MORBID POEMS 4 MORBID PEOPLE

by Heironymous S. Anon-y-Mous

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
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 someone like Miss Untermeyer.
Ah, but what proved to be my fate,
With sagging jowls and balding pate,
To find her forty years too late!
So I was fated to live on...alone,
Her lovely heart had turned to Stone.
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ROMEO AND JULIETTE II
Italian Version

Oh, Romeo and Juliette,
Had a pizza when they first met,
He ordered her the largest pizza,
Which she thought was kind'a neat'za.

He took her for a moonlight ride,
And parked along the oceanside.
He was full of boyhood charm,
She thought his love could do no harm.

When her stomach grew round and firm,
He said, as he began to squirm,
"I think it's somethin' Julie 'et,
She should'a ordered the spaget'."

Her family never understood,
They were members of a dif'rent hood.
They would not let the lovers wed,
And from their wrath the young man fled.

In grief she chose to take her life,
With the family carving knife.
As she went on to her "here-after”,
He hung himself from a rafter.
+ + + + + + + +
The moral of this story's neat:
On your first date, kids, just don't eat!
.

ROMEO OF THE WEST
(The Rodeo Angels)

Juliette met her Romeo

At Denver’s National Rodeo
Two champions met and life was bliss
Their love grew stronger with each kiss.
He was riding bucking horses
While she raced ‘round barreled courses.
They traveled the circuit through that year
And won the Champion’s belt and gear.
She was top rider of her kind
Racing like demons were behind.

Both families made their feelings known
Give up this love or they’d be disowned!
For she was black and he was white;
Discrimination proved their plight.
Some angry words; hot tempers flashed,
The dreams they shared were quickly dashed.
She was thrown hard on her next ride,
And he held her gently as she died.

In his despair and deep remorse,
He chose to ride their wildest horse.
Then spurred it on, he wouldn’t bend,
But the bronc fought him to the end....
And when they fell...through splintered wood,
The silent crowd…as one they stood.
‘Twas on that day three champions died,
But love for them was no more denied.

*****
Now somewhere in the skies above
Two angels share those bonds of love
And holding hands in eternal bliss.
They bless new lovers with a kiss!.

COPYRIGHT 1999 H. E. Morseburg rev. 10/27/01

HOME COMING QUEEN
by Heironymous S. Anon-y-Mous

Mary was our “Home-Coming Queen,”
The prettiest girl we’d ever seen.
She loved our whole darned football squad,
And each in turn loved Mary’s ‘bod’.

But Mary made a great mistake.
Thinking sex was a piece of cake,
One day there came the realization,
She’d soon increase the population.

She knew that she must go full term,
So her resolve became quite firm;
‘Cause she was against abortion,
She sued them all to pay a portion.

“Not mine,” each cried from the witness stand,
“That babe did not come from my gland!”
“With this poor maid you all did play,
Now,” ruled the Judge, “you all must pay.”

They now take turns changing diapers,
While the others act as wipers.
They hold the spoon while baby slurps,
Then pat his back until he burps.

Mary’s life has been pure joy
Since giving birth to this baby boy.
She sleeps ‘til noon…has lots of money;
She’s glad she kept this little honey!

copyright 1998 Howard E. Morseburg
Two Buck Tim!

One night as Tim and I walked down town
I met a little honey.
She wore a sheer pink strapless gown,
And soon had all my money.
I'd a' followed her to Timbuktu,
If she'd a' only had me,
But then she took poor Tim's bucks too,
She treated us most badly.
Her lovely figure I'll n'er forget,
'Twas a vision 'fore my eyes.
I'll follow her and win her yet,
Then live life in Paradise!
by Hieronymous Anony Mous

PROSTITUS UNITE US
by Heironymous Anon-y-Mous

Oh dear Doctor, how nice it’d be,

If I didn’t have to get up to pee
At three and four and five a.m.
Then drag on back to bed again.

Instead of having dreams so great,

All night I’m thinking “urinate.”
I rise…to pee a wee thin stream,
Is relief for me a far-fetched dream?

(Dedicated to my Urologist.)

Copyright 1993 Howard E. Morseburg Solvang, CA)
The first verses of each of these next two poems were known to every kid in school back in the 30's, but I thought I'd add a little bit to it.
THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE!
by Howard E. Morseburg

The other day upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there,
He wasn't there again today,
Oh, how I wish he'd go away.

He seemed as cuckoo as could be,
Yet never said a word to me;
And every time I thought he'd talk,
He'd turn around and off he'd walk.

No one saw him again today,
And yet they said he came this way.
Even though he was still around,
He wasn’t where he could be found.

He named his daughters One to Four,
And told his wife they'd have four more,
She answered that she didn't care,
Because he wasn't ever there.

He set his watch at five to eight,
The names, he thought, just couldn’t wait.
He had to play such silly games
To remember his daughter’s names.

But now he’s left, he’s gone his way,
And no one’s seen him since that day.
He wasn't there before he went;
We should elect him President.

copyright 1997 Howard E. Morseburg

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 Verses in Italics are not mine. 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

(I write poems 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