Sunday, June 06, 2010

36 Rhymes for Troubled Times

Uncut pages, an uncracked spine; an untouched tome, this life of mine.

Regardless of what you may have supposed, I dare say that thongs leave too little exposed.

Never trust women who reach for Parnassus; McSweeney's is nearer but not for the masses.

Strangled and tethered to an unfeathered bed; weathered and blistered and wistfully led.

I wrote you ten letters, then lit them afire; still roaring and rising and soaked in desire.

Be mindful your actions when seeking distractions.

As Hesiod said on one of his walks, "The past was the evil in Pandora's box."

On the boil but on the backburner; such is the curse of life's slowest learner.

Swiftian plans never do any harm; seeing them through is just part of your charm.

Your innocuous stalking is less than discreet; modern day footprints do not require feet.

Who could be miffed by a stray misanthrope, surrounded by books and abandoned by hope?

Every so often the past reemerges, and bludgeons the heart with impetuous urges.

"I'm at the end of my rope," she cried in despair; "so you are," I replied, "but I do need that chair."

Your head in the oven, a note on the table; So nice you could write, didn't know you were able.

Follow me out to the snow-smothered street, where sidewalks and shovels shall curse as they meet.

While the pyro in you is too much for my liking, your fondness for matches can be rather striking.

I really can't see you vacuuming nude; now open your curtains, and don't be so rude.

Predators lurk and elude thorough searches, sheltered by shadows in neighborhood churches.

Innocents die, Pat Robertson lives; Nature, I love you, but really--what gives?

Dabbling and babbling, it's all that I do, a library book forty years overdue.

Why is my life such an onerous chore, assigned as I am to mopping the shore?

Conjoined at the phallus, the twins know about flowing; but only they know if they're coming or going.

At SeaWorld I saw that my life had no porpoise; nothing to show but the crime and its corpus.

Promise me nothing and I'll do the same; remember my words but never my name.

Flattering me so has lightened my heart; but stroking my ego is merely a start.

Up on the ledge, what a surprise; a cliché was your life, why not your demise?

The children were muzzled, all snug in their ropes; no one will find them, one only hopes.

Poor Noah Webster, his wife's done him wrong; seems only his words were sufficiently long.

The children were hung by the chimney with care; if you walk by, please try not to stare.

Apparently no one has shown you the trick: you need more than your willy to play Hoop and Stick.

Augustus Saint-Gaudens, a sculptor by day, spent evenings lamenting his feet made of clay.

Should guests at a dinner develop a cough? They certainly should if their mutton's gone off.

You are what you eat, as idioms go, is true in my case--if I am a crow.

I've tried knocking loudly and ringing your bell--you hide behind sofas abundantly well.

Your mailbox was open, so sorry to pry; no letters from me, I think you know why.

Dear Mr. Wilde, I simply must vent; I'm sorry that you, not the wallpaper went.

Copyright 2010 max jukes/brian edward hack. No quotation or reproduction of this material without express written permission of the author.

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At 7:18 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hello there,

I have a question for the webmaster/admin here at

May I use some of the information from this blog post above if I give a link back to your site?


At 11:34 AM, Blogger max jukes said...

Any use of my work needs to be 1)cited as being by Max Jukes in the following manner: "Copyright 2010 Max Jukes/Brian Edward Hack. No quotation or reproduction of this material without express written permission of the author"; and 2)linked to the original blog post from which it was borrowed. Users of this blog post, or parts thereof, must also forward a link to their site that incorporates my material. Thanks and take care, MJ


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