I kept climbing mountains
Even after I went blind.
Sure, the view was nothing much
But now instead I find
The mountain tells me stories
That I can read in braille.
Sure, they can be predictable
But they have such great detail!
Category Archives: Poems
“Andrew’s Shirtless Chest Glistened Under The Golden Sun. He Placed His Hands On My…” Crap… That’s The Summit
Filed under Poems
The Heart Of Man
Sometimes when you look at me
Wide-eyed, uncertain,
The endless doubt and weariness fade
And I hold your hand softly
And kiss you gently;
My whole ego becomes weightless
And I know that I have you
And I don’t deserve you
And I would die a thousand times
To be with you just an hour more.
Sometimes when you look at me
Silently, deeply,
I know exactly how your heart
Is full of warm Summer breezes
And hibernating mammals
Warm in each others’ embrace
Beneath a cold, uncaring world.
Sometimes when you look at me
Gently, longingly,
I wonder how on earth
A stacked team like Rams
Can lose to the freakin’ 49ers in primetime;
Then I try to look at your tits
Without you noticing.
I can’t.
This is what it means to be a man.
Filed under Poems
If Academic Papers Were Haikus: An Unnecessarily Wordy Inquiry Into The Five Syllable, Seven Syllable, Five Syllable Metric Pattern Of Japanese Poetry Because My Professor Assigned A 500-Word Paper (Please Don’t Check My Margins Or Change The Font Color)
A haiku has five
Syllables, and then seven
On the second line
According to a
Study by Milner and Stein
In 2005.
They discovered that
The five-seven-five pattern
Was correlated
With most old haiku.
That means haiku have three lines.
Polysyllabic.
This correlation
Was confirmed by researchers
Who can count numbers.
To learn more, check out
My works cited I stole from
Wikipedia.
Filed under Poems
It’ll Be Safe, I Promise!
The people aboard
The Titanic never heard
“Nah babe, just the tip.”
Filed under Poems
And Don’t Even THINK About Calling Your Fairy “Sugarplum”
I think the biggest reason
Why the term “minion” exists
Is because all the female henchmen
Continually insist
That “henchman” is a sexist term
And they should be called “henchperson”
And the trust relationship
With their villain starts to worsen.
To avoid such conflicts
The term “minion” is used instead…
Until the feminists learn “minion” means “cute”
And say “Call us ‘persons of evil’ instead.”
Filed under Poems
Something Worth Fighting
Captain Daniel Anderson
Stood before the 3rd infantry
And called out, “Men, a moment!
“We’ll soon meet destiny.
“Be brave! Be bold! Remember
“That we served each other well.
“Now on we go to victory
“Or tonight we’ll dine in Hell!”
Well Captain Daniel Anderson
And the 3rd infantry fought
With tooth and nail, but doomed to fail;
Their efforts came to naught.
So once again he called out
“We did all that we could do.”
Then they sat for dinner
At a party thrown by you.
Filed under Poems
By The Way, Why Did Didn’t
Today I wrote
“Why did the chicken cross the road”
And someone petty replied
“You forgot the question mark…
“You meant ‘Why did the chicken cross the road?’”
So I went out and bought a chicken
And named it Why Did
And I commanded it:
“Why Did the chicken, cross the road!”
That’s what random internet people get
For being grammar nazis.
The Good Girl And The Criminal, Abridged
My girlfriend likes to relax in the evening
But I like to step up a notch.
She said “Let’s watch Steel Magnolias.”
I said “Let’s steal Magnolia’s watch.”
Filed under Poems
Daddy Is The Child, While The Daddy Is Childish
If I were a professional athlete
Who married a supermodel
And knew my progeny’s eventual genes
Would be cranking out talent full-throttle
I think I would name my son “Daddy”
Just to see the look on some faces
Whenever my son is revealed as the one
Who wins all the games and the races.
“Oh yes, Daddy’s enormous”
All the commentators would say
“And Daddy’s been known to dominate
“Everybody who stands in his way.”
Let’s say Daddy learned to play hockey…
I think that would sound pretty slick:
“Daddy comes quickly towards the goal!
“I love how he handles his stick!”
Daddy could master the breast stroke,
Or hook up with a tight end,
Dribble his ball for a lay-in
Or illegally use his hands “to defend.”
Yes, my athletic son Daddy
Would make even golf fun to watch…
But alas, God made me a poet
And no athlete shall be conceived by my crotch.
Filed under Poems
Smells Like Home, Tastes Like [Redacted]
The CIA captured the boss
Of a domestic terrorist cell.
They did everything they could do
To “convince” the guy to tell
What he’s planning, what he knows,
But the criminal never cracked
Until the feds quit waterboarding him
And made him drink vanilla extract.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 