The Un-prompt

Don’t push me — no prodding or pummeling.
Don’t try to persuade with your pleasant propaganda. Don’t pursue ME.
Your point is well-taken. Perhaps one day, it’ll be compelling propelling;
I’ll put the pedal to the metal. But if you pick Pick PICK at me much longer,
I’ll punch you in the eye. Your prompt will become an UN-PROMPT.
Psychological pitter-patter, putter mutter, mumbo jumbo —
I DON’T LIKE BEING PUSHED.

BRITISH CROWS GO BRAAWK!

When a Crow speaks, it’s a definite page;
Calling all sensitives – time to engage!
The Crow [plisky] untied his shoelaces.
Is this because he doesn’t know faces?
When a Hawk’s near, the Crows KERFUFFLE!
“Get Away,” they scream feathers a-ruffle.
Long lush green grass, dark feathers akimbo;
Two lustrous Crows dance a jammy limbo.
Big Crow lands on my porch rail, silently
And stares at me — quietly — intently.

GET THEE BEHIND ME, THUG — a rant

When boys collect an assortment of toys
You can guarantee there will be some noise.
A man or an animal quite enjoys
Illusion, subterfuge, they’re backstreet boys —
Employs devious poise, fancy convoys
Rolling down the street, the road, thus destroys
My QUIET with their highfalutin noise!
Oh, they’re nothing but inferior alloys.
Mischief, as a technique, an imp employs
Shattering the illusion of discrete “poise”.
I WISH to snare silence [!] the real McCoys!