GreenIguana's profile

I walked a long road with you. You were always the chattering one, your patter entertaining all around us. For a long time I was charmed and almost didn’t notice that you rarely said “how are you?” When I tried to tell you anyway, you ran and hid in fear, lest my truthtelling was contagious and you would suddenly find yourself spilling your secrets not just to me but to yourself. I was your ugly duckling friend, or so you thought. You could treat me however you liked, and I would take it. You...

You crept up the floors of our buildings-- like the strangler vine that kills the tree, at first you seemed harmless. We were happy you raised our real estate values. But you made us pay for your expensive projects and we liked our buildings the way they were. Interlopers insidiously destroy the ecosystem, our habitat. In the rainforest of humanity poetry and art grow in basements of tenements, take root and blossom in the fertile, stinking concrete soil. Lofts and studios are now just names ...

Cracks and lines on the mirror traverse your face. Is your hair turning white, or is that coke dust from your last binge? How old you’ve gotten In a few short years. Blown-back from the mountaintop you got lost in the blizzard. Better hope someone comes looking for you.

There once was a woman named Hillary Whose foes she just wanted to pillory She went on the attack She said “but he’s black,” What kind of jerks does she think are we? A young Senator named Obama Had a name that could rhyme with Osama And a middle, Hussein, It became a refrain On the ceaseless right-wing hate-o-rama The candidate’s name was McCain Some said he was slightly insane He courted the loons And the right-wing buffoons We’ll be through the first day of his reign

Urbis is home to some writers who, like many UFO sighters, imagine vividly ideas quite riddley, penned in opaque lines, not light verse. Some writers who call Urbis home, Should not be allowed far to roam, Without dictionary, Or spell check, verily, For their typos cause readers to groan. There was a young writer on Urbis, whose writing pretentious and mirthless lacked rhyme and reason, and wisdom’s season; Quite frankly, I thought it was worthless.