MORBID POEMS 4 MORBID PEOPLE

by Heironymous S. Anon-y-Mous

PAGE 3

Oh fiddle-de-dee,
Why, just can't you see?
Oh...Fiddle-de-dee
There's happy Emma 'n Me!

 
I HAD IT ALL...WELL ALMOST
I had big fat pollywog,
I had an old, old ugly dog,
I had a large and nasty cat,
I had an evil looking bat.
I had it all, dear friend of mine,
Except for you, my Valentine!
 
 
  

IF A PIG COULD TALK 

 Come little children and let’s all go to the zoo,

We'll observe the animals and learn from them too.

Imagine, if they were human…like you and me,

Looking in the mirror…how unhappy they’d be!

Just think—if a pig could talk, now don’t you suppose

That it’d be squealing about its’ funny flat nose?

There, that huge old rhinoceros would be angry about

Those two large ugly horns stuck upon its great snout!

 

Listen to the Kangaroo, to her low moans and sighs,

She’s just so upset about her tremendous thighs.

While Mrs. Skunk just keeps babbling, “My perfumes not right,”

As she meanders around in the dark of night.

Hear the monkey scream out in a loud anguished wail.

She’s upset and simply hates her long kinky tail,

The hippopotamus grunts ‘cause she’s just too fat,

“But, tomorrow,” she winked, “I’ll do something ‘bout that.”

 

Now just think, my dear, how dreadful it’d be,

If animals had manners like humanity!

There crouches the gorilla thumping his great chest,

“I’m too hot,” he’s grumbling, “in this hairy old vest.”

While a parrot begins squawking from high in a tree,

“Oh, I hate this large beak.  How’d you like to be me?”

The tall ostrich spoke up, “Gosh, my legs are too thin!”

Yet, in each race that she ran, she always would win.

 

The giraffe was incensed and he had to complain,

His neck is too long, his head hangs out in the rain.”

Then the ugly old wart-hog shed copious tears,

Mrs. Leopard is irked, “wearing this same old fur coat,”

‘cause no one has visited her for thirty-odd years.

And refers to her mate as “a stingy old goat.”

The huge elephant trumpeted, “That’s all just bunk,

What I’d like most is a nose instead of this trunk.”

 

The old Jersey cow mooed, “Just look at this udder,

It’s hereditary, folks, just like me mudder.”

Each one of us has a problem, my little dear,

But let’s just listen, for there’s yet more that we’ll hear.

Then that sly old lynx spoke up, “Not to trivialize,

But what bothers me most is the shape of my eyes”

The rattle-snake came crawling along the hard earth,

“Oh, if God has just given me legs at my birth.”

 

And then old mother hen, a’cackling so loudly,

“Look at my funny head.  I’d wear yours more proudly.”

Then from deep under-ground, loud wails from a small mole,

“I’m blind as a bat if I come out of my hole.”

Look all around you, dears, and then surely you’ll see,

That we’re not as bad off as we might think we be.

The point I would make, little sisters and brothers,

Looks aren’t as important as how we treat others.

 

The popular athlete might act rudely and vain

,Others friendly and happy with faces so plain.

While handicapped people might be helpful and kind,

Behind a mask of good looks may dwell a dark mind.

In the animal kingdom, there’s much that seems wrong,

But in spite of their problems they all get along.

They adapt to conditions…use what they’re given,

That’s the way they survive, and how they keep livin’.

 

For we all enter life with a blemish or two,

What you’ll find most important are the things that you do,

What you say, how you act, using talents you’ve got,

Never pretending to friends you’re someone you’re not.

Learn how to act kindly to your fellow man,

Make it your Number One Rule in your whole life’s plan!

Copyright 1994.  Revised 1995, 2001  2003 H. E. Morseburg

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Let children dream on, their imaginations take flight,
Success comes to those who keep their goals in sight,
It was but one small step for the boy and his bear,
As they touched the ground from the Moon-lander’s stair,
Yes, adventures which begin in a child’s active mind,
Can one day become a giant step for Mankind!
********************
Verse from For the Love of An Old Teddy Bear.
by Howard E. Morseburg. - Copyright 1994
BROTHER HARRY

Mother made a gallon of marmalade,
And set it out back to cool in the shade.
Brother Harry ate every bit of it,
And died late that night from a sugar fit.

We mixed cocoa and milk in a large vat,
And dipped his body in dark chocolate.
Now Harry’s preserved as a candy bar,
Up there on the shelf in that large glass jar.

Mother’s Stew

While Willie’s mother was cooking a stew,
He dropped in spiders, flies and a toad or two.
He thought that this would be a nice surprise,
For his big sister, whom he did despise.

REBECCA'S TRAVELS
There's a lady whose name is Rebecca,
Who joined a tour group traveling to Mecca,
"Oh, I'd much rather be dead, than have an Arab in bed,"
She said, as she flew home from Mecca.

LITTLE WILLIE

Little Willie went to the zoo,
And crawled into the lion’s cage.
He was gone in a bite or two,
And died at just six years of age.
This quite upset Willie’s mother,
Watching the lion her son ingest.
The lion winked at Willie’s brother,
And then laid down to take his rest.

LITTLE MILLI

Little Milli sat on the railroad track,
The train stopped with a squeeeal!
The brakeman then came running back,
To scrape Milli off the wheel.

REBECCA
My Sweetie is a gal named Rebecca,
We'd sit in my car and we'd neck'a
While driving ninety one night, she gave my ear a good bite,
Now my Ford is totally a wreck'a,
But, Rebecca and I still neck'a!
MOMMA'S BOY

Phillip was a Momma's boy,
On that everyone could agree.
He was his Momma's pride and joy,
It was easy enough to see.
One day he shot her in the head,
The neighbors were all aghast.
When asked why he shot Momma dead,
He simply said, "Ahhh...I'm free at last."
 
I DID ASPIRE

When I was young, I did aspire,
To meet that nice Miss Untermeyer.
Ah, but what proved to be my fate,
With sagging jowls and balding pate,
To meet her forty years too late!
And I was fated to live on...alone,
For now her heart had turned to Stone.
 
Such brilliance deserves to go around the World, doesn't it?

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The Tiger & The Hunter
Heironymous S. Anon-Y-Mous

The tiger sought his noonday meal,
When a white hunter he did spy,
He thought, “White meat has such appeal,
It’s high time I gave it a try.”
Quickly, silently he did steal
Upon his unsuspecting prey,
And pinioned him with jaws of steel,
‘Twas the White Hunter’s fateful day.
But after just a bite or two,
The tiger slowly walked away:
“This isn’t something I’d like to eat,
I find the flavor disdainful,
I much prefer the darker meat,
That white meats totally anal!”

Copyright 2003 H. E. Morseburg

The Lion's Roar

A lion met a tiger as they drank beside a pool,
Said the tiger to the lion, "Why are you roaring like a fool?"
That's not foolish," said the lion, with a twinkle in his eyes,
"For I am called the King of Beasts because I advertise."

A rabbit heard them talking and he sped home like a streak,
He thought he'd try the lion's plan, but his roar came out a squeak.
A fox came to investigate, had luncheon in the woods,
The Moral: When you advertise, be sure you've got the goods.

A poem I have long remembered, published in a book,
stating that it is Anonymous, but certainly not by
Heironymous S. Anon-Y-Moous. I take no credit for it.

COWBOYS WAY TO DO'ER

When a fellers been a'straddle
Since he's old enuf' to ride,
And he larns to swing his saddle
On most any colored hide
 
 
Though it's nuthin' to take pride in,
Most fellers I have know'd...
If they ever done much ridin'
Has at diff'rent times bin trhow'd.
 
 
If yer got a long hard battle
And yer got the guts to fight,
Then just climb back in yer saddle,
But be sure to cinch her tight.
 
 
Life don't tell us what we're gittin',
So if yer want to win fer sure,
When it's buckin', don't be quittin',
That's the cowboys way to do'er.
 
 
It's the stayin' when its ruffest
And its spurrin' 'em agin'.
The feller who proves the tuffest,
Is the one who's gonna' win.
(c) 1996 I didn't write the Verses in Italics. They're truly: Anonymous.

There are many people today to whom any reference one makes to a different ethnicity is seen as a form of intolerance or racism. Humor has become so one-dimensional that one can only use jokes or stories that are one dimensional or self-deprecating, if they wish to avoid controversy and being called a racist.
My actions over a long lifetime speak for my core beliefs. Today we have too many professional victims, the whiners and criers who see an "intended slight" in the most innocent remarks, in school names, or mascots for either profession or amateur teams. It's the current disease of epidemic proportions: HHV (Hysterical Historical Victimization).

They search for a single offending word, and then immediately take umbrage with it. What these victims fail to understand is that we all face the same problem in one form or another. It begins at an early age with the kid who is to fat or too skinny, or who limps, the kid who is too pale, the kid who is darker than the others, the one with too many freckles, and then as they grow, those with less athletic ability, the one with all the pimples, the one who stammers, and so it goes on through life.

Even amongst each ethnic group, the very same problems exist. Look at the wars, no not wars, the absolute slaughters that have taken place in Bosnia, Serbia, Albania, and all over Africa. Everyone ignores them, while continuously arguing here about the smallest of perceived slights. They never discuss the loss of 700,000 men, women and children and the horrible atrocities in the continual conflicts between the Hutus and the Tutsuis.
They'll take one isolated killing of a member of a minority group by a couple of illiterate jerks in some small obscure town as an example of America's injustice towards a whole segment of its citizens, with the Press following along with moronic editorials that blow things all out of proportion. Usually it has nothing to do with a racial problem at all. <.

Copyright 1997 1/16/97 rev.10/30// 2001 Howard E. Morseburg
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Oh, Brother, where art thou?

Copyright 10/ 1/96 Solvang Publishing

(Some of my poems are written under two other names. I wanted one that was synonymous, so I chose to use Heironymous Anon-y-Mous, sometimes known as Heironymous S. Anon-y-Mous, or Heironymous Synonymous Anon-y-Mous). All rights reserved.

Morbid Poems (vers.1V) copyright 2001 howard e. morseburg
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(I write poems under two other names. I wanted one that was synonymous, so I chose to use Heironymous Anonymous, sometimes known as Heironymous S. Anonymous, or Heironymous Synonymous Anonymous).
Morbid Poems (vers.1V) copyright 2001 howard e. morseburg