Satire Poetry posted December 4, 2018


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Master of All I Purvey

by michaelcahill


the ground does tickle
as I place my palms upon it
but by and by
the shaking stops


an earthquake is impressive
to the weaker minded
who cannot control it


off with you now sharp wind
such a bratty imp
blowing my fedora down
the cobblestone pathway


yet, it is now retrieved
and placed at a becoming angle
on my head
and I have banished you
over the hill
away, away, away


'tis my berg, you see
and though you may sneak in
you may not stay


I always have it my way
it's a tidy schedule I maintain
I grow weary of the sun


toodle-oo
till I require you back again


the moon, yes, and a field of stars


I summon a breeze
careful now
yes, just right


how they all laugh
and make merry
for my good fortune


I rule the world
and a fine job I do

 

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