The Tibbs vs. the Honorable Vicar De Brite

His large face glows, large jowls falling, a faint sound comes from his rear. It’s morning time, a day left to find, by Satan he so needs a beer. Mr. Tibbs looks to his wife, his mouth open, his life, this treasure of tears. This joyless mate, in dubious fate, her sermons lasting for years. Mr. Tibbs ruminates time will last onward, their conjugal life immortal he fears, then his watch stops, a thought by a clock, Mrs. Tibbs approaches with “dear”.

Mrs. Tibbs a woman remanding, this man so ignorant she sneers, but on her mind, a diamond at Steins, the way forward is reasonably clear. She has a plan, around her large man, she twinkles and brings her long face up austere. It seems Mrs. Tibbs will fix dinner, a meal to talk of for years, and in her invite the Vicar De Brite will join the couple with cheer. They’ll eat and talk of G-D’s goodness, and what thus bounty they own, and then in respite, as the candles grow light, Mrs. Tibbs will bring all to tears.

The clock it coos six of nothing, the door knocker, knocks so clear, and there in a sight his frock bold black right, stands one Vicar held dear. The Tibbs twitter and make up, they smile as lovers for years, and when they eat, their napkins kept neat, the Vicar prays happiness here.

Mr. Tibbs falls for entrapment, he leaps his conscience unclear, for into her hands both fool and G-D’s man a trap by Mrs. Tibbs nears. The woman talks of misfortune, of orphans she’s heard of in Zaire, if only a gift from those such as this, they’d eat for surely a year. Her mouth moves in fore motion, her mind arranges the spear, while Mrs. Tibbs soars, the Vicar ignores, the woman has moved him to tears.

And then…………….

Mr. Tibbs groans his world burly, for once it’s nothing of beer. Mrs. Tibbs to his right has talked near all night, a fund for orphans not near. The Vicar De Brite, cries in delight, when Mrs. Tibbs makes her donation so clear. Her old diamond and keepsake, the one she’s cherished for years, will leave her sight with the Vicar that night, the spirit of giving appears.

Mrs. Tibbs her cheeks like a ruby, Mr. Tibbs his face stark and clear, the evening in play, he’s losing his way, for in truth he never could steer. Mrs. Tibbs she sobs in her napkin, her diamond of life she holds clear, and then as her plan she looks at both men, and says something must replace love so dear.

Mr. Tibbs he walks with a wiggle, the spear unseen in his rear, for on this night, he’s lost to his wife, a wit of marital sphere. He leaves the room unhappy, his reason unspeakably clear, the Vicar’s been played, but what can he say, his wallet will be lighter for years.

His large face glows, large jowls falling, a faint sound comes from his rear. – 10.09.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Unsinkable Tibbs

Our Mr. Tibbs he has a great problem, she sits behind him at the boat stern. Talking you see, incessantly, Mrs. Tibbs has nothing to learn. Their vows have lasted a lifetime, in hell it’s lasted since born, and what it would be, he thinks decadently to lose her life in a storm. They paddle on without fighting, a rare uncommon reprieve. In largesse frames, both gluttons, for pain, a tie that Satan can’t free. They row to fish for a mullet, he thinks he has him a plan, so far from the shore, he’ll tip with the oar, and send his wife into a jam.

Mrs. Tibbs is not fond of swimming, in fact she never has swam. The bathtub you see is as closest to be, of her aquarium exam. She’s a woman high with her feelings, a madam who speaks of her mind, what seed she does sow, comes back always owed, her favors will always be damned. The lady is light with her tributes, a woman heavy with hand, better to be, feared in creed, a demon, much better than mam’m. Mrs. Tibbs believes nothing of virtue especially that of her man, she’s watching him now, his head at the bow, she knows there’s something a plan.

Mr. Tibbs his brow is on fire, a sweat that boils from a gland, he’s nervous you see, because it might be, his missus has guessed at his plan. He rows with a roar toward the cattails, he needs a drowning near sand. Whatever will be, he stoutly believes his time of freedom at hand. Mrs. Tibbs she questions his direction, even more she points at the land, “you dummy you see there’s no fish to be, in those weeds the breadth of your hand.”

The boat it enters the rushes, the sky hangs low over land, time it has come, to loosen the sum of what hell has christened in man. Mr. Tibbs he shakes with a sorrow, he brings his oar ready to be, and then such a light the boat comes still too tight, run ashore quiet even with land. Mrs. Tibbs she laughs in a chortle, hells couple has rumbled again, what happened will be until destiny weaves to try trouble tomorrow once again.

A moon it lights on the landing, the world moves after all. The Tibbs they do sit, the boat at the slip, their love without reason at all. Tomorrow comes with a new day, a chance to define an end, it is after all a probable call of weather and storm and a wind.

Our Mr. Tibbs he has a great problem, she sits behind him at the boat stern. – 08.10.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל