Rock Ballad
We smell what's cooking.
Even after you finished
Rasslin', rhoidin', lungin',
You continued preenin' and plungin',
Drawing cringes for your
Alleged thespiatrics.
Do you smell the films you've been in?
At least you don't mumble like Vin Diesel
And I'm sure your bank account
Is as prodigious as your biceps.
Ode to Keith Richards
18 December 1943, sleepy London town under siege
Baby Blitz accompanies baby Keith
The thunder, the lightning, the tremendous force
Explains it all, mate.
A reader suggested the poem about The Rock and Keith Richards had to be mentioned because it's his birthday.
Perfume and cologne don't make a lot of sense. Perhaps my olfactory palette lacks sophistication, but there doesn't seem to be much difference between one fragrance and another; it's all alcohol and essence of some floral aggregation. Nothing wrong with it, of course, but hardly worth $75.00 a bottle! Perhaps that could be the subject of the next poem. Or not.
Listen to the Cheryl Scott Show on Crocodile Internet Radio, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday between 2pm and 6pm GMT, 9am to 1pm EST. If you want to know what time that translates to in Oklahoma City, Dar Es Salaam, or Kuala Lumpur, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.
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(don't take any wooden nickels)
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