metaphorcast 43 by a show of

By a show of starter pistols, who’s ready to start?
By a show of incisors who’s unbelievably sharp?
By a show of hands…who has hands?
By a show of ring fingers, who has wedding bands?
By a show of red hands,
how many people have ever been arrested?
By a show of swollen glands,
who in here’s congested?
By a show of hand jobs who’s unemployed?
By a show of crossed arms, who in here’s annoyed?
By a show of permits who carries a handgun?
By a show of smiles, who thinks they’re handsome?
By a show of hands, who in here has a full house,
and who’s bluffing?
By a show of bad hands, who has nothing?
By a show of handcuffs, who’s snitching?
By a sleight of hand, who’s a magician?
By a show of hand sanitizers, who’s a germaphobe?
By a show of Madonna fans, shut up and Vogue.
By a show of unwashed hands,
who didn’t shower today?
By a show of empty hands, who gave it all away?
By a show of shows, who’s remembers Sid Caesar?
By a show of ohs who needs a breather?
By a show of handwriting, what kind of person would write this?
By a show of hands, clap if you liked this.

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metaphorcast 42 brrr

I usually come clever
but today’s metaphorcast
is literally about the weather,
as for some reason the Spring season has the Knack
for being more off track
than My Sherona
as more noses are running in NY
than those in Pamplona.
And these gloves suck –
I’m losing my grips
like when cranes crush
some poor dude stuck under camera falling off dolly,
bad hands like no poker game calls
from Molly.
It would be more fun in Bali,
sure as hell nice and warm,
fingertips more Frozen
than Idina Menzel
iglooed to an ice storm.
So much so,
I’ve been using my own mucus
for writing,
as I’m not sure which cold war
we’re fighting.
Hopefully,
these gusts’ll be gone in June,
just in time for Trumps talk
with Kim Jung Un.
My nuclear pore heads are all stuffy,
slaying more blood cell Counts
than a fed up Buffy,
l’ve decided to try and see this timeframe
through a different lens
as my lips are more chapped
than a crack addict
where the sidewalk ends.
Yknow,
whoever has the biggest snot rocket
the most efficient tissue box
doesn’t always win,
Shoulda stayed in,
I like the cold
as much as Truman liked Stalin,
ready for the insects
to carry ME with their pollen.
My apartment is even running outta Heat
like LeBron to the Cavs
need some Green Curry
on these frosted paths
I’d cross Kohls, stepin hot sauce
just for laughs
This is Scotty T storm
with this week’s metaphorcast!

metaphorcasts 41 fools errands

After the Back to the Future prequel,
Found a buried treasure map on the back
Of winning lotto ticket, an eagle
On a par two, a tooth pulled with no plaque.
Looked for Schrödinger’s cat inside a jack
In the box and played a dog whistle for
Some cynophobic eatin franks 4 a snack
Hoping vampires would burst thru the door
Expecting to suck somebody’s blood,
Right after the transfusion, but before
Referees started a fight with the judge,
And mudwrestlers began moppin the floor
Nobody like what I wrote here today,
Damnit, missed the 1st, posting anyway!

Trip to vegetarian meat market,
Hieroglyphics copied over in braille,
Electric car with no where to park it,
Bruce Jenner isn’t receiving the mail.
Sisyphus enjoying some rock and roll,
Illegal immigrants sent back in time,
Donut eating contest in black hole,
Energizer Bunny anesthetized.
Stereo sound in the flotation tank,
Orthopedist’s skeletons in closet,
Feminist pulling his junk out to yank,
A eunuch makes a sperm bank deposit.
Nobody knows which was read and rated,
A like for this is appreciated.

#acrostic sconnettts

metaphorcast 40 hannibal moses

An ante-antideluvian luge,
Floods McKenzie’s chewing
gumshoeless cruise
is an ankle short of full Jesus views.
If a king missteps what rule will he lose,
so that when it rains reigns,
pores start to fuse
with royal teas, an h, 2 o’s, and queues,
for missed cues scratching pool tables for clues
caught snatching these q and a’s from the news:
quasi-modems exchanging waves
for truths,
auxiliary cable bills to be used
by lame ducks who make plans
no one approves
and quacks who diagnose ghosts
with the blues.
Ballet dancers board 2 by 2 tu-tus
4-story arks; resolution ensues.
⛵⛵⛵⛵⛵⛵⛵⛵⛵⛵⛵ #sconnettts

metaphorcasts 36-39 apologee strings

I.
It’s been a long time coming,
maybe I shouldn’t.
That’s in reference
to more than just my dick,
Have I been one,
said I wouldn’t?

Red leather. Yellow leather,
Tongue twister sister blisters,
friends wanting more-resisters.
Pissed some people off,
but never been a bed wetter,
all cause I can turn a phrase
quicker than Vanna turns a letter,

but I can also do better.
Be better.
Cut the crap, what a stinker.
Here’s me putting on my blinker.
Check the side,
check the rear.
Turning point for me
was King Lear.

I played Edmund
and art imitated life.
I broke bad. I awoke sad.
I messed up my engagement
and lost a wife.

We worked out, but didn’t work out.
I tried to fix it and hurt others
in the process.
Holding both mine
and their emotions hostage.
Sorry doesn’t always cut it.
A dull blade,
a scissor-less kick to the curb,
a line phobic poet
who strays far from the point
when unnerved.

Fine friends with the ex,
but she more often than not
wants nothing to do with me,
A short fuse, loose grips,
platonic water that once shaken
she flips
like beer pong cups
and irate gymnasts.

I accept our forever separation
tried reparation, but she erupts.
Nevertheless
I finally forgive myself
for my part in fucking up.

II.
Dated happily ever after,
good people.
Honest and wonderful people.
Intelligent, Hilarious, Mindful. Beautiful, People.
A figure eight
of infinitely positive adjectived
people.

Not sure who
they most often got to see
but deserving of the better me.
A lover, a bookworm, a poet, a person. A charming prince.
on a quest
to be the best ever since.

Without promising something more,
I’ve explored.
I’ve stored firecrackers and dyna-mighty mega-moons. TNTeases, explosive painless grenadians,
and phdelightning bolts
before meeting my match.
Wrongs to write,
I wait and see
Feeling genuine love for each
ignites them all and me.

III.
I came back from almost paradise
with a bad sunburn
I shed my skin upon return.

I didn’t mean to hurt
any one who I have touched
or who’s touched me,
by exclusions, delusions
or by leaning on
who’s been a crutch for me.
But seriously, it scares me
wondering if she’s family?
So I have these three wishes
from my genie-ology.

1. To not be related,
but maybe in the future.
2. Moms don’t die so young.
3. Parents not stricken with pain.

IV.
So in this apologeestring theory
the voiceless have voices
there are no more sorries
as everyone
is together with everyone else
because everyone has already made,
yes the worst,
but now the best choices,

kept making mistakes
but have learned
from their mistakes,
let’s them know
when they are not well
and perfectly fine
before heart breaks.

Because there were fights
there are no fights now,
Discord are now accordions,
and Suzy likes Bob, Mom and Wow!
The ugliest thoughts
are now glamorous
Sex is simultaneously monogamous
and polyamorous,
missteps are moving walkways everlasting.
the starving are full and the gluttonous fasting.

Opposites have attracted opposites,
but also one and the sames,
The ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTIVWXYZ’s contain nobody in particular,
but also all your names.
Parallel lives intersect
regrets forgotten
and dissing morphs
into mutual respect.

Sorry. Not Sorry.
We clean up the messes we make.
I love you I love you
with never a capacity to hate.

We still are, we never did,
we stay friends,
fall hard, have kids, marry, fuck, date?

We keep order or go out of line,
This is Scotty T Storm metsphorcasting
an apologee-string
theory of the mind.

metaphorcast 35 i of a storm

the following poem was written in 2011 immediately following the huhbub surrounding Irene

​”Okay,
so there once was this big,
scary hurricane
or maybe it was a tropical storm…
basically
a little drizzle dribble
came and went
trains stopped,
concerts were cancelled
and oh, yeah,
a few billion dollars were spent.

Can’t we just raise
the wet ceiling
and stop all this whining?
Stupid clouds.
Look at the silver lining!
I caught up on the latest season of Weeds and had nothing but fun,
got to play Twister
with my friends
without being swooped up in one.
Sure a few musicians
missed their gigs,
trees fell
and some flights were delayed,
but I played cards, walked dogs
and got laid in spades.
We’re New Yorkers-
that storm was a joke!!!
I’ve had stronger winds
come out my ass
after a meatloaf!!!”

Woh.
Take a breath.
Let your ego drain
and let’s have a moment of violins
for those who’ve died in rain.
Floods, mud and melee
44 people drown
say what you will about FEMA,
Bloomberg did not fiddle around.

Go go gadget go bags
and leave your apartment uptown,
evacuate the area
before the subways
shut
down.
(Watch the closing doors)

“What?! You gotta A C D 1 2 3
J M Z B kidding me?”
tu ra loo ra tu rah loo ra aye
C’mon Irene…is that all you got
We’ve been through earthquakes, blackouts and a terrorist plot.

C’mon Irene, I’m sorry but my heart strings were not sufficiently tugged,
been shot at beat up and Louisville slugged.

Oh, C’mon Irene,
I wanted real cyclones
in Coney Island
and mermaids manning subs,
Rock Cats to beat Thunder and Mets
to lightning strike out Cubs.

And please, all these warnings
didn’t exactly help,
I was more irritated
by the coverage of the storm
than that of the storm itself”

Buddy, hold your horse n carriages
and get down
from your big apple box.
Even though very few of YOUS
actually own a car,
you fled in droves
via different route,
carpools overflowing
before the storm followed suit.
For some the only sun seen
was a streaker
flopping pants-less
on the TV screen.
Millions of kings in Queens without power, flowers deflowered and athletes with no showers
at their neighborhood Y’s.

No place to refrigerate
entire grocery lists
for a struggling family of five.
Construction workers
were cat-calling in sick
and vacationers
who may or may not have been
on psychedelics
postponed trips,
with other Jersey Shore residents
besides Snookie–
getting hardest hit.
There were
starving pizza delivery dudes saving slices for themselves,
and hedge fund owners
unable to charge cell-phones,
laser pointers
and electric toothbrushes.
Insurance agents
under double umbrellas
and dogs wearing rain coats.
Rich and poor
haves and have nots
all in the same boat.

Each sliding rainBows
across bridges
in a symphonic bond
with those foreclosed on.

For some it was
a new lease on life,
beautifully composed
through an orchestra
of wood windshield wipes,
a soothing song
for all those lost
bodies floating
in bodies of water
that had been torrentially tossed.

Harps lifting
soul after soul from the muck
sax and violins
as more music erupts.
Melodies overflow
notes pass away and we’re touched.

The beat drops. The water stops,
lest we never forget
all those
eternally resting wet veterans.

Hazel Hugo and Besty
Andrew Audrey Agnes
Edna Ike and Fran
Camille Carol Charley
Beulah Katrina Diane.

Bhola Galveston Nina Pauline
Ivan, Kenna, (Irma)
Irene.

metaphorcast 34 celebrace yourself

What’ll you do this year during…

Plaque History Month

Irritability Month

Depreciation Appreciation Month

National Memory Loss Rememberance…Week?

Super Vision Awareness-Awareness Month

National Hebrew National Month

Agnosia Unawareness Month

Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Envy, Wrath, Sloth and Pride Pride Month

Month Prevention Month ??

metaphorcast 33 scoreless

Can’t skip the rough and tumble,
floats like a margarine eclipse stings like a bumble. oDrws and toghtsu a jumble.

It’s a diagonal diagnosis
with a replacement hypnosis. There’s lions and tigers and bears, oh mitosis.
A Scalia scoliosis.
Ho ho hocus pocus,
disappear Scrotal SCOTUS.
The final modus. Vinyl lotus. Little Redding Otis’
brittle wedding notices.
Nobody notices notices.
Random ransom notes kidnapped by kids napping.
The sound of one glan snapping.

Why should darkness win?
Not scared of
being towed
or not paying the meter,
but the other parking sins.
Oh brother dreading the tred
will we be flippers or fins?
Get a grip…more like orphans.
Knocked out of the park,
but he’s into the Parkinsons.
A few knots, a few spots.
Doowah ditty, ditty dum
heredity do or heredity do not.
The genetic tic boomerang
doesn’t have to ring so fast.

This is Scotty T Storm with this week’s Metaphorcast.

metaphorcast 32 connect

connect 4 score and some odd seconds ago I evened out, up a jumping bean stalk. Take a walk on the mild, medium or hot side, salsa dancing dirty with Swayze, Patrick and Squidward, but what about Sponge Bob? Planetarium mumbling My Very Entertaining Mother Serves Us Nine Placebos. Placebo knows this and placebo knows that, but what it doesn’t know is the difference between “IT” and “IT’s”. It’s a shame its raining but IT’s red curly hair is kind of like a makeshift umbrella, IT’s shoes sort of two miniature submarines, and IT’s nose, a reminder it’s okay to be scared if it’s just a movie you’re watching.

connect the dotted i’s at the beginning of sentences and you’ll find your lower case closed.

conneckted two giraffes tether to a kiss.

connect the cable, phone and internet.

connect with each other and to the moon and the stars. connect .

metaphorcast 31 luke warm

Better than Vader
I’ve never seen a dark side.
Jedi of the tiger
to my lion’s pride,
in lieu of ever yelling
I’ve more often seen him cry.

So soft spoken now,
we Scrabble in silence
and talk sports over chicken.
I hold doors, take out his trash
and lift heavy things; pay for lunch,
plan trips
and some of the fun.
A son yet to become father
as father becomes son.

Back in NY I spot a dad
leading his young daughter
down a train platform
but I’m the one
a little lost
needing to tie my shoe.

Why do I do what I do?
If I forget who I am
who could I be?

A child bouncing on his knee
would give my dad
a renewed sense of purpose,
but what would it do to me?

Why’m I sadder today
than on Mother’s Day,
when I’ve already lost a mother
and a fiance?

I guess even with a dad in Florida and a mom no longer here to see
I still have part of the power
for a dad to appear in me.

But it hasn’t happened yet.
The giddy ups and down of upset.
In 2, 3, 5…why bet?
This is Scotty T Storm
trying to metaphorcast
a wide net.