The Invisible Man

The Invisible Man

Is he real or is it mass hysteria?
Jewelers, traders and bank tellers
claim to have seen him in the area.
Beware you buyers and sellers.

Sixteen banks were robbed at gunpoint
all by a nobody, wearing a moustache.
Jewelers say he was casing the joint,
then thieving gold, silver and cash.

One has to wonder when your name implies,
that you are indeed, actually transparent
why you would have to wear a disguise.
That just seems incoherent.

Is it then fair, for one to conclude,
aside from the furry nose glass
that you rob the banks in the nude?
Sure a good thing we can’t see your….

I’m not sure which is better
for the front page fodder:
Are you The Invisible Swindler
or the Full Moon Marauder?

For Illustration Friday’s Topic: Moustache

“Bubbles The Snitch”

“Bubbles The Snitch”
(In the style of a commercial jingle)

Plop, plop, fizz fizz,
You’s in trouble, yes you is.
Oh “Bubbles,” you’re such a rotter.
How’s it down there in the water?

You and your brothers
are quite the bothers.
All you stool pigeons
must pay for your sins.
It’s not so nice
to tattle to vice,
now you ain’t got no brass
to cover your ass.

Plop, plop, fizz fizz,
You’s in trouble, yes you is.
Bet you are hoping for wishes,
How is it sleeping with the fishes?

You’re  in such a snitching rut,
can’t just keep it shut?
It’s ok, it’s no sweat.
Everyone will soon forget.
No protection and no fame,
we’ll even have to change your name.
They’ll never know if you were poor or rich,
only that you were “Bubbles The Snitch”

Plop, plop, fizz fizz,
You’s in trouble, yes you is.
Snitch snitch, what a snake,
how’s the bottom of the lake?

For Illustration Friday’s: Under Water

Pierre “Pie” Pierce

Happy Pi Day

Pierre “Pie” Pierce

Sing a song of sixpence,
a pocket full of rye.
three point one four inch saw,
baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened,
Inmates began to shout;
hacking at the jail bars,
sawing, breaking out.

The warden, in his office,
sleeping all the day;
till alarms went ringing,
they ran to get away.

Sing a song of six men,
running for their lives,
with the help from a baker,
who sent them several knives.

The baker is off baking,
a P.I. showed at his door,
asking lots of questions,
on and on, forever more.

Packing up the truck,
apple, plum and grape
off to county prison,
to plan the next escape.

Carry pies carefully,
wipes his glasses clear.
Stands up straight and tall,
and puts on his face of cheer.

The baker meets the guard,
with a glimmer in his eye,
I’ll ask you once again, Sir,
What is in the pie?

Illustration Friday: “Eye Glasses”

“Crow” McCay

“Crow” McCay

Perched up on the telephone pole,

sits a quiet, lonely soul.

Waiting, watching silently,

before swooping down violently.

In this town, there’s no lost-and-found

“Crow” picks up goodies dropped on the ground.

Coins, and jewels that folks may drop,

he can see it all from way up top.

Collecting and scavenging, keeping a stash

then off to the “Crow Bar” to spend his cash.

Just a common thief, a lonely birder,

working alone, avoiding things like murder.

First to the street before the sweepers,

finders keepers, losers weepers.

Illustration Friday: “Lonely”

Senor Suspendador

Señor Suspendador

Scoot, Scurry, Scramble!

Sue Spence spawns similar swinging swindler!

Sadly, seven souls site scamming situations.

Shoppers suspect shoplifting; some see stealing.

Suspended somewhere, swings Señor Suspendador.

Señor’s sneaky scheme sidesteps security systems.

Señor skips surveillance, skillfully simulating shadows.

Six savings storehouses succumb. Stickup, stickup!

Scared salary savers stampede, silver stockers scream!

Señor skips showily, stashing stolen savings.

Señor Suspendador slights Sue Spence, saying,

“Señor’s scamming surpasses Sue!

Suckers!”

For Illustration Friday’s: Suspend

‘Fraidy Freddy

‘Fraidy Freddy

‘Fraidy Freddy, always ready

for pop up, criminal plots.

‘Fraidy Freddy, never steady,

flinching at potential shots.

‘Fraidy Freddy, soft and thready,

adjusting his binoculars.

‘Fraidy Freddy, nerves so heady,

watching all passing cars.

‘Fraidy Freddy, sleeps with a Teddy,

and sometimes keeps the light lit.

‘Fraidy Freddy, hiding in bed, he

knows someone’s secret.

‘Fraidy Freddy,  goes by Eddie,

Harold, Murphy and Sam.

‘Fraidy Freddy, a new name already,

in witness protection program.

 

For Illustration Friday: “Secret”

Judge Atticus

Judge Atticus

(In the style of Jeremy Irons)

Oh, Judge Atticus, appointed for life.

Must be nice to be free from strife.

Trials in and trials out,

you seemingly judge without a doubt.

But we wonder why mob bosses run free.

Could it be, you’ve taken a fee?

Even when couples come to court to be hitched,

it seems as though you become more enriched.

The gavel comes down on a poor man, blamed.

Yet everyone knows that he’s surely been framed.

They say justice should be objective and blind.

The latter is covered, with glasses of that kind.

But the scales you carry do not weigh facts.

They weigh something green, let’s call it a “tax.”

For Illustration Friday‘s: “Hitched”

Detective Burkes

Detective Burkes

Lament the story of Detective Burkes.

Long hours in the field and behind the desk.

Prickly puzzles loom, unsolved cases grow,

yet on, he moves to close them one by one.

Burkes solved the case of the burned post office.

He spent days getting out of the blackmail.

The man who was shot with no entry wounds,

was finally solved as an inside job.

A donut or three and cups of coffee

help him persist when others are asleep.

“Save us!” they all yell, when troubles arise.

Then Pig, Scum and Bacon, spitefully spewed.

The poor, the beaten yet so gallant knight,

a brave, lone sailor in a sea of corrupt.

The rumpled detective, a dying breed,

humble silent solver, Detective Burkes.

For Illustration Friday’s “Puzzle”

Agatha Finch

Agatha Finch

Slow, Yield, Stop!

Swell, even the traffic is paid off.

Westbound gets privileges over Southbound.

Eastbound just has to wait for everyone.

Twenty clams for a right turn,

your first born child for a left.

Only a sap would think to mention a U-turn.

Agatha directs traffic at 3rd and Broadway,

only the most jumpin’ part of town.

It’s more like a tollbooth than it is an intersection.

Someone gets a little bit of authority

and it takes you seven right turns to make a left.

She used to work at the State Street bridge but

if people didn’t pay, up went the bridge as they crossed.

They nick named her the Bridge Troll.

So, need I say it again:

Slow, Yield, Stop!

(For Illustration Friday: “Yield”)

The Milkman

The Milkman

Make sure to leave your empty bottles on the step,

or he will have to make a special, second visit.

Oh, and you butter rinse out them bottles, will ya, please?

Don’t fret with that old saying about running away with the milkman.

No running will be involved; he only drags people away.

His English is, how do you say, not so good.

I think he might be from MosCow.

Make sure you get plenty of fluids, and drink all that he leaves,

or there will be tears cried over spilled milk.

In fact, you might be buried in dirt pasteurize.

I don’t know if this milkman works for the mob,

but he sure ain’t like the udder ones.

(For Illustration Friday: “Fluid”)