Monthly Archives: April 2013

The Monster’s Bad Day

I hide under your bed,
And I listen to you sleep.
I’m a hairy, hungry monster,
And a very scary creep.

I slide from under the mattress
And I long to hear your screams,
But as I lean over your face
My pants year at the seams.

Well I cover up my booty
And composure I regain.
Then I step on a Lego
And my mind goes numb from pain.

I stumble back and bite my tongue
And try to silent be.
Then your eyes flap open
And you take a look at me.

It seems bizarre to you,
So you think it’s a nightmare.
So you fall asleep, and I silently scream:
“This monster’s life ain’t fair.”

So I slink back to the ground
And crawl back beneath your bed.
Tomorrow I’ll do better.
Tomorrow you’ll be dead….

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Thank You!

I have great news
To share with yous.
(That’s the travesty plural of you).
We’ve hit a milestone
Of our very own.
Our followers are one hundred and two!

Many thanks to you,
Who make dreams come true,
This blog’s no longer B-team.
I thank my stars
For “Monkey Bars.”
Acceptable this I do deem.

So what does lay
For the future day
Of the Daily Travesty?
Quite possibly
And more humorous stuff by me.

And around the bend,
Near the end
Of the year 2013.
I may just have a book,
So come back for a look.
‘Twill be something to be seen.

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I’m tired of B-team,
But that’s who I am.
I’m a win-silver human,
A second-place Sam.

I’m tired of B-team,
The farm team, the student.
I’m sick of “you’ll get there.”
“Stick with it.” “Be prudent.”

I’m tired of B-team,
Backup, JV.
I’m ready for bigger,
To live and to be.

I’m tired of B-team,
But I’ll change how I see.
I’m not best at that,
But I’m the very best me.

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I smoked an aspirin once
While I was riding on a train.
I saw iridescent rainbows
And a world devoid of pain.

Then I smoked Viagra,
And man was that a joy!
I grew just like Pinocchio.
I felt like a real boy.

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Technically Accurate

If a necktie were a seagull
And shirts resembled chili,
Then pants look like a beagle
And business men look silly.

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They set up the board
In four neat lines.
The kings they ward
Through strength of minds.

White moves his pawn,
Then black does too.
The game rolls on.
The kings stand true.

First blood is drawn
By a charging knight.
The queen takes pawn,
And bishops fight.

The rook takes knight
Then pawn kills pawn.
Black fights white.
The kings carry on.

After an hour
And a twist of fate,
The queen shows her power
And that’s checkmate.

The players stand.
The battle is done,
And both are winners,
For both had fun.

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Shopping… Of Sorts

If go to the sign of the naked duck,
You’ll see some gals you want to befriend.
If you feel that you could use a suck,
There’s a vacuum shop around the bend.

If you want to get more “bang” for your buck,
I got a place for you, bub.
It’s a little place called the “Cluck cluck cluck,”
‘Cause it’s a chicken-strip club.

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Once again I write to you,
As this poet is prone to do,
To try to change the point of view
That nobody is perfect.

So close your eyes and breathe in.
Then open them so you can read again.
Here’s my theory. There’s just one sin:
The judgement of imperfect.

“You fail, she’s ugly, he’s vulgar, I’m bad.”
According to what? Why make yourself sad?
Life is happening as it always had.
Life is always perfect.

“Why is there evil? Pleasure and pain?”
“Why is there sadness, which falls with the rain?”
Why think these thoughts? What do you have to gain?
Instead, think “This is Perfect.”

Now maybe I’m wrong, and life’s simply crappy.
Maybe you enjoy being unhappy!
You think (with good reason) this poem is sappy.
I accept those reactions as perfect.

But I hope you’ll at least give this viewpoint a try.
This change in your thinking brings blue to the sky.
You will watch your blessings multiply.
Smile! Why not?
You’re perfect.

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Read This Poem… I Dare You

Shelly shivers several shivers
By the side of the seashore.
She sees the sheen of seal-shaped seashells.
(A scene unforeseen for sure).
She’s a shy shaking searcher,
Seeking several shining shells,
‘Cause she sure supports herself
Through seal-shaped seashells she sure sells.

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The Most Dangerous Game

Someone once asked, “What would be more dangerous: Slapping a bear on the face, or slapping an elk on the chest?” May this poem be your answer.

If you slap a bear across the face
It will probably break your bones.
It will maul you, bruise you, make you bleed,
And smash your freakin’ phone!

But if you slap an elk across the chest
It will more than end your life,
‘Cause that elk knows where you live,
And he’ll kidnap your wife.

Truth is stranger than fiction.

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