TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Sissy Boy by Edwin C. Ranck

Beware the Sissy Boy my child,
Not because he’s very wild;
The Sissy Boy is never that,
Although he’ll run if you say “Scat!”
The Sissy Boy’s infinitesimal,
He is not worth a duodecimal.

If you should take a custard pie
And hit a Sissy in the eye,
He would not go before a jury,
He’d only blush and say “Oh Fury!”
For he is perfumed, sweet and mild,
That’s just his kind, my dearest child.

One should never strike a Sissy,
He is too lady-like and prissy.
You do not need to use your fist
But merely slap him on the wrist,
And if this will not make him budge,
Then glare at him and say “Oh Fudge!”

The Sissy sports a pink cravat
And often wears a high silk hat;
His voice is like a turtle dove’s
And he always wears the “cutest” gloves.
At playing ping-pong he’s inured,
And his finger-nails are manicured.

He uses powder on his face
And his handkerchiefs are trimmed with lace;
He loves to play progressive euchre
And spend his papa’s hard-earned lucre.
He wears an air of nonchalance
And always takes in every dance.

Socially, he’s quite a pet
And always fashionably in debt.
He hates to be considered slow
And poses as a famous beau.
He loves to cut a swath and dash
When papa dear puts up the cash.

This, my child, is the Sissy Boy
Who acts so womanly and coy.
His head’s as soft as new-made butter;
His aim in life is just to flutter;
Yet he goes along with unconcern
And marries a woman with money to burn.

 

by EDWIN C. RANCK (1879-?)
Public Domain Poetry

colombine et pierrot

hey, tupelo mind
i strongly suggest you leave
i strongly suggest
you seek another mire
to plink your rotting lyre

hey, tupelo mind
i’ve scraped away your sweet songs
to find naught beneath
i’m allergic to honey
don’t make me your sex bunny

hey, tupelo mind
you cannot woo me
schtum, with roses ‘tween your teeth
do you believe i fancy
your phyllorhodomancy?

yeah, you strum and you jangle
in your bid to entangle
drying salty tears
with the hem of my slip dress
hey, tupelo mind

i don’t care if you have proof
please throw yourself from a roof
your love isn’t real
you just want to ride my flame
hey, tupelo mind

but love’s like a processed beat
chasing after music’s teat
come back, i need you
hey, pay attention to me
dear tupelo mind

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

GUEST POST // A gaze he had to meet by In mind and out

even in this crowded room
it was the type of gaze that filled the air
between them,
it swerved the corners of reality
with tangibility –
he felt it’s whispers wrap the shoulders of his fears
and write a message in the atmosphere
for him to see
the invitation that she
painted there,
in silken threads of space
that she pulled and interlaced with gravity,
electricity,
a reveal of fortune-cookie
destiny,
until it was a gaze he had to meet

 

by IN MIND AND OUT
© All rights reserved 2019

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Quest of the Purple Cow by Hilda Johnson

He girded on his shining sword,
He clad him in his suit of mail,
He gave his friends the parting word,
With high resolve his face was pale.
They said, “You’ve kissed the Papal Toe,
To great Moguls you’ve made your bow,
Why will you thus world-wandering go?”
“I never saw a purple cow!”

“I never saw a purple cow!
Oh, hinder not my wild emprise,
Let me depart! For even now
Perhaps, before some yokel’s eyes
The purpling creature dashes by,
Bending its noble, horned brow.
They see its glowing charms, but I,
I never saw a purple cow!”

“But other cows there be,” they said,
“Both cows of high and low degree,
Suffolk and Devon, brown, black, red,
The Ayrshire and the Alderney.
Content yourself with these.” “No, no,”
He cried, “Not these! Not these! For how
Can common kine bring comfort? Oh!
I never saw a purple cow!”

He flung him to his charger’s back,
He left his kindred limp and weak,
They cried: “He goes, alack! alack!
The unattainable to seek.”
But westward still he rode, pardee!
The West! Where such freaks be; I vow,
I’d not be much surprised if he
Should some day see
A
Purple
Cow!

 

by HILDA JOHNSON (?-?)
Public Domain Poetry