I give all

my spoils to

the victor.

***

But what of you

the reader?

***

Who do you

give your

spoils to?

.

(Fill in answer here):_____________________.

Hard to believe

there was a time when

man believed the

earth was triangular.

***

Strictly speaking, of course,

I don’t mean

ALL of man.

***

Not even some of man.

***

Really, just this one—

***

Larry Triangles.

---

---

I used to keep a diary.

But I was so worried

somebody might read it,

I began lying in it.

Though I tried to keep it in check,

later, I published

it under the title:

***

My Perilous Journey to the North Pole.

*

---

---

Trefology thanks

you for reading,

writing

& arithmetic.

Sometimes I like

to stroll through

graveyards with

a notebook, writing

down the names of

people I might

want to hang out

with— someday.

*

---

Last week, I visited my dad high up in the mountains of Northern California.
He brought out a small box of cassettes he’d found while going through his closet—songs he recorded in the 1960s and ’70s, most thought lost. A previous box of recordings was destroyed during his last move—hours of songs and holiday reels, when he’d let the tape run all day, catching stray bits of conversation from relatives long gone. Then, at some point, someone would grab a guitar, a tambourine, an armadillo and the family would gather ’round the piano to play the old songs late into the night.

Anyway, somehow, these particular tapes got separated.
Fortunately for us.

So we spent the day listening.
A few of the songs hadn’t been played since they were recorded, nearly sixty years ago. Maybe played once for the family and then tossed in the box.

From time to time, I’ll post another here—starting with I Can’t Believe I’m in Love. Recorded with the cheapest drum machine available at the time, which my dad named Randy and speaks to in a Liverpudlian accent (“I was going for Scottish,” he admits.)

Be that as it may, it’s a catchy little song. I love it.
But of course I do.
I think some of you may as well.

Thanks,
I remain,
geo. RAYMOND

---

I Can’t Believe I’m in Love

by George J. Raymond

copyright 2025

---

---

*

‘Cause when I saw her, she saw me

She saw more than I could say.

And I can’t believe I’m in love

Mama you know I am always going to

be your boy. But oh, what a joy

And when I kissed her she kissed me

Like always my face turned red

And we jumped right into the bed

Mama you know I am always going

to be your boy. But oh what a joy

Now don’t cry, I’ve never lied

I’ve tried but I’ve never lied

Please tell me what to do, she

reminds me of you

(whistle break)

---

Pop listening to the songs long unheard

My mom says one morning

she opened the door to

take out the empty milk

bottles and found me in a

basket on her doorstep.

She said, pinned to my

pajama collar was a note

that said, “Mrs. Raymond—

This is your baby.

Please stop leaving

it on my doorstep.”

.

---

.

My friends always make

fun of my eye-glasses

with little windshield

wiper blades on them.

***

But, I know I couldn’t

be the only one who

reads in the shower.

***

Still, I wonder —

***

would my friend still be

laughing

if I shoved these glasses so

far up their ass that they’re

begging to own a pair, too?

***

My guess would be no.

.

---

Cartoon characters

can survive being

shot in the face,

blown up by dynamite,

and falling from

tremendous heights.

So to hear Elmer Fudd

died during a simple

appendectomy procedure

makes no sense to me.

.

---

The gangster got up

and walked into the next

room. But when he got

there he could no longer

remember why he got up.

***

“That’s the Doorway Effect.”

said Sancho, laughing.

“Just come back in the room.

Sit down. And the idea will

return to you.”

***

So the gangster did. And as

soon as he did he remembered.

***

“Oh yeh! Get the gun. Kill Sancho.”

.

I’m thinking about

the things we used

to do that rhymed.

***

Like, practice gymkata.

***

Get the stigmata.

***

Make some frittatas …

***

Eat quite a-lotta.

***

Yes, I’m thinking about

the things we used

to do that rhymed.

.