I thought I'd share

[Murphy]

this lovely piece, included with my resume the first time I tried to get a job at CBC. Okay, I know. Stupid idea. No one should work at CBC. I was young and foolish. My mind was still numbed by Don Messer, the Friendly Giant and Take 30.

But it was good enough to get a job a few years later, writing news.

Poem Day

The people what write these things,
Do a real good job.
I write some poems too, you know,
'Cause I can make words rhyme.

She sells sea shells at the store.
Above the Ship Shoe Shoppe
Her husband likes to eat oysters
A lot.

Many times I wondered,
If man was so darn bright,
Why can't he make woolly underwear
That doesn't itch?

Thank you Mother Nature,
For giving me a brain.
To write these poems everyday,
Even when it snows.

- murphy

 

[Murphy]

This is dedicated to the late Frank Zappa.

A Tiny, Red Hot Pepper

Hidden in the pickles,
Third jar, second shelf,
Was a tiny, red hot pepper,
In the brine, all by itself.

How he came to be there.
Nobody rightly knows.
And nobody saw him pickled,
With the cukes a year ago.

That angered the hot pepper,
To be taken from his friends.
And he vowed to make somebody pay,
He wanted his revenge.

The pungent pepper plotted,
To hide until the day,
Some unsuspecting human erred,
And ate from a pickle tray.

The zesty little veggie laughed,
Waiting for the sweet,
Who would take him from the grocery store,
Straight home, so she could eat.

It wasn't long until the time,
When Sister grabbed the jar,
And with the convent's groceries,
Was packed into the car.

The ride was quick, but bumpy,
Yet, he dreamed of all the fun,
And the rapid, rancid ranting,
That would pour out of the nun.

The pepper neared the kitchen,
But cried out at the sound,
Of shattered glass and pickle farts,
As the jar smashed on the ground!

Sister Sorrow cleaned the mess all up,
And tossed out the remains,
And swabbed the whole of the kitchen floor,
To wash away the stains.

The pepper disappeared that day.
Life can be so fickle.
Especially when you're different,
Or live with a bunch of pickles.

- Murphy, 2016