Italian Serenade... yesterday i bought three bananas. they were cheap because they were rotten. i came home and sat on them. wanted to feel how a full baby feels when he fills. he not fool. he not file. he full. he bananas. tra-la-la-la-la (ole in spain) my dog bit me. my wife too. she bit and beat. my pc bits and bytes. he also boots. he does not bark. he hates the dog. the dog peed on his hard disk. i have a bat. his name is bambi. the dog’s name. ole-ole-ole (tra-la-la-la in usa) there are a lot of italians in italy. more than in rome. rome has only one pope but i ate three pizzas. one two three baby i love thee. i love tea too. and two too is tootoo. pronto-pronto-pronto (allo in the rest of the world).

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Echoes Of Love... one, two, three, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four five, one, two, three, four, five, six, ix, ix, ix... seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, een, een, een... billion, on, on, on... trillion, on, on, on... quadrillion, quack, quack, quack... and the universe explodes, odes, odes, odes...

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(archaeological exhibit, date uncertain, following assumed election of the first ever feminist president in the USA, excavation site NY, 3075) Personifesto... By the grace of Divinity, this year 2011 and a half, we have a woperson president of the USA, who decreed illegal any use, abuse, misuse, of the words man or men or any of their forwards or backwards derivatives in the English language when not associated with man, men, or any of their derivatives. Persondatory replaceable by person, persons and none of their derivatives. Punishable by imprisonpersonsnt. Wopersons will be locked without money in the malls of Personhattan, persons will be locked in peepshow cabins without quarters. Hallelujah! Apersons! Roperson Polanski was exiled because he refused the persondatory change of nosrepe, and war declared on Ropersonia for same reason. To prevent phonetical misunderstandings, the first day of the week is from now on Moonday. Governpersonst offices will be open extended hours to permit the extra time to pronounce the longer words. Extra pay allocated to court typists, per extra digit; abusive use of relevant words will be punished. This directive applies to mammals only, talking parrots need not be re-educated. Signed, Empersonanuela Zilberperson, secretary of state and re-education. (short biography: Empersonanuela, a famous Ropersontic Roperson author, actrice - played Dulcinea in Person of LaPersoncha, and citruses - nosrepely persondarines - grower, joined the liberation movement in 2009, was one year ambassadress in Birpersonia, and since half a year ago secretary of state)

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Chicks & co... When my chick has started barking, And I mean a chicken chick, I kept swallowing three Prozac's Every hour all that week. It was thirty seven hours Till my wife got off the roof, Then she ran (she still is running) Followed by the mocking woof... Then my dog... the sneaky charmer, Love proposed... well, doggy style, Now he's chasing my poor woman (She's still leading by a mile...) Then I find to my amazement That on top of playing ball, This... what?... chicken?... chick?... the IT thing Knows to fetch, to sit, to roll. One by one - my cat was bitten, And the postman's scared like hell, I don't mind my shoes she's chewing 'Cause she rounds the sheep quite well. 'Bout a month or something later My sweet wife - half starved, half lame, After crossing countries, oceans, West she ran... now East she came... At her heel my dog, crest(?)fallen... Wow... the chicken came a running, Proudly bringing bones and snuggling, Do you know what was most stunning? At her... tail? three chicks, small, tiny, Then two puppies daddy necking, And the chicks started a squealing, And the puppies worms a pecking... My poor dog could not imagine, Now he's papa - tail to bone, And my wifey.... well, in horror Now from East to West she's gone. Both my goats her quest have joined now, Cuz, you see, this chicken cheat, Followed foreign language studies, As of late she starts to bleat. NBC said - "thanks, you're crazy..." CNN... I told my story, They just asked - "is there a blood bath?..." I said - "no...", they said "so sorry..." Well, to end my true (swear!) story - FBI brought back one goat, Seven ducks, a cow, two piglets, (and the wife, oops... just forgot...) Now they're laughing down to Texas, And the sheriff's mighty sad, "These good folks" he says with sorrow "Ain't no dangerous... just mad."       * Do we care?... each eve at sunset After I have voiced my proems, To the pigs and cows and horses Missis chicken reads my poems. Wife (she's taking cackle lessons) Claims a lesson to this story (Though I swear I hardly get it) - "Chickenshit's no path to glory..."

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And Her Mother... I and my lover We love each other     ...and her mother. She has a brother Bald as his father     ...and her mother. We want a boy, We'll name him Joy     ...her mother's choi. (should have been 'choice' but then it wouldn't rhyme) Also a moose (Adopted, called Bruce)     ...like her mother's goose. When late in the night The bats start to fight     ...her mother's delight, We snug in the bed, We cover our head     ...her mother we dread, And I start to mmmmm... And she starts to hmmmm...     ...and her mother... ahmmmm... As we start to juice... The bats and the moose     ...and her mother's goose In bed stick their nose, They snuggle up close,     ...and her mother's toes...

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Zarzuela... written for a contest asking the use of a few unusual words from a list... well, I used ALL in ABC order :) at the ardent flow of slogans as my brethren marched their brogans through caluminating speeches from the mountains to the beaches derisorily I snickered at the essence as they bickered through some fictive acts of malice which they claimed with guile that alice (her humility undoubtful) has impinged more than a mouthful through jocose and nasty comments ("...called us kelpies certain moments lambent phrases dirt conceiving mellifluously deceiving when the noumenon one spotted, otiose her word, and rotted ...")... hey (I said) you pilous creatures if the quiddity of teachers is too recondite a matter and setaceous a patter, if truism your brains is hurting unremitting as it's spurting and veracious a statement wrought will be through reinstatement, your xerophilous existence has a yeanling's low subsistence your zenith you'll never reach (ends my speech).

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Ostriches They appeared out of nowhere hordes of them, swarms of them, flocks, throngs, squadrons, crowds, mobs of ostriches all-pink and dotted-pink and striped-pink admiring, lash batting, bottom pinching, pouring through my windows, smashing down my doors, attacking the endless arrays of pencils on my table and swallowing them... sideways... ouch, I feared imagine them exiting sideways too... cackling and barking and meowing my beautiful words those I went through years of pains writing, after tearing to pieces my notes and my buttons and missing my eyes yet focusing on my nose then on my ear lobes then on bowling balls I started throwing their way all those thousands of vicious beaks looking for a snippet of the prize while I cowered in the corner trembling like a leech... wait, like lice?... a leaf maybe?... spraying their way my cheap eau de cologne and then throwing my collection of unwashed socks... in vain... on they came... Wake up, wake up, you shook me awake, tenderly, your three pronged foot looking for fleas on my chest, I screamed and ran away all the way to the wall where I collapsed with a big lump on my head. I finally woke up. For real. The nightmare was over. I remembered nostalgically those first, terrible days, horrible dreams chasing my sanity, the pills, the drugs, the strait jacket, then finally the reality of love dawning upon me in the warmth of our shared dwelling, our life. I touched the big egg underneath my shirt thanking you for trusting me with your most cherished of possessions. Love has never been bigger...

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Fish Soup I found you, when you were little, insignificant, your pretty eyes sparkling with egg yolk, even your parents rejected you and tried to drown themselves... in vain, they failed. I cradled you with infinite tenderness to my chest while you insistently pecked at my left eye, luckily I was wearing a ski mask at the time a diving mask being too expensive and anyway it was supposed to snow in a few months coming. My dog left me. My cat left me. My lumbago left me. Then in descending order the limping rat, the gold fish, my wife. And yet, I still would not give up on you. I chewed raw fish and regurgitated straight into your ever demanding beak, moved on to sushi, three types of and when you were big enough to stay hungry I even learned to use chopsticks, my deserting wife’s deserted knitting needles. The floor was a mess, my heart was soaring, you were blossoming. Oh, that fateful, ill-fated, fatidic day. I had just finished lighting the one-year candle mid of the fish soup. You pulled away from me tore one of the gold fishes from my original Matisse, Red Fish and a Sculpture (The Museum of Modern Art, New York, owns a reproduction, he he) and banged your head against the triple-layer window pane. Second time around you were through it shitting all over my petunias, my neighbor’s Lexus LFA open rooftop and masking an ad for craftspeople in a most embarrassing way. I fell on my knees, crying all of three days and three nights... “Fly, fly my baby, fly! Fly Fletcher Lynd! Beware of hawks, SAMs, IBPDMSs, ICBMs and humans generally! Fly, baby, fly!” I fell to the floor (I was already on my knees) and spasmed away into nothingness. When I woke up, they started returning into my life, in ascending order my wife, the gold fish, the limping rat, my lumbago, my cat, my dog. I still pay for my neighbor’s Lexus LFA open rooftop I believe my son will have to continue and my grandson after him, maybe my grandgrandson will not have to. But if you ask... Yes! I would have done it all again, maybe with the exception of the fish soup. I hate fish soup.

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Hey, Hi Hay Fever Spring. The birds are singing my nose is running it’s stunning. A couple blackbirds in duet perform a masterful couplet thus proving void grasshopper’s claim to best-in-class eternal fame while my two cats – one black, one grey drag Due Gatti way astray from early March till later May and in the morning’s early breeze I sneeze. Oh, mighty gods of fever’s hay watch as my droplets proudly spray and carry messages beyond and frog and toad and croak and pond with talent multipolyvalent the circum feren cial song five notches wide and growing strong my nasal lore contained no more. I’m stunned, shunned by people carrying umbrellas to ward-off nose-a-running fellas like me, with pills and spray that don’t allay (administered in lethal dose according to the diagnose) the misery upside my nose which stated when I smelled a rose... because. The rattle of battle, the mooing of cattle, the nightingale’s chirp, my nose’s loud dirp (should be drip but doesn’t rhyme) the roar of the lions when watching Orion’s diminishing glow, my hee and my hoe, all merge and adjust to my symphony’s lust plus the horrible gust that smite off all light in a rite of delight and leave me alone to atone for my moan. OK, now back to the mountains of hankies (no pankies) and screaming masses that my noble gasses disperse. When they see me coming there’s no need for drumming, they pick up the children, the chickens, the goats and leave old me sneezing in verse and in quotes.

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To be or nonsense. A monologue. Just when nonsense started making sense it stopped making sense again. Just like a rotten apple without flies, nonsense. Though it makes sense in a senseless kind of way, almost sensual. Do you think "censor" comes from "sense - or"? Kind of "make sense or you lose your license". Or better said lice'n'se where the se is two fifths sense or even two two fifths. See what I mean? Nonsense. Except to a math genius rich in eye queue. Ha-ha, it was a joke. Yesterday public opinion decided to strike the previous sentence. It is part of another (political) poem while nevertheless (I had to re-write this word five times) while nevertheless it carries to the foreground the unabashed (have no idea what this means) idea that sentence, or rather "sentence" has nothing to do with se'n'tence but rather with se'n'tience also known as sentience proposing the époustouflante (I think this one is French, see the accent?) idea that it actually originates from negating nonsense into sense. Makes sense? Yesterday I dreamt that Elvis was not singing a medley of Little's (Sister Darling Egypt) which makes as much sense as when I dreamt that he was not singing a medley of Long's (Black Limousine Legged Girl Tall Sally) and it all made nonsense to me when I woke up in the bus three stations later. And the beating I got from the street gang and the broken nose and the cost of the hospital for the thug who broke his fist on my nose and my metal wallet. Do you know that about eighty of his titles include variations on the L word? And none of my poems because love rhymes with above and critics hate it They hate me too. Even if I use the S word instead The one that rhymes with Ex. Annex. No, annex has no biological function, nothing to do with excretion, that's pure of the purest anomalies slash pretenses slash machinations nonsense (finally, back on track). Did you know that ex is the most complex and misunderstood and largely used syllable in the English language? Do you know how many words there are including ex, inclusive names like Alex and Mexico and Texaco?... I don't know, I thought you might. And then there are those hidden, metamorphosed ones that once were and are not anymore. Like shiksa that was once shexa, or like the recently (last century) uncovered supercalifragilisticexpialidocious that was originally aspirin, or in reality expirin. And to top them all there is the famous IRS, originally named EX. Yes, true. EXmoney, EX income, EXcruciating pain. Then "they" (the conspirators) decided it was too revealing and chose the subtly subliminal IRS, you know, I for I, like you, you know, but I, you understand? Then comes this gross grammatical error, queen of an and alph and abets, R for are when everybody knows that I M am and not I R are but the gayls – the new politically correct for guys and gals – showed their subliminal contempt to us choosing are. And the, coarsest of course, S for ass, what else? Irreverently so and irrelevantly which ass, the one with four legs and a tail or the one between its hind legs and its tail. I have, as a matter of fact, a very evoluted evolutionary theory about ass but I will leave it for a future inspired and/or expired (political correctness obliges) poem. BTW, did you know that the word breathless was originally ex? Originating from exexex which is an onomatopoeia for being out of breath apoplexy another crucial ex word or for breathing laboriously. But then some higher intelligence of the language academy decided it might remind people too much of sex and the resulting sexsexsex and invented the bland breathless. Blah! Nonsense! XXX. See above. Porn. Kisses. I slither down a slippery road of words and accusations which are mostly untrue and only partially true and impartially untrue. Sorry Shake'n'spear, couldn't make it as long as yours but I made up in beauty what I lack in length. Shucks. Originally shux. Didn't mean anything obscene. It's all in your mind, readers.

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