Clifford F. Hood
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Poetic Shorts


Artwork: Jimbo

As a random accumulation of atoms traveling through space, orbiting the center of the galaxy at an incredible rate of Read More
Member Since
Feb 2019
Published Books


by Poet Lorry-Yacht

©®@℗ 2019


All rights reserved. Any use of the content contained herein without the express written consent of the author, or of the author’s authorized authority from the Orion-Cygnus Division of the

Poet Laureate’s Galactic Hall of Fame

is strictly prohibited and may be punishable by continuous confinement, not to exceed 25,000 years in duration, while the contents of this e-book are read repetitively… in Swahili…


…and a 14-dollar fine.

.    Freedoms Will Have To Be Surrendered

°          NOTICE TO POETS:
°          The Bureau of Poems’ Department of Rhymes,
°          has outlawed all free verse and similar crimes.
°          The statement which details the styles which will do,
°          is found in our manual on page 92.
°          See paragraph 40, subsection C-9,
°          which fully expounds on poetic design,
°          conceiving and writing, then how to bring closure,
°          plus first-aid protection from free verse exposure.
°          Read sections that cover “safe” free-verse destruction,
°          with pictures of free-verse blast chamber construction.
°          To put it quite bluntly our country depends,
°          on having you finger your free-verseing friends.
°          Thank you for your anticipated cooperation,
°          James Olsson,
°          (Commandant)
°          Bureau of Poems,
°          Department of Rhymes,
°          Enforcement Division

Mullett Lake

Sequestered in Cheboygan County’s hummocks, humps and hills,
suffused with sturgeon, muskellunge, a host of bass and splake,
Cheboygan River empties what the Indian River fills,
the glacial ice abrasion which is known as “Mullett Lake”.
When early morning autumn mist intensifies to fog,
its blanket drifting hereabout, across the shore and road,
precocious skunks and ‘possums poke their noses through the bog,
where fortune brings a garter snake an unsuspecting toad.
By noon the sun has burned away the lake’s amorphous shroud,
canoes and boats begin to dot the rippled blue expanse,
the Southern Sunken Island starts to gather quite a crowd,
where walleyes seem obliged to bite if given half a chance.
Receding in the western sky the sun begins to set,
her mauves and bright magentas range transparent to opaque,
this panoramic vista paints a polychrome duet,
with thousand-mirror glitters coruscating off the lake.
[splake – a speckled trout/lake trout hybrid.]

Locust Tree

Say there, say, old Locust tree,
whose sting lays low the rough-hewn brute,
who shades the belle and yields the root
that brews a pot of toxic tea.
Say there, say, old Locust tree,
who’s poised to challenge prairie gusts,
who paints the ground with greens and rusts,
when all your leaves are lifted free.
Say there, say, old Locust tree,
whose twigs ensconce the sparrow nests,
who makes a home for many guests,
who have no use for lock and key.
Say there, say, old Locust tree,
whose trunk and branches now stand raw,
who fills the heart with frozen awe
as winter dusts the sylvan sea.
Six More Weeks of Winter


As Rocky Mountain blizzards start to brew,
a groundhog sleeps in Punxsutawney, Penn.,
but he will rise on February two,
as tourists on this tiny town descend,
and should the storm arrive in time, well you
can bet that “rat” will stay deep in his den,
but if it’s clear and sunny skies abound,
he’s sure to see his shadow on the ground.

From Black to White

The paradox of winter’s quest,
to lay a blanket, heels to chest,
in drifts of snow from north and west,
may thusly be accounted best:
the cloud formations dark and black,
descend from high on jet stream’s back,
and flake by flake the piles stack,
while we’re sound sleeping in our sack.
The morning breaks, the sun is bright
our ret’nas blinded by the light,
but as we slowly grasp the sight,
this monochrome of brilliant white,
we’re led to wonder how and why,
the blackish clouds in bluish sky,
can lay these mounds which blind the eye,
not one inch deep, but four feet high!

Move It!

The slither slakes a thirst for crawl
as fluid sinew slide,
while swimming envies slither’s sprawl
in sub-aquatic glide.

The waddle longs for slender hooves
and smoothness breathed by run,
while paddle mimics waddle’s moves
in rivers gray and dun.
The undulate parades its flex
with jellyfish and kin,
while ornithopt’ry’s flapping treks
are beat by wing and fin.
The sidewind threatens striking fast
on deserts dry and hot,
while canter swings pretentious past
poor gallop, walk and trot.
Abstract To Be Taken Littorally
In the mangroves of the margins,
through the sub aquatic reeds,
to the fringing reefs and waters,
and the estuary’s weeds;
live the isopods and plankton,
with the limpets, clams and krill,
there’s a host of microflora,
photosynth’ing chlorophyll.
Near the bed of shallow grasses,
in the silts of long repose,
where the brittle stars and blenny
feed on anything that grows;
to the coral beds and ledges
in these intertidal zones,
there’s a field of rising bubbles
which the underworld disowns.

Four Piece Wardrobe


The cosmic closet’s been unlocked,       Her finest wear is autumn’s skirt,
for use by Lady Earth,                                of sprightly woodland hues,
a host of lovely garments there,              a brilliant orange profusion,
to snugly wrap her girth.                           with her prairie colored shoes.
The first one is a brilliant coat,
of sparkling winter white,
she plans to wear it 90 days,
throughout each day and night.
She also has a spring chiffon,
in brilliant yellow-greens,
it dazzles for a season with,
her azure ocean jeans.
With summer heat she does prefer,
a sandy beige or brown,
her forest fire jewelry shines,
against a blackened gown.

Twelve Foot Pipeline

You should know I’m only jestin’ when I mention “small intestine”
but the French Horn is a strange contorted beast.
Like a sculpted brass spaghetti it’s a tiny bit unsteady
for the novice with no inkling in the least.
There’s a mouth-piece thread connection to the hairpin tube collection
with some stubby little valve keys for control—
there’s a note that’s soon in coming as it travels through the plumbing,
though it sometimes takes a minute hole to hole.
Step On Through To The Other Side 


Hypnotic meditations from the speakers in the dark,
ignite an aural whisper of a vision’s inner spark,
these nuanced vague impressions
billow through your neural net,
they’re amplified and tinted by that special cigarette.
The music takes on body, forms a texture and a shape,
then time begins to undulate, like breezes on a drape,
your bodies start to signal in a primal E.S.P.
just wordless thoughts and phrases on a wave of T.H.C.
The cosmos is connected through the center of your soul,
your conscience is attracted to the North Galactic Pole,
the universe reduces to a microscopic dot…
…and then you wake up hungry with an empty bag of pot.


There’s Slacker and Cracker, Black Sabbath and Who,
Foreigner, Coroner, Into the Blue,
There’s Blasters, Disasters, King Kobra and Queen,
The Others, Blues Brothers, Deep Purple and Clean.
There’s Onyx, Delfonics, Led Zepp’lin and Kinks,
The Bangles, Keith Mangles, Head East and the Finks,
There’s Journey and Bernie, Joan Jett and the Cars
Funkstation, Elation, and, Yes, Men From Mars.
There’s Weezer, the Geezers, King Crimson and Cramps
Blue Oyster*, the Cloister, Clockhammer and Vamps,
There’s Ozzie*, Fugazi, The Fixx and the Facz,
Replacements, Pop’s Basement and Panic Attacks.
There’s lots of good music and genres to suit,
From Elvis’s crooning to Jethro Tull’s flute,
submerge in the richness of each sonic sweep
from Manfred Mann’s keyboards or vocals from Heep.

Jam On

Science has proven that bodies need groovin’
to rock and roll oldies played loud;
the hip and leg junction has one major function
and that is to shake with a crowd.
The music’s a blessing in helping destressing
the angst from the day to day chores;
in nine of ten cases the rhythm erases
the poisons that clog up your pores.
The tests are official, to jam’s beneficial,
it fosters strong bodies 12 ways–
the dancers keep jumpin’ while Foghat is pumpin’,
then Ozzie and Zep join the craze!
Those rappers are dyin’ as bluesmen are cryin’,
The jazzers are spastic and weird,
The life support’s failin’ for Willie and Waylon,
But rockers are kicked in high gear!
This healthcare is costin’ a CD of Boston,
and maybe a download of Queen;
I think you’ll be glad to see “Aerosmitherapy”
sets you back, maybe, thirteen.
So stand in defiance to all the old science,
I s’pose this will come as a shock–
Be wiser than Gandhi by jammin’ to Blondie,
and get your nutrition of rock!
Bomb That Office (B.T.O.)
I get up in the mornin’ to the air-raid warnin’
Take the eight-fifteen into the city,
There’s some bombers up above
             an’ buildin’s burnin’, buildin’s puffin’,
And the air, is gettin’ quite gritty.
And if your train’s on fire,
You can find a cab for hire,
If you ever get annoyed ‘cuz the city was destroyed,
Just go and join the mil-i-tar-y…
And you’ll be takin’ care of business,
Takin’ care of business,
If you’re not K.I.A. …
Oh yeah….
Take It Easy (take two)
Well, I’m a burnin’ up the road,                         “Come on, baby, don’t say maybe.”
as I’m haulin’ a load,                                            He’s gotta know if my sweet love’s
I’ve got seven coppers on my tail:                      gonna save me.
four that wanna grill me,                                     I may lose and he may win,
two that wanna kill me,                                       but I will never be the same again.
one says he’ll see me in jail.                                So grit my teeth, and let it’ in,
.                                                                                and take it easy.
Take it easy, take it easy,
don’t let the flashers on your tail                      Well, I’m a hidin’ in the trash,
drive you crazy.                                                    as I’m tryin’ to make a dash,
Light one up while you still can,                         got a world of trouble on my mind…
don’t even try to understand,                             lookin’ for a passage
just find a place to make your stand                  to smoke a little grassage,
and take it easy.                                                    but it’s so-o-o hard to find.
Well, I’m a rottin’ in a slammer                           Take it easy, take it easy,
in Mobile, Alabammer                                          don’t let the sound of sniffing dogs
and such a damn fright to see:                           drive you crazy.
it’s a great big hunk, and he wants my bunk    Come on, help me, don’t let ’em scalp me.
and he stops to shoot a wink at me.                   I gotta know if this sweet trash
                                                                                  is gonna save me.
                                                                                   Oh, we got it easy,
                                                                                   we oughta take it easy.
Her Five Year Mission
There once was a captain named Kirk,
whose enterprise called for much work,
he’d entertain gazers,
with bright colored phasers,
and kill birds-of-prey in the murk.
Now Kirk was companion to Spock,
whose logic was solid as rock,
and Spock liked to toy,
with Doctor McCoy,
as Doc liked to mock Mister Spock.
…and who could forget Mr. Scott?
“I’m given ‘er all that she’s got!”
His ranting and raving
at parts misbehaving,
would tempt him to scrap the whole lot!
There also was lovely Uhura,
a linguist from East Bujumbura.
Her knowledge of lingo,
from French to Mandingo,
would pay for her pad in Ventura.
Last, Checkov and Sulu befriended,
the pair with whom all else depended,
they’d navigate space,
and Klingons erase,
plus all else which Kirk recommended
Indulgence, Mine or Hers?
I bought my girl a diamond ringed in golden filagree,
she pawned the thing in Dublin for a U2 mp3.
She plays it for her exes, yet, she may still come to me;
I’ll shake a little harder on that good old “money tree!”
I bought my girl a snazzy ride for ninety-thousand quid,
it’s seats are white chinchilla, there’s a smooth electric “lid.”
She’s put it up on ebay, so I guess I’ll make a bid;
she’s such a little prankster like some brash precocious kid.
I bought my girl a ticket to the sunny South of France;
she said she hadn’t been there so I thought I’d take a chance.
A Monaco vacation is conducive to romance,
but “clever little vixen” jumped a different flight to Nantes.
I bought my girl a castle, it’s a PURCHASE, not a lease,
it seems she’s going to keep it, which has put my mind at peace.
The drawbridge spans a pretty moat that’s home to swans and geese;
she warns me if I cross it she’ll report me to police!
So now I sit dejected in my dark and dreary house;
it seems a futile exercise to mope around and grouse.
Oh could there be a tiny heart beneath her shapely blouse?
I doubt it since she’s sentenced me to “hard time” with my spouse!
Nature: Up Close and Personal
(for a contest, write about Nature.)


What in heavens counts as nature?
Is it all the nomenclature
which is pertinent to physics, stars and trees?
Is it any more astronomy,
than bovine physiognomy?
O tell me what is “nature” if you please!
Should I lecture on biology,
or deep-sea ichthyology,
where  creatures lurk in phosphorescent glow?
Shall I rant on rats and ravens,
or the sparrow’s misbehavin’s?
O tell me, what is “nature” so I’ll know!
Could you please be more specific,
like, “Atlantic or Pacific”
or perhaps a certain mountain chain or sea.
Is it vireos and vultures,
or the complex insect cultures,
which you’d like to hear a monograph from me?
I would really love to tackle
how the blackbird, crow and grackle
have evolved from early Cenozoic days.
I could give my allocution,
on the role of evolution
as it appertains to creatures’ DNAs.
Might I speak on grains and grasses?
Zebras, horses and jackasses?
Would you like to hear of deer and swift gazelles?
Could I tell you of the “nature”
of a fickle legislature,
and the sordid brand of evil that it sells?
As I’m sitting here expanding
how this project’s too demanding,
understanding you won’t likely be amused;
I can’t choose a category
from the faunas or the florae…
…it’s my NATURE to be fuddled and confused!
The Death of Dylan Doe
Dylan Doe, of Dill & Doe, was Delwin Dolan’s future foe,
for fate foresaw the death of Doe, by Dolan’s deadly basswood bow.
The duo dated Darla Deaux, though neither man was s’pposed to know.
O woe was Doe when Darla dear made clear that Dylan had to go.
So Doe, to show his Dolan spite, hit Delwin D. with all his might.
Though Delwin seldom held him in a state of utter hate,
the blow that Doe had dealt him was decidedly too great,
and thus that fuss inspired a fight which should have set the matter right.
A swing was swung,
then two;
combatants battling, black and blue,
were quick to kick, concuss, and chew;
their hatred grated through and through.
They pounded, pasted, poked and smacked;
then clouted, pouted, clashed and thwacked,
though both were busted, bleeding, choked;
they then withdrew, perplexed, provoked,
and that’s when Delwin drew his bow;
then let the narrow arrow go.
Across the fertile field it flew until it ran old Dylan through!
His final words were very few: “Oh Darla, dear, I do love you.”
The funeral father, friends and crew then bid his bod’ a fond “adieu;”
and Del’s now deep in legal stew for sins against the soul he slew.
American Gigolo
The Speed-Date advert made a claim
to match up girls with guys
and now I wonder, “Who’s to blame,
for spreading heinous lies?”
Oh, don’t assume it came to naught,
and didn’t change our lives,
though nearly fifty men lost out,
I’ve now got fifty wives!
Desolate Voyager
I’m wont to say the breaker’s price is much too much for me;
these rusty plates and rivets left their profits far to sea.
With holds too small and hull too slow and engines caked in grime,
the Blue Riband was well in hand for other Ships of Rhyme.
Nay, I am just a hollow hulk with garbage barge in tow,
this worthless freight and dunnage was devalued long ago.
With clouds of smoke and trails of oil I’ve briefly left my mark,
upon this sea of memory while sailing in the dark.
A Lament For American Beer
Take a retrograde distiller, for example, Busch or Miller,
Pour a glass of their substandard septic ale,
Like an aging pint of plasma it exudes a rank miasma,
So be careful not to take a full inhale!
There’s the Old Milwaukee brewery mixing blends from Madame Curie,
Those Sklodowska Polish recipes of old,
Neither healthy nor attractive, they’re insanely putrefactive,
With a taste that’s neither wholesome, fresh, nor bold.
Then there’s Coors up in the mountains, where they use artesian fountains,
Just to make emasculated forms of beer;
Since their brew’s like horses leaking, Coors might reconsider tweaking
All the recipes which taste so flat and queer.
Though a monkey, ape or gibbon might enjoy a Pabst Blue Ribbon,
It’s a bowel-loosing, poop inducing drink,
As a beer it most expresses all the flavorful excesses
Of the post-Thanksgiving soap suds in the sink.
Did I mention Dundee Brewing and the rotgut they’ve got stewing,
In some vats where even cats avoid the smell?
It may be a poor man’s lager, but as window-pane defogger
It’s a formula which seems to work quite well.
Don’t forget ol’ Samuel Adams, used by all the whorehouse madams
As a sauce for perming plush bouffant-style hair.
It’s a wonderful elixir as a fast and dirty fixer,
Just ask Charo, Phyllis Diller, and/or Cher.
Now I don’t intend to bicker, but if you think Schlitz Malt Liquor
Is in any way “exception to the rule,”
Then you must’ve gotten pasted well before you ever tasted
That reformulated jug of llama drool.
It’s a shame U.S. libations are complete abominations,
When compared to great concoctions overseas,
They’ve got stature, backbone, merit; they’re the eagle, we’re the parrot,
With our drinks which don’t declare, but only tease.
Six Limerix
.                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A penguin who lived near the pole            An elephant never forgets
was cooking while out on parole               unless he smokes “those” cigarettes…
he filled up his grill                                  referred to as “weed”
with black-market krill                             his whole mind is freed
and twenty sardines which he’d stole.       by weird psychedelic vignettes.
.                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He soon found his way back to jail            My kitten has very sharp claws
arrested by Sydney the Snail                    as sharp as the teeth in her jaws
the penguin was napping                          and though she’s just playing
when Sydney came slapping                     she’s quickly filleting
on fin-cuffs designed by a whale.              my hands which are now wrapped in gauze.
An ostrich, who wished he could fly
was clever, quick-witted and sly
he purchased a Boeing
and soon he was going
to everyplace covered by sky.
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