Sunday, February 3, 2013

Drink ter me lonely

Tich Backhouse; hiz say-so

hoo hoo    hey thar lass
thoo looks rite toward n pleasin dis morn
i ha taken t thoo
mos liken goddess hebe
eben her o comely ankles
hoo dwelleth on cloud nine

sniff . . . watz up wit nose in air
most like common sort that carries on endless
nag nag nag    bellyful o scorn
an grey hanks o hair t boot

sure tis allure o witchery den
cud ha sworn that swich grace n glamoor
o goodly thoo    walks nut touchin groun
neck poised like jug on haid balancin
pearlz shamed be teeth fer brilliance
an cheekz abloom fresh peach fuzz
shakin f queenly haid    eyen two lites o dawn sky peepin
glory bee    i ha glimpsed nun be match o thine . . .

but stay    tis contumely do i spy
angelic countenance shrewish wid distaste
az if swallered loathsome bolus stead o hambrosia
an dis rude finger accusin    go ter ..ll

ize off mistook likely lass fer cupidz owen
fer sartin lucky iz tich    thoo'd bin parfait scold
allus beyon reach    marbelous statue    hi-n-matey
yus ize gonzo    no sonnets writ in bucolic tongue
me nose buried in froth o suds seekin dioneesus bottom
no posterity fer yrs unruly cept owen cheery sel
findin comfort in arms o blacksmit good ale
herez t u folks    stay singular marrit t quiet life

Tich Backhouse, Nov. mmxii

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