds this advice was well heeded
(Except for ped “Brewer”, who often was sloshed)

To prove that one made it across the wide pavement
An “X” drawn in crayon would herald one’s deed
And that’s how the humans knew peds were in danger
From millions of “X”s that marked the stampede

State workers tried asking the peds to go elsewhere
But peds are a stubborn and miscreant lot
Their answer was sending ped “Jasper” to streak them
As Jasper was greasy and couldn’t be caught

The humans, disheartened, wrote new legislation
“We must warn the people of peds!” they would say
“We’ll tax people’s breathing and coffer some monies
so ped warning signs can be bought right away!”

And so our dear peds hold their “Pedlian X-race”
Each spring after snow melts and gutters are dry
If you were to lay on the curb and watch closely
You’d see how the peds, while so tiny, can fly!

Be warned! Some will tell you that peds are no creatures
“Pedestrian Crossing” they’ll claim the sign means
But these are the people that can’t buy the concept
That ladders are grown if one has the right beans

So choose your perspective and make your decisions
The Peds are a vertebrate, myth, or abridged.
Be one with adulthood, an anal pragmatic
Or think with your whimsy, rejoice in your kid.

Q is for Quiver
A Chance at Life Lost

The castle butcher’d all but died while robbed of pork and dragon hide
And Bragi was assigned to carry justice to the thugs.
With Grummel he’d begun the chase, his Oghram set a lively pace,
the war dog’s sniffing led the knights to rotting trees and bugs.

Within the dark and crevassed weald, the bard and archer stood revealed
and called aloud an invite to the ruffians well hid.
“We’ll gladly come to you” they’d shout, “but better you come here about
or suffer morbid consequence, a crippling I would bid.”

One brute stepped lively from his copse, “I meant no harm! I stole no chops!”
Another though knocked arrow and set aim upon “the Green”.
‘Twas in a flash that Oghram leapt and proved the highwayman inept;
he’d changed his mark and backward stepped, unleashing the machine.

While Bragi played adagio, his flute concerto “eating crow”
the crook that left his hiding fell to choke upon his bile.
Then Grummel’s quiver thrummed a note, as arrows sought a human throat
and struck the robber twenty times, before he’d lost his guile.

"R" is for Ruffian
       A Left Turn From the Fine Line

I once was quite a ruffian, a pitchfork totin’ dude
I’d scowl at any stranger who appeared to think me crude
I’d bare my teeth at passing dogs, and hiss at kitties too
and as my life continued on my reputation grew

I wore a lot of leather and I smoked three packs a day
There were at least five expletives in everything I’d say
My friends thought I was crazy and their friends thought I was mean
yet I was just a lonely boy, a recluse at fifteen

I spent a lot of money on my vices, one and all
I’d trifle with the ladies but I’d lose as I recall
And every day was angrier, and every night more sad
I was the nicest guy I knew, obsessed with being bad

I scared my share of citizens, and threatened when it paid
I carried on like Conan, ‘till I saw my first grenade
Then automatic weapons passed before my wary eyes
and violence was redefined, my innocence demise

The deeds were now more criminal, the risks a bit more huge
I found myself at sixteen not unique, but just a stooge
by seventeen I’d turned to booze, and shortly, harder drugs
I’d not yet passed through high school yet was one of many thugs

I walked away one August day and found a different life
I bought a cat and ditched my hat and took a crazy wife
There was a good man yet inside, but trapped within his shell
And all these years it’s only cracked, I’ve not stepped from this hell

I still have scowls for strangers and I flex when times require
I still growl back at rabid dogs and wear my tough attire
But I’m a tad more civilized though rough around the edge
Less hoodlum, more curmudgeon, my poor wife would now allege

So if I throw a boulder at your seemingly glass house
be aware I’ve had more practice than the average common louse
for once I found a crossroad, and I well might have turned right
I can be unkind, but could have been one feared throughout each night

S is for Sisters
I used to have two sisters
the first thinks I’m too mean
the last would like to get a knife and drive it through my spleen
You think “He’s overstating” I assure you that I’m not
(if she) had an anvil and a tree I’d be a bloody spot
The first will have me over for a cup of tea and lunch
the last would love to skewer me and cook me up for brunch

I used to have two sisters
but one went off the tracks
she likes to chop her hamburger with one big freakin axe!
I think she’s schizophrenic and a little paranoid
I swear that she’s the cover girl for every book by Freud
She says I am a monster and my dad was straight from hell
She thinks our sister’s just a tramp, how did she fare so well?

I used to have two sisters
but one has left the fold
Perhaps a gang of aliens has got her mind controlled
I’d send her out a tin foil hat, but she’d just burn her mail
and then she’d feed the ashes to a grumpy killer whale
I’d like to say that we could fix what’s wrong with Barb and us
But sadly she would rather throw us all beneath a bus

I used to have two sisters
now I have one instead
It took a while but finally I’ve that straight inside my head.

Happy Trails kid. I won't see you on the other side.

T is for Tumultuous

The world is damned tumultuous, the skies are red with fire
Each village posts a guard or ten to stand behind barbed wire
We’ve despots falling one by one, consumed by growing rage
And money turns to so much dust; so much for living wage

But I can’t help but think about a lovely peach ice cream
An otter hunting through the night for fish a ways downstream
I close my eyes and wars appear but orc and ents and worgs
And all their combat, bloody stuff, avoids us Runeborgs

I know the world requires me, my attentions are too lax
I get so tired of rifling through the piles of sometimes facts
I get these people hate on those and those revile the these
But I can’t choose a side from these two flavors of disease

Although I know I’m failing earth by standing to the side
I’ve sadly reconciled myself, I can’t command the tide
So I’ll just count chimeras leaping over Brigadoon
And diddle with the fiddling cat, then run with fork and spoon

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