Category Archives: Poems

Of Birds and… Other Stuff

The sun was a brilliant scarlet

Upon the rustling brush,

Redder than a hemorrhoid

Who’s asking out its crush.

Within the brush are little jays,

Their feathers dark and blue

Much like the mood experienced

When one eats eyeball stew.

The birds were eating insects

So tiny and so green

Like little child soldiers

Or polytetrafluoroethylene.

The birds, thus having eaten

Flew off to sunset orange.

Alas, this leaves no conclusive rhyme

But judging by the imagery of previous examples, I doubt you’re disappointed.

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History Is Written By The Famous

Sleepy, Happy, Dopey, Sneezy

Bashful, Grumpy, and Dock

Mined all day to earn their pay

From 8:00 to 5:00 o’clock.

With seven salaries they paid

The rent for one small shack

And thought this was the status quo

Because the dwarves were black.

Then this white chick comes along

And they’re all like “Hi ho!”

Then she’s like, “OMG you guys,

“My name’s like totally Snow.”

And so she took their home away

And even ate their fruit

Before she slept for free a while

‘Cause hey, the chick was cute!

She slept upon the eighth dwarf’s bed

Who never was alerted.

So says the spurned, forgotten dwarf

Whose name is Introverted.

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A 2020 Haiku

This year’s a blizzard:

Too many snowflakes appeared

And we all miss work.

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Very Grounded

The loyal tortoise ambles

Through a forest full of brambles

Where once a meadow full of flowers flourished,

Where once the stamens danced

And petals bright entranced

Now a harsher foliage is nourished.

The tortoise tries a bite

Of whatever plant’s in sight

Its mouth enduring savagery and pain

For the aged tortoise knows

That they who seek a rose

Will, in the process, find that thorns they gain.

The tortoise eats its pick

Though much may make it sick

In hopes of finding what it thinks is lost.

The tortoise chews and bleeds

Just to satisfy its needs,

To find its rose regardless of the cost.

Somewhere amid the brush,

In a pocket, dark and hushed,

A seed emerges from the salty soil.

Its leaves taste stale air,

But the seed does not despair

For beauty never grows bereft of toil.

Someday the rose will bloom

And emerge amidst the gloom.

Perhaps the tortoise finds it after all.

Fearless are the plants of old,

Or so another tortoise told

In tales to seeds and to the ones who crawl.

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Before 🙂 Was A Thing

This means you’re happy 🙂

This means you’re sad 😦

This means you’re an anarchist (:

This means you’re the dad :$

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Weird Flex But Okay…

Apparently in America

You show black folks you care

By taking a day off of work

And taking sports off the air.

You have moments of silence

Which shows you have the gall

To literally demonstrate support

By doing nothing at all!

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Sponsored Poem (With Video)!

Some folks can write greeting cards

And some folks can write songs.

Some folks can write poetry

Addressing social wrongs.

Some folks are very talented

While some folks just get by,

But on another level down

You’ll find, alas, this guy.

So how’s a lousy poet

Find a way to make ends meet

When the greatest poets in the world

Are starving in the street?

One way’s to get better,

But that’s just not my way.

The other is to advertise

For anyone willing to pay.

Those who sponsor poetry

Are sadly not so numerous…

I thus present this advertisement

With hope you’ll find it humorous.

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Compound Disinterest

Back in the age when wealthy folk

Made twenty cents an hour,

The internet was in morse code,

And photographs were dour

A strapping lass of 25

Dug up a hidden stash

Of gold bouillon from Mexico

Worth $20 million cash.

She put it in a bank account

That earned an APR

Of 65 percent a year

And traveled wide and far.

A hundred thousand years went by

And humans passed away,

But in an old abandoned bank

The fortune’s there to stay

Until some alien arrives

And withdraws so many bucks

That the number almost equals

How much I think soccer sucks.

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Typical Bird Answer…

A young male eagle was hunting

And swooped down on a dove.

He asked his girl, “What now?”

And his girl squawked, “Eat prey, love.”

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Even Imminent Death Has Standards

I like you

Like a hairdryer loves a bath,

Like an ax loves a tree,

Like GPAs love math,

Like Clintons love snitches,

Like Windows likes working,

But I still think it’s weird

Netflix likes children twerking.

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