Thursday, June 18, 2009


Many a tale, tall or small,
walk the finest line,
whether blasts about the past
or romances sublime.

The verity of epic lore
suspicious in its nature,
would dazzle all who took the fall
to buy this nomenclature.

Prehistoric cavemen from
one million BC, (no less),
would run like hell, the tales tell,
from Tyrannosaurus Rex.

With arms outstretched the fishermen
from back in early days,
told their stories of the glory
of the one that got away.

And macho guys with made up eyes,
unbuttoned down to there,
would sadly brag ‘bout Babes they’ve bagged
to unbelieving stares.

The fairer sex is not immune
from giving long descriptions
about a guy’s sense of impotence
and little blue prescriptions.

We learn in childhood naiveté,
that enhancing things we’d say,
made the games seem so much better
and much more fun to play.

On summer nights we took delight
in counting endless stars,
we’d guesstimate a million,
but there were so much more by far.

We’d contemplate with broken hearts,
amidst broke-hearted pleas,
and we’re consoled when we are told,
“There’s a million fish in the sea”.

I’m not quite near completion,
of this drawn out explanation,
but if I told you once, I told you nine hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine times,
I hate exaggeration!

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