Air show! Air show!
Lots of planes,
Tons of balls,
Questionable brains.
Hair show! Hair show!
Fewer planes,
Fewer balls,
The brain thing’s the same.
Category Archives: Poems
The Pane Of Homophones
Sum folks dont knead it.
Other folks dew.
Eye’m speaking of coarse
Of voice two text apps. Dew ewe?
Filed under Poems
99% Complete
70,020 updates
In a minute all are done,
So why’s it take an hour
For number 70,021?
The End Of A Cycle
The cycle goes around itself,
A blinding dash of red.
The cycle collapses on itself.
Is its rider dead?
The cycle’s wheels roll away
Down the cliff, a stony slide.
The cyclist stands, his bike in shreds…
Last time he’ll text and ride.
Meanwhile the cycle rolls away
To who knows where and when
Until, reborn, the scattered scraps
Begin the cycle again.
Filed under Poems
My First Acrostic
I is for my mother.
C is for my dad.
A is for my feelings.
N is for an impaler, namely Vlad.
T is for seismology.
S is for uninspired.
PEL is for impatience.
L is for “Am I Fired?”
Filed under Poems
What Else Did I Get This PhD For?
What would you do
For a million dollars?
Some would sell their souls
Or become sales-callers.
Some would kill, some would cheat,
Some would steal, some would rage,
But I’ll just work 80 years
Earning minimum wage.
Filed under Poems
The Poem That Convinced 300 Million Americans Not To Eat Giraffes On A Regular Basis
I live, I laugh,
I breathe, I smile.
I’m a giraffe
And my name is Kyle.
You wouldn’t kill me
For my meat.
So thanks for that.
You’re real neat.
Filed under Poems
Important Decisions
I put as much thought
Into this rhyming verse
As Count Dracula put into
Choosing the model of his hearse.
Filed under Poems
The Inverted Cockroach Speaks Out
I’m lying on the floor
Rocking back and forth
And sobbing
But no one stops
Or offers sympathy.
Racist A**holes.
Filed under Poems
What I Look For In A Lady
I’d be wary of a felon
But she needn’t be a saint.
She eats food almost every day
And will very seldom faint.
She has two eyes, two nostrils too,
And her scalp is topped with hair.
Her days are always better
When she has access to breathable air.
I may sound picky when I say this
But she should have a mouth that can open.
Is there such a perfect girl?
Well, ’til we know, here’s hopin’.
Filed under Poems, Uncategorized
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