Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Poem: The Ballad Of Easticle And Westicle

Easticle and Westicle were close as close can be.
Quoth Eastticle to Westticle, “Now hearken well to me.
We serve our master’s pleasure, ’tis a high and worthy art, 
So let us two together, lest ill-fortune bid us part.”

Easticle and Westicle went bounding o’er a dale,
Till lo! They reached a shepherd’s green denied them by a rail.
Sayeth Easticle to Westicle, “We’ll leap this surly gate,
For we have youth and vigor, and no cause to hesitate.”

Easticle and Westicle came charging down the hill.
A valiant leap gave they, but fie! The gate was higher still.
A moist and throaty whomp was heard like liver on a stone,
When Easticle came to again, alas! He was alone.

“What ho, my goodman Easticle!” the frightened loner cried.
“I’m way up here, inside a cave, and O! ’Tis dark inside!”
Quoth Westicle, “If truth you speak, I’ll with thee straightaway.
The oath we swore to never part, I’ll honor it today.”

Westicle arose and faced the step-stile where it stood,
And with a mighty charge he dashed his meat against the wood.
And as the buds of springtime burst their shells in pregnant lust,
Just so, but in retreating order, shot he through that husk.

Behold the cows a-lowing on that hillside far beyond.
Behold the farmer sowing and the moorhens on the pond.
Behold the evening dimming and the day dismount the west.
Behold the master writhing with his knees about his chest.

Now, wish you for a moral, for it may be all for naught,
But know the oath you swear may leave thy master overwrought.
And youth and vigor oftentimes with pride go hand in hand.
What little cross of wood to oversee the fall of man.

Poem: The Diaper Of Doolin

The Diaper Of Doolin

I’m a servant by trade.
I clean out the loos,
And I’ve seen me some diapers,
And I’ve changed quite a few.
But there’s one dirty didey that left me aghast.
Aye, the Diaper Of Doolin looms large in my past.

It was bloated and loaded as if Lucifer fill’d it,
And it leaked from all sides e'en though it was quilted.
Now most every baby is lovingly fed
With sweet mommy milk in a pillowy bed.
But who feeds a baby such ill-gotten meals
As buffalo dumplings and hot buttered eel?
But that’s what I found when I peeled back the diaper,
And it smelled like an over-ripe merkin, but riper.

A gluey blue goulash awash in ganache,
And tossed in a broth of anal floss sauce.
A beef and bean butt bomb that peeled back the paint, 
A stench so intense, it un-martyred the saints.
It smelled of bad bullion, befungal and spunky.
There were times, I confess, that the smell made me hungry.

I buried it twice ‘neath a yewberry tree, 
But the Diaper Of Doolin done dug itself free.
It crawled to my door in a trail of flames.
It sang 'neath my window and called me sweet names.
So I paddled it out far away from the shore,
Where that unholy hotload would haunt me no more.
I murmured a prayer, and I dropped it on in, 
But what kind of god makes a diaper that swims?

Now I wander the earth in a veil of shame,
For the Diaper of Doolin hath sullied my name.
The ladies, they whisper.  That’s my stench, they say.
Men gather their children and hurry away.
But my day is coming—mark well what I say!
For when I grow old and my bowels give way,
I’ll fill me a diaper like no man before
And I’ll loose it upon all you children of whores.