Author Archives: Kitt
A life grown smaller
Measured from glass to glass
Sunny days dimmer now
What horrors new shall pass?
Trumpets or Bidet
Neither will ever do
Not a fecal measured difference
Twist the benighted two
Granpa passed today
The next soft soul rising to a sure heaven
Awaiting the next kickoff
Are we kneeling for our unseen clerk in 7-Eleven?
A chippy bite of merlot
Chartreuse green simmers in our glass
September signals the Fall
What horrors new will pass?
Matriculated on yonder Austin hill
Pray for the new generation
While preen we old and spent—
A history mitered in misty veneration
Are you masqueing this year?
Can’t we just get a pass?
Tiring of this asterisked year—
What new horrors are to pass?
C’mon let’s go
I’ve been waiting for hours
Time to conquer
All poetry’s towers
Open the doors
Let loose the knowledge
I gotta learn this stuff
If I wanna get into college
Dickinson and Eliot,
Starting with Gilgamesh,
But trust me, you’ll lose me
If you include ole John Tesh
So, let’s learn about rhyme
In all its naïf pentameter
Hey, this isn’t too bad
For an old rhyming amateur
I’ve lost that place to let a tear;
My heart’s gone to its safe place.
How could things go so wrong?
What new horrors must we face?
Barricades fall from Seattle town,
But nothing’s better, not at all.
I’ve no stamp for my letter
Begging to be allowed to call.
Things today sing with a minor key,
But youngin there’s just one thing:
Passion stills, for just a moment, the longing—
Yet loneliness in old age still prides its sting.
Did she survive the novel virus?
Will she return to us fully alive?
Glasses for all to share the sauterne!
Breathe the air! Dance! Sing! Thrive!
I’ve lost the time to shed a tear,
My words go without a decent rhyme,
The End: how will we deeply know?
What new pain unfolds with wrinkled time?
The sun fell down,
And broke its crown,
The dollars came tumbling after.
Sneezles and dweebles
Racked up all the peoples,
Drowned out in all the laughter.
Maybe you ought take a pill
And go for a finer thrill;
Tomorrow may never come.
Tis a long way home
Where you’re far from Rome;
Make sure your pickle is dill.
He’s got all the ventilators
Certified by prime aggregators;
Are you sure his lapel mic’s on?
Forget Southern Nights,
Time for Last Rites,
She’s gonna be corona gone.
How do you give someone a hug
Keeping six feet apart on a rug?
May I ask: are you a believer?
Tell everyone I love them so,
And I will miss them when I go—
This morning I got up with a fever…
So, my best never my best ever friend
Got burnt all the way down to her roots
But she’s roaring back, just ask Goodwill
With a new attitude that her perfectly suits—
Don’t offer me flowers
Don’t offer me fine wine
Just be real for once
Show me a true sign
That I count as much
As the future you divine
Texted into the night and then called
Quite the fulsome love story
Ruined by a rich tortured soul
Oh, my poor Morninglory—
Don’t offer me flowers
Don’t promise hot dice
Just hear me one time
That I am worth as much
As this shiny Mercury dime
And so the night got enough old
For her to make her goodnight
So the story folded right there
My heart still wrapped up cold and tight—
Didn’t pledge her flowers
Didn’t promise her better days
Just want to be worthy
To share my humble love sign
That she’ll always exceed
Any future we’d dare to design
So, it seems I gave up coffee
And I WANT a cup RIGHT NOW
To return to a fresh-dripped state
Of magnificent equanimity
Seems six feet apart
Isn’t far enough away
You want meaningfulness
I just wanna play
So, Bob be a-singing
Right out of Delacroix
I earnestly proffer love praises
That only seem to clomp and annoy
Turning away to wash my hands
But I’m the only one here—
I’d rather my glass of merlot
To your frosty mug of beer.
But I’d wish to walk with you
Those years ago when we really loved,
But gotta change the kitty litter;
Thusly I’m now COVID-approved engloved!
Aqualung and I are looking for her
Far enough away to preserve the fantasy
Yet close enough to perturb the very air
Tossed tresses caressing languid eyes [oh so very fancy]
Back inside my little apartment
7PM Thursday in deliberate sub quarantino
Dreamt of eyes pulsing from behind a 95 mask:
This has got to end—momentum arresto!
A long time ago in a galaxy far far away,
Surpassing all kings, powerful and tall beyond all others,
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive,
Call me Ishmael,
It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
It’s been a hard day’s night,
Whan that Aprill with his shoures sote,
Dr. Andrew Scott loved coming into the school in August,
Dites-moi, pourquoi, la vie est belle,
This land is your land,
We the people of the United States,
We bring the trains to you,
First the colors. Then the humans,
A robot may not injure a human being,
Every action done in company ought be done with some sign of respect to those that are present,
Preheat the oven to 425-degrees,
Sing a song, read a book, watch a movie, take a walk, bake some cookies,