Category Archives: Poems

Brought To You By Guest Author “Cal Endar.” (Not Really)

I want to talk about the months

And where their names came from.

Please know all of these are true

Even if they sound dumb.

Jan and Ferb Uary

Were brothers who shared a belle.

Jan got mad and misspelled Ferb’s name

But it all ended up pretty well.

March is based on Mcdonald’s logo.

April was the belle Jan and Ferb liked.

May is a grammatically better version of “can.”

June’s the month that nobody liked.

July was Julie, but was sad about Ferb

And got misspelled too ’cause she was so stressed.

August was named by a Texan who

In his accent said the words “I guessed.”

September was God’s gift to calendar’s everywhere.

October was named by someone who thought Ctober was lame.

Nov and Dec Ember were also brothers

But are last in the year ’cause they both had a stupid name.

I hope you feel more knowledgable

About months, but you probably don’t.

I hope you share this with your friends

But if you’re a smart person you probably won’t.

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Downside? Nazi Riots. Upside? Easy Day For Bad Poetry.

Everyday I seek to write

A really lousy poem

Where life is hard and then the good guys lose,

But today I can be lazy

And write this poem instead

‘Cause my narrative is just Virginia’s news.

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Catholicism Admits Defeat… But They’ll Be Back!

Father Paul, I write to you

Regarding brother Kyle.

He has not been remade anew

So likely you won’t smile:

His dog still fits his Gucci purse,

His favorite color’s aubergine,

His dream’s to be a male nurse,

And all his sentences end with “you know what I mean?”

His moisturizer smells like plum

And adds to his feng shui.

Of this I’m fairly certain:

We didn’t pray the gay away. 

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My Coming Out As Trans-Elderly

Thirty-seven dollars in nickels

Rolled into neat little stacks:

I’ll use them to buy some dill pickles

To eat for my mid-morning snacks.

I’ve got a compulsion to do this,

Though no logic yet as to why.

Perhaps I just want the grocers

To think of me as “that guy.”

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Seriously, Just Don’t! It Takes A Certain Charisma And/Or Unusual Size

Why must titans always clash?

Why can’t they just get along?

Titans could have tea and cake.

What about that is so wrong?

Why must titans always fight?

There’s other things for them to do

Like fly a pretty titan kite,

Play titan games, or make a stew.

If you’re a titan reading this

En route to your next clashing spot

Please know that you are not defined

By your ability to crush a big robot.

And if you’re a non-titan bloke

Just casually reading ’cause you’re bored

Don’t try to unclash titans too

‘Cause most likely you’ll just be ignored.

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Dear Internet: Why The Exception?

You can’t mock someone ’cause they’re fat,

Ugly, stupid, stuff like that.

You can’t make jokes about a race

(At least not to somebody’s face).

You can’t gay-bash, slut-shame, or mock

The way one laughs or thinks or talks.

But you can defame or spew hate at

Those with neckbeards or a fedora hat.

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Or I Could Be A Colonel

I don’t want to be a gastroenterologist.

As a career I vehemently denounce it,

But should fate make me a gastroenterologist

I guess at least I’d learn how to pronounce it.

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Zero Weddings, A Funeral, And A Reasonable Question

This evening we sit

In memory of

A weekend that

We came to love.

‘Twas two days long,

Five days too short.

Why’s there no satisfying

Single player sport?

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Logic, American Dream Style

Monday through Friday

My heart’s only dread

Is that midmorning song

That says “get out of bed.”

Yet come days of Satur

And as well days of Sun

My heart sings in the morning

‘Til the day is all done.

For when clocks of alarm

Cracks serenity’s hold

And says “put on your clothes

“And go do what you’re told”

My vigor and pep

Aren’t what they used to be

Like when I was a child

And still blissfully free.

When instead of alarms

To the sun I awaken

And instead of my job

I get pancakes and bacon

My bliss flows more freely

And I feel stronger.

From now on I’ll work weekends

And be miserable longer.

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Life Without Makeup

Chapped lips, dry skin,

Hair without a bobby pin,

Baggy pants, hairy pits,

A shirt that hides any sign of tits,

Spotty face, mustache line,

Eau de toilette called “big ass pine,”

A house that others call a sty:

Just another great day of being a guy!

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