“Cattle Train, Cattle Train”


“The Out Crowd” © C.P. Hickey 2013


“Cattle Train, Cattle Train”

Cattle Train! Cattle Train!

My life’s refrain.

Can someone commute my commuter pain?

Oh, how I disdain,

this daily pain.

I can’t sustain,

and must complain.

It’s such a drain.

Fucking insane!


Let me explain.

What’s plainly plain:

Humans behave,

less humane,

when waiting for the Cattle Train.

It’s worse in the rain.

If there’s a delay,

it puts a strain,

on our collective brain.

Because, the Cattle Train,

can’t possibly contain,

all the bane,

pertaining to this mortal plane.

Take for instance, Elaine.

You know, the girl from Spain.

Over there leaning on a cane.

She seems inane,

but, she’s just arcane.

Today she suffers a harsh migraine.

And will not feign the pain,

that the rain causes her curly mane.

While she awaits the Cattle Train,

wrapped in cellophane,

in pouring rain.




Or take that prick from Maine.

What’s his name?


His breath smells of methane.

Humming a neat quatrain.

Standing in the rain.

Waiting for the Cattle Train.




Do you think those that live in Des Plaines deal with such constraints?

One obtains small gains while one abstains from complaints about the Cattle Train.

But, the pain is hard to sustain.

It’s no gravy train.

Ask Lorraine,

sucking on that candy cane.

She survived September’s hurricane.

Only to remain,

waiting for the Cattle Train.




Cattle Train! Cattle Train!

My life’s refrain.

Can someone commute my commuter pain?












Poem 10 of the ProCrasstheNation Poemvember Poetry Project dares to speak of the forbidden subject of that which some consider undesirable. Thank you to Eva V. for sending me a completely innocuous concept, and forever forgiving me when I take that innocence and go for broke in corrupting it.  A poem sometimes pushes you into the realm of MUST.

I hope you come back hair to read more of these fine poems.



Man-moss man-moss,

upon my back.

Traveling down my backdoor crack.

Warm and fuzzy,

around my navel.

Control your libido,

if you’re able.

Run your hands around the rough,

can you ever get enough?

While The Beach Boys do shave nude,

testosterone, this man exudes.

A virtual chia topiary,

Nair and wax, unnecessary.

Just a trim along the line,

will do this Magic Mike just fine.

Certainly, you must concur,

hug a chubby man with fur.

And when moist sweat comes rolling through,

stick to your wolf-man, like glue.

Curly pubic woolen skin,

Enhances every carnal sin.

Smoothly shorn is overrated,

some truths should never be debated.

No matter what the seeming cost,

get yourself a man with moss.

“Serendipity: the Opposite of Zemblanity”

Day 16  brings forth poem 16. Serendipity is the term given over by my cousin Ellen for inspiration in my Month of Poems project. Although I tried with every fiber of my being to believe that I could find serendipity in the world at present, there is much to the contrary in evidence. So I found inspiration in another way. I asked the Mighty and all-knowing Oracle at Google what the opposite of serendipity was. Google obliged me. No riddle spoken, but a succinct definition: “making unhappy, unlucky and unexpected discoveries occurring by design” basically an “unpleasant unsurprise”. So, there it is right there. Perhaps, a bit of serendipity after all, finding out that the opposite of the term basically defines the “unpleasant unsurprise” sitting in the White House. I don’t really care what your political leanings are, and I certainly don’t care what you think of mine. The one thing my parents taught me was to not put up with nonsense. I knows it when I sees it. A multitude of complete and utter Zemblanity.




“Serendipity: the Opposite of Zemblanity”

You sir, are a Zemblanity.

Our zeitgeist’s calamity.

The poster child for cowardice,

A model A in avarice.

You have no depth.

No self-respect.

Playground bully.

Privileged fully.

You have the power to help.

But all is withheld.

No leadership skills.

Just lobbyist shills.

No integrity.

You, smother civil liberty.

There is no excuse,

For how obtuse,

Your fascist zeal,

Makes bad deals.

One long run up,

Since January sun up.

You largely suck,



Winter isn’t coming.

Winter is here.

Cold hardened heart,

Incapable of empathy,

or civility.


Out of touch.

Tone deaf.


of wisdom.

Petulant child putting people at risk.

Those that are sick.

Good people that need jobs.

You are incapable of conquering the demon of yourself.


Pity for you.

Zinging friends and foes,

Anyone opposed.

You have no concept of the higher ideals set forth from founding fathers.

A more perfect union?

If up to you, you’ll bust up unions.

This union.

You can’t make a deal.

You sir, are one big Zemblanity.

Our Zeitgeist’s calamity.

You are the opposite of an alchemist.

Everything you touch,

Turns to orange dust and dung.