Monthly Archives: July 2012


Some folks fear spiders, the dark, or piranhas.

Some fear the color blue.

Some folks fear heights, ducks, and iguanas,

But how will a duck hurt you?


Yet many more people live in fear of their needs,

So they miss out on what life has offered.

They miss new beginnings, they don’t plant their seeds,

And their lives turn out not how they proferred.


So don’t worry about clothing, wrinkling and splotching,

And ask what questions abound.

Why don’t you ask out that person you’re watching?

(No matter how creepy that may sound).


Say “Yes” to life, and you’ll find ample luck!

Go ahead and live like you wanna!

Do what makes you happy, and don’t give a…

(And then I was attacked by an iguana).

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An Insecure Request

Erm, hey there everybody.

I’d like to say something.

Though I understand if you don’t want to hear it.

If you’re bored, just do your thing.


So, well… I’ll be gone

Tomorrow, away from internet.

Thus there won’t be a post,

Unless it’s something you really want to get.


I’m really very terribly sorry

To say this to you.

(Actually that’s BS)

And until Tuesday, toodaloo!

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Patron Saints

The patron saints are holy folk

Who represent a thing.

They really are some diverse blokes

Who don’t wear too much bling.


The patron saint of beggars

Is named Saint Nickeless.

The patron saint of guys without cucumbers

Is named Saint Pickeless.


The patron saint of sports cars

Is named, for some reason, Jen.

She drove her car into a tree

And saw how a Mercedes bends.


The patron Saint of mummies

Is bound to be uptight.

The patron Saint of lanterns

Went on a diet.  Now he’s light.


The patron Saint of music

Threw a piano down a mine.

He found, at the bottom, A-flat minor.

The Saint of taxes thought it was fine.


But throughout time, the Patron Saint

Of unemployed cowboys hasn’t changed,

But I think he’s rather senile

‘Cause like his subjects, he’s deranged.


Now please excuse me readers,

This poem’s for the birds.

I think I’ll write a film adaptation.

It’ll be a play on words!

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Dramatic Drive

‘Twas evening, after sunset,

And it was dark outside,

Without natural light save from the stars.

I was going for a ride.


I was riding in a car

That had four round, black wheels

And electronic fuel injection,

Like the cars of Navy Seals.


I am not a navy seal,

But the anecdote worked.

And as I drove, I saw a stop light,

And I realized I was furked.


I slammed on my brakes to stop,

But I slammed much too late.

I burned up my round black tires, yes,

Before I crashed into fate.


Fortunately, in this case

Fate was on its lunch break.

Basically I just drove at night, but

This was a more int’resting take.

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An Open Letter (in Haiku) to Rebecca Black


Dear Rebecca Black,

This note is addressed to you.

Thus the line above.


I would like to say

Your song Friday changed my life.

Let me count the ways:


I never slowed down

To sing about my routine

‘Fore I go to school.


I had never thought

About which seat I should take.

Front or back?  Which one?


I also did learn

That people like partying

On the weekends, yeah!


Let us not forget

That Thursday’s what comes before

Friday.  What a fact!


Thus this letter ends.

With my profound gratitude,

Signed David Kappele



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He sees, She sees

I see blue, she sees puce.

I see green, she sees chartreuse.

I see yellow, she sees sunrise.

Ah, how I wonder what’s wrong with her eyes.


I see black, she sees monochrome.

I see white, she sees moonstone.

I see red, she sees vermillion.

I see purple, she agrees, and I say “Thanks a million.”


I see gold, she sees wedding ring.

I see silver, she sees bumblebee wing.

I see brown, she sees a dark tan.

So to paint your house orange, you should hire a man.


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How to be Liked

The very best way,

A kitten would say

As it cuddled a puppy by the TV,

To get a like on a post

Is to fill it, not to boast,

With things that are liked by the majority.


Relaxing and flowers,

April and May showers,

And having all your limbs intact

Are often good choices,

So raise up your voices

And pander to the public.  In fact…


This strategy here

Is held near and dear

To the hearts of most modern politicians.

But politics will

Your interest, kill

And with that, this poem comes to fruitions.

(Or not, if you don’t want it to).

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