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THIS YEAR GIVE GOLD
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8.
~The
Murder of The Mimes~
With
painted face and silent smiles they light the night so dim,
Oblivious to their stalker and his diabolic whim.
They'd come to sunny Florida to flee Maine's winter snow
And play their silent pantomimes on sidewalks as they go.
But
the analyst has programs and experiments to run;
Methodic’ly he thus connects the silencer and gun.
Onlookers
claim the analyst did murder them that night,
Then calmly pulled his pencil out, his test's results to write.
But
as for wherefores and the whys, when asked of him a reason,
"If these are not fair game," he cries, "Why call this
'Tourist Season'?"
His court appointed council does the best that he is able
To win the jury's pity for this client so unstable.
"This
man," his sobbing lawyer pleads, "was brilliant as a child.
He never was a vicious lad, and next to most, quite mild.
Such things he pondered others wondered, if indeed they never spoke them,
As, to what hue those Smurfs, now blue, would turn, were one to choke
them."
The
lawyer then begins to quote behavior science stats
Of those who make their living pulling habits out of rats.
"If in his heart a man resorts to rationalization
A wrong might seem a right when there's sufficient provocation.
As
situations worsen and confusion grows with time;
Seems right, when with a silencer, one shoots a silent mime.
If innocent is how you find there'll no one you disparage,
For squelching this inquiring mind would be a grave miscarriage."
"Those
murders were experiments, not born of animosity;
Performed were they to satisfy a morbid curiosity."
Still the jury found him guilty and to ease his troubled brain,
Ordered soon a lethal potion be injected in his vein.
When
asked, before the gavel rapped, for any final comment,
The killer scratched his head, as if his muddled mind to foment.
"Yes, just one further question: In this form of execution,
do they disinfect the needle in a sterilized solution?"
Just another WarrenPiece
Churchy Chicanery
The Easter Celebration
is a day
of purest gold
for many sincere people
who believe what they've been told
"The Resurrection of Our Lord
occurred upon this day
and not to recognize it
would be sacrilege," some say.
"The Easter Bunny brought
those eggs,"
is what we tell our youth,
for this is so much easier
than teaching them the truth.
Encyclopedias tell us of
a pagan celebration,
a rite of early spring to hail
the rebirth of creation.
The egg is emblematic of
spring's germinating life,
a fresh start from the winter's cold,
its blizzards and its strife.
The rabbit is an ancient sign,
the symbol of fertility;
In sex worship it symbolizes
man's insatiability.
"So what if ancient pagans
used this day," protests the pastor,
"to feast the Goddess of the Dawn
the Teutons called Eostre.
It's important to remember that
our Lord rose from the grave,
and thus a hope for resurrection
of the dead he gave.
"So, a rabbit laying eggs
was part
of ancient pagan rite?
He's just the Easter Bunny now
who brings our kids delight.
"So what," the clerics cry,
"if things we're teaching children might
have come from Devil Worship?
Do I hear, Amen?" ...Yeah, Right!
Just another WarrenPiece
First I got this message f
rom Tom (Thomas Vaughan Jones- that is)Without the
flicker of a sigh
My hardware softly waved goodbye
I must have been rumbustious
For I misplaced my XBIOS
Instead of
wandering dusty trails
I've sat here chewing on my nails.
It seems through this great veil of tears
I've been here for a thousand years.
But thanks to my
young faithful friend
My old computer's on the mend
I yodel as I did of yore
Because it's better than before.
My heart uplifts
in righteous glee
Once more I read your poetry
So from this patriarch of WALES
Once more I wish you "Happy Trails"
Tom
To which I responded-
While I'm
saddened by the story
Of your faithful puter's passing
I'm so happy the good doctor
Could in fact restore its life.
Went through my turn of misery
Two weeks ago in history
Not only got a virus,
Had to pass it to my wife.
Twas a pesky
little bugger
With the mindset of a mugger
Didn't care what files it ate up
In my drive to drive me mad
Even went so far to cut off
Every access to a shutoff
Not allowing even Norton
To send antidotes it had.
Using Yankee
ingenooty
To restore my puter's beauty
Phoned a friend who knew this duty
Would take blood, toil, sweat and
tears.
Still he rose to the occasion
And with patience and persuasion
Coaxed back all those missing mem'ries
Of my life in puter years.
Now all things
are back to normalcy,
The tech was on the ball you see
The puter's up and running
So let's hear it for the band
Total virus count was seven,
But we're rid of all that leaven
Once again God's in his heaven
And all's right in Puter Land.
And now it's
Just
another WarrenPiece
The next email from Tom was on Thanksgiving day, an American holiday that I was surprised to hear is also celebrated in the UK.
Tom (Thomas Vaughan Jones) wrote
We
celebrate Thanksgiving
But don't make too much fuss
Please just remember Christmas
And save some birds for us.
To which I responded-
I
get so many greetings
And try not to be the sort,
Who interrupts his busy day
To fire off a retort.
But when a fellow meter beater
Writes from cross the pond
I’ll lay aside the turkey leg
And take time to respond.
I
hope thanksgiving there means
More than in the USA
Where stuffed and roasted turkeys
Are the shrines where we must pray.
Are Britishers not more evolved
Than over here, where Yanks
Must have their rulers legislate
A day to offer thanks?
When
prideful pilgrims ventured here
From England’s peaceful shore
Then took the land from natives
Through two centuries of war,
Someone suggested let’s thank God
For we cannot ignore
The blessings he’s bestowed on us
With victories galore.
But
just to make it legal,
An official celebration,
We’ll designate a day to be
Observed throughout the nation
So gather round thy table thee
With all thy family
Let’s sacrifice our turkeys and
Commit grand gluttony.
Just another WarrenPiece