Dean Martin's dreams

Hey pallies, one of the totally totally thrillin' parts of seekin' 'n searchin' out Dino-devotion all over the ol' world wide web is the marvelous marvelous many and very very varied wonderful wonderful ways that our most most beloved Dino gets hugely homaged each and every Dino-day, of each and every Dino-month, of each and every Dino-year.  Likes as we so so often sez, we just never ever know when, where, and how our King of Cool will turn up next on the 'net.

Likes today we takes youse to the swank scriber site tagged "The Obsequious Pen" part of a larger pad tagged, "THIRTY-THIRD WHEEL" created and edited  by Miss A. Dawn Pica, who is also the wonderful writer of the powerful poem below that accents our one and only Dino.  To learn more 'bout Miss Pica, simply clicks the link  HERE.

The particular poem is titled "Recline."   We gotta 'fess up that more often then not we don't understand, likes 'specially modern poetry, when we read it.  But, likes even if we ain't quite sure how our Dino fits into what appears to us as random words and phrases, we still coolly celebrate that yet in 'nother ubber unique way our Dino is bein' lovin'ly lifted up and chosen for reverent remembrance.

So, we sez our thank you very much to poetress A Dawn Pica for includin' our most beloved Dino in her poetic prowess!.  Likes one knows that each and every delightful Dino-mention will keeps the Dino-light glowin' 'n growin' ever ever Dino-brighter. To checks this  out in it's original source and to read more of Miss Pica's poetry,  likes simply clicks on the tag of this Dino-gram.

We Remain

Yours In Dino,

Dino Martin Peters

Poetry by A. Dawn is featured for this week’s “The Obsequious Pen.” A. Dawn has been writing poetry since she was eleven-years-old, typing on her teal blue plastic typewriter.  She is inspired by the seemingly mundane in life. Consequently, she feels poetry is a vehicle for condensing all of the random information in her brain into something solid, humorous, and sometimes beautiful.

Recliner

I’m a poet of words

Lacking sympathy

For the empathy

Making face for lemon twist

Gin martinis without

The olive skins

He abandoned his Italian roots

For La Dolce Vita.

I’m a broad,

But not a lady,

I’m too blunt for

Avanti cigars cut clogged

Fumes spit

Hint of lipstick

Pressed idle on

Repeat play

Jukebox 45s,

I’ve heard their wayward

Beach Boy

Stories

1,000 times before and

They are always wrong.

I’m an artist of vision

Cheap huffing glue wisdom,

Abstract concepts

Clear through packaging tape

And happy trees

Are father’s legacy

Long lived

Dean Martin’s dreams

I’ve never full

Filled flask

Coal speaking dialects,

Broken baseball player

I’ve never understood

Why Chick’s Diner coffee

Without sugar

Is not coffee at all?

Without all of that Dollar store

Make up

I am nothing, but

Cleaning house.

Solitaire is my favorite past time.

Please, hand me the remote.

And stop feeling sorry for yourself.