the panda

there’s a purple spotted panda at the bottom of our street
who’s dressed like how’s your father from his head down to his feet
he’s speaking in italian, a language he don’t know
of the wampus cats awaiting where the welkin’s hanging low

the ground is made of taffy though they not a one said please
but wrapped him up in spider’s web and brought him to his knees
and all the pretty butterflies are flying much too soon
while children dance upon the path that leads them to the moon

the leaves are made of iv’ry on iconoclastic trees
the depths of their despair can be heard floating on the breeze
mice and rats will comfort you when all your money’s spent
and sing you christmas carols just to carry you through lent

now i have never been there, and i guess i never will
for though i love you dearly, i’m peculiarly ill
and everybody knows that pandas rarely tell the truth
a symptom of celebrity they picked up in their youth


by sunovawot & damommza

the light comes on
and what a scare
i look for me
but i’m not there

it’s passing strange
when all you find
you’ve left but left
yourself behind

so i look for
me plainly hid
i swore i’d not
but then i did

if i’m not gone
and i’m not there
i really am
not anywhere

so off i creep
in to my bed
and on my pillow
there’s my head

the sophont

i wrote a book the sophont said
to codify my knowledge
to prove that i am smarter than
those fakers up in college

they think they’re bright those college folk
with their degrees and learning
but i could beat them all hands down
the way my mind keeps churning

i know the who the what the why
and how they fit together
to calculate the ifs and buts
and to predict the whether

it doesn’t stop there the sophont spoke on
my thoughts fly faster and higher
the only thing that i can’t explain
is why i’m a terrible liar


though each and every one of us
could struggle through the mire
brave the battle raging
stand firm against the fire
there’s not one flaming reason
that any of us should
unless the perks are plenty
and the pay is bloody good

uncle bing

now here’s the thing, said uncle bing
i’ve had my crack at being king
but wood will burn and iron rust
and as a king i was a bust
it seems you can’t take any fool
and shove them on a throne to rule
and hope that he, or maybe she
will step right up and somehow be
the one to cure the people’s pains
unless you choose someone with brains
and i, said bing, as is well known
have got no brains to call my own

damommza birthday 2015

they say that as you get older
the aches and the pains they accrue
the eyesight goes, as does the stamina
and I must say, my dear, that it’s true
but there isn’t a point in complaining
you can caterwaul ’til you’ve gone red
but try to remember your blessings
you can’t grumble once you are dead
so suck it up and keep on toiling
struggling on, and I pray
that you manage to kick back and relax
and enjoy a happy birthday

yet anuvva burfdae

burfdae wishuz hoo wood haz tehm
scroo tehm up adn in teh bin
ai’z tu owld tu stil bee cowntin
senn-ess-sense iz settin in

wonse ai dansed upon teh taybulz
wonse ai woz so lieth adn fin
nao ai’m shaypd juss liek a beechbawl
nao ai haz a trebul chin

wotz teh ues in gettin owldur
wai iz tihs hao fingz must go
ayjin iz a curs upon uz
butt nuffin seemz tu holt teh floe

o mother

o mother he came to my bower
and spoke to me sweet words of love
o mother how do I kill him
if and when push comes to shove

my daughter the methods are many
and many of them have I tried
but the best must be a blunt object
for that’s how your poor father died


come he told her gently
and reached out for her hand
follow in my footsteps
we’ll reach that magic land
where all the elves are feisty
and Santa mighty pissed
the reindeer are all bolshie
and Rudolph’s sorely missed
he went out for a tinkle
we told him don’t be long
but he has not returned yet
which buggers up the song
so Donner’s wearing greasepaint
and Blitzen a false nose
but neither one is working
so Santa can’t use those
the toy shop has been burnt down
destroying all the toys
but at least there is no shortage
of coal for naughty boys
and Santa won’t stop drinking
he’s on his second crate
so sadly we must tell you
this year Christmas is late

xmas? yeah, right

by damommza & sunovawot

The shopping is over
The wrapping is done
I’ve made lots of cookies
And eaten every one
The stockings are hung
By the chimney with care
I’m off to the gym
Before I outgrow this chair….

the shopping’s not done yet
the wrapping’s a chore
I ain’t making cookies
’cause cooking’s a bore
the stockings are holey
the chimney is blocked
I’ll forgo the gym ’cause
the bar is well stocked


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