Getting up at 7:00 on a Saturday
Is the fate that awaits yours truly.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to
If I were a guy Dale Chihuly,
But I’m not an artist of fortune
Thus I cry “alack and alas!
“I’ve found my calling in bad poetry
When the real money’s in blowing of glass!”
So while my fate of rising early
Is sealed, as justly it should
At least I take heart in the knowlege
That the stakea are low if this poem ain’t good.
Filed under Poems
From Helen:
My chickens make me breakfast.
They’re the best that pets can get.
Eggs fried, poached, or scrambled,
And even omelette.
I object to killing chickens!
That’s simply just not right.
They give us free-range organic eggs
And even put themselves to bed at night.
Wyandots and Orpingtons,
Barred Rock, Black Copper Marans too.
If you sup on glorious chickens,
There’s something wrong with you!
My rooster calls out to his hens
for succulent treats like corn.
He guards against sneak hawk attacks
And even wakes me up in the morn.
Oh Eggs of many colors
My chickens lay for me.
Pink and blue and brown eggs
And even eggs of green.
My chicken each have fancy names
Miranda, Romona, and Stormy Blue.
You want to eat my pet chickens?
How could you! Shame on you!
If poultry poetry ain’t your thing,
I ask, Please don’t blame me.
All I did was complain about poultrycide,
Hence this bad poetry contest, You see?
Thanks Helen!
Do you think chickens are great and deserve to be recognized positively via the medium of mediocre poetry? Enter the Semi-Bicentennial “Chickens Are Good” Bad Poetry Contest That Won’t Make You Bald (Probably)!
Get the details here:
https://www.google.com/amp/s/thedailytravesty.com/2017/02/25/announcing-the-semi-bicentennial-chickens-are-good-bad-poetry-contest-that-will-not-make-you-bald-probably/amp/
Filed under Poems
Glass lake,
Calm… serene.
As still and blue
As has ever been.
Glass lake,
The world’s eighth wonder.
In the distance…
Is that thunder?
Thunder rolling
Ever nearer
As Glass lake
Gets ever clearer.
Thunder’s louder.
Thunder’s struck.
Turns out thunder
Is my truck.
Thunder truck
Plunges forth
From the woods
With a sound like “Vlorsh!”
Into Glass lake
Thunder zooms
The serenity is gone
Replaced by fumes.
The ripples spread
As Thunder does sink.
That wasn’t as fun
As I would I would think…
Filed under Poems
Sometimes you call a woman “moody”
Or you call a black guy “thug”
Or you have “check your privilege”
Printed on your favorite mug.
You might call arabs “terrorist”
Or you might call asians “smart”
Or you might subtly look away
From indians painted in Western art.
You may distrust latinos
For as far as you can throw ’em.
You may discount pacific islanders
For not fitting cleanly in a poem.
Have I forgotten anyone?
Of course! Why, silly me…
You may dislike the lgbtq
Rstuvwxyz.
If you’re opposed to any group
And think they’re weird and lame
Go ahead and voice your feelings
So the snipers know where to aim.
And if I call you stupid
Or dismissively tell you “shoo!”
It’s not because I’m prejudiced…
It’s just that I don’t like you.
I like carmel. I like salt.
I like things that aren’t my fault.
I like chickens, ducks, and geese.
Star Wars rules. So does John Cleese.
I like monkeys, apes and such.
I like girls a bit too much.
What I don’t like is being made of wood
And shaped into a pawn. That just ain’t good.
I live a life of constant war.
In the middle I die, but the sides are a bore.
I don’t have films or birds or caramel
And, surrounded by pieces, I feel abnarmel
And that’s not all! In my whole world
There only is a single girl
Who’s married to my weak-ass boss
Who me into the fray does toss.
We are the lonely pawns, the guards,
And we hope one day you’ll decide to play cards.
Filed under Poems
You may not think it’s fine
To live life as a mulcher
At a vineyard, but don’t whine
Just ’cause you’re part of grape culture.
Filed under Poems
Every three seconds
An orphan is made,
A war is begun,
Someone doesn’t get laid,
Someone dies of starvation,
A champion strikes out,
Yet whether or not I want pizza’s
All I’m thinking about.
Filed under Poems
It’s late
And I’m tired.
That’s what happens
When you get hired.
Filed under Poems
Yesterday I got a badge
From my blog on WordPress here
That said “you’ve made 1,337 posts.”
Of that I’m glad to hear.
I wonder about the programmer
Who came up with that badge though.
Why 1,337 is so important…
Will we ever really know?
Sure, there is 1,000.
There is 2,000 too.
1,500, 999, or even 2,002.
But 1,337
Was the number this guy chose.
Well, thanks for sticking with me
And sharing moments just like those!
Filed under Poems
My Uncle was a pussy.
My Grandpa was a wimp.
My Father was a chicken
And my Brother is a shrimp.
My Cousins are all cowards
And my Nephews are namby-pamby
Just ’cause I’m the guy
Who shot the mom of Bambi.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 