Happy Days Poem by Dave SmithWhite

Happy Days



My mama and my papa and my old black dog;
Living all together in the house of hog.
House of the piglet. House of the swine.
These were my summer days,
Of stewed juice apple wine.

My mama and my papa and my bland mental fog.
Living in a toxic swamp, in both quicksand and in bog.
The drama and the karma, wide eyed with face agog,
Like llamas in pyjamas who don their wooden clogs.

My mama and my papa and my old black hound,
Miming to grand opera in the basement underground.
Smoking marijuana in a calmer state profound:
A slow and sombre samba for the trauma all around.

My mama and my papa and my old black cur.
Scoffing plates of pasta like a starving connoisseur.
Draining steins of grappa till our vision became blurred.
Dreaming of a long lost past that forever is absurd.

My mama and my papa and my old black mutt;
Going quietly crazy with their son a Zappa nut.
With mothers of invention there was tension in the hut;
And I gave a new dimension to the insane airs I cut.

My mama and my papa and my old black dog;
All with cabin fever in our dwelling place of log.
My mama and my papa and my old black pooch,
Swilling jugs of kava and drinking homemade hooch.

My mama and my papa and my old black dog;
And I'll be on my 'uppers' with a cuppa tea and grog.
House of the porker. House of the boar.
These were the winter days,
In our lockdown years of yore!

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A nonsense poem!
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