Southern Comfort

Yum. Photo courtesy

A ten-pound cast iron frying pan,

is how the whole thing starts;

Granny’s food is heavenly,

but hell upon our hearts.

Relying heavily on pork,

she seasons what’s upon our forks;

Collard greens

and pinto beans,

Gravy, cornbread,


They start out bland,

but fatback’s grand,

for adding flavor to these things.

Catfish swim in bacon grease,

and make our earlobes start to crease;

Apple pies with crusts of lard,

 Bellies grow soft, arteries hard.

We shovel it in with Southern glee,

And wash it down with sweetened tea.

Everything’s greasy, everything’s fried,

And that’s the way that Grandpa died.

The Ballad of Sid and Mary

One evening Sid and Mary,

Had a dreadful, nasty fight;

He called her a drunk and a skank and asked how

She could sleep with his childhood friend, Dwight.
And Mary told Sid she had done no such thing,

Though who’d blame her one bit if she did?

She hadn’t been touched in four solid months

And the fault lay squarely with Sid.
Sid said well maybe if Mary

Stopped scarfing down donuts and chips,

Then possibly he’d feel a sudden urge,

To put his hands back on her hips.
Then Mary said, “Sid you’re a total ass,

You care less about me than crappie or bass,

or boats or trucks or drinking beer–

You’ve got mommy issues, it’s perfectly clear.

Your bad taste in music just proves you’re a hick.

You can’t hold a job and you’re dumb as a brick.”
And Sid said, “Oh yeah? Well you’re loud and bipolar,

You’re needy and mean and a terrible bowler.

You smile at your friends, but then later talk trash

You’re petty and jealous, you’ve got a mustache.”
I couldn’t stop reading–I was just too engrossed,

They were broadcasting live via Facebook post!

It was all quite insane, it was simply absurd,

that I was made privy to such savage words.

I’d only met them twice at best,

(Sid “friended” me after a music fest).

But in their rage they shed all decorum,

And posted their fight in a public forum.
Strangers, acquaintances, family and friends,

Silently witnessed their vindictive end.

I was hoping they’d somehow patch things up,

(though I know that may sound strange),

but they settled their fight that terrible night,

with a simple status change.
Facebook complicates my life,

(It spurred me to write this bad poem),

I think of Sid’s truck and of Mary’s top lip,

And I hate it because I don’t know ‘em.

You May Need to Pinch Yourself

In my ongoing quest to learn SSP (Shameless Self Promotion), I’m having a giveaway! On Wednesday, November the 14, 2012 in the Year of Our Lord, two winners will be drawn. One will receive an ebook version of “Peculiar Rhymes and Intimate Observations,” my collection of poetry for people who hate poetry. The second winner chosen will receive an Audible audiobook version.

Holy Abercrombie. I feel like Santa, without the reindeer and the whiskers.

All of you wonderful, sweet, intelligent and very good-looking followers of this blog are automatically entered to win. If you’re not already following, you might want to hit that little button at the top of your screen.

BUT WAIT! There’s more! If you go to my new Facebook page and press the “like” button, you’re entered to win AGAIN! That’s like…two entries!

I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Wow…Moonbeam…it just doesn’t get any better than this.” That’s what I was thinking too. I’ll wait here for a moment so you can pinch yourself, just so you can be certain you’re not dreaming.

I should probably be acting all cool and casual about all of this, but again, I want to thank everyone who’s buying, trying, reviewing and tweeting about my foray into self publishing. Thanks for every mention. You have no idea how much I appreciate you. I love you. Seriously. Am I gushing again?

Okay, I’m outta here. I’ve got writing to do. Plus, I have to search the attic for an Official Fishbowl, in which to put the Official Entries for the Official Drawing. Hope you all have a happy, fun-filled weekend. I’ll meet you back here on Wednesday!