Optimists say the glass is half full;
Pessimists say it’s half empty.
As I poet, I must be an optimist
Because nothing rhymes with “empty.”
Optimists say the glass is half full;
Pessimists say it’s half empty.
As I poet, I must be an optimist
Because nothing rhymes with “empty.”
Living as a bumblebee
Is really very lame.
Your life is run by mind control
And every day’s the same.
Our homes are much too sticky
And attract too many bears.
Yellow and black are so last Spring
But no one ever cares.
It’s hard to have an argument
When your sole source of defense
Creates discomfort in your enemy
And kills you in recompense.
And so we drone and buzz and fly
And polenate a bagonia,
Humming “Fields of Gold” by Sting,
Hoping the queen does not disown ya.
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I’ve got a crippling fear of insects,
But that’s not much of an issue
Since I work inside a hospital
In the birthing ward.
From time to time, an ugly baby
Will burst forth into my view.
I’ll say “oh look, he’s cute as a bug,”
‘Cause it’s honest and I’m bored.
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If I were a dinosaur
I’d be a stegosaurus.
I’d spend my time stargazing
And singing in a chorus.
And if predators mess with me,
With my tail, I’d resist,
‘Cause no one beats a stegosaurus
When steggy’s feeling pissed.
I’d eat some grass, then some more;
The destiny of an herbivore.
Then I’d be eaten when I’m old.
A fitting fate, so I was told.
And when I got lonely,
I’d go searching on Steg’s List
And remember my old Triceratops
And how it hurt when we kissed.
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I took a walk this morning.
It’s just something that I like.
Then I peed in the bushes
And the walk became a hike.
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I have to go to the bathroom,
But I don’t want to leave my bed,
And so I will do neither
And write this poem instead.
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It started three months prior
To the day you read this verse.
I was a happy man, but lonely;
Yes, aloneness was my curse.
I was proud of my yard, my grassy lawn
Complete with concrete gnome,
So fastidious and orderly
Just like my humble home.
But such a life wears on the soul,
So I went shopping for a pet.
A creature wise and comforting:
On this my mind was set.
But dogs are mean or stupid
And fish are such a bore.
Cats are huffy, rodents gross,
And birds are but a chore.
And so I found an animal
As a perfect pet for me;
It was fluffy, loving, and unique,
But it was not to be…
If, with goats, you’re unfamiliar,
As I was, that fateful day,
Then know this: They are a stomach
Sent from Hell, on Earth to stay.
Within the first eight hours
My perfect yard was gone.
My gnome was now in hiding
And a wasteland was my lawn.
But that dammed bearded invader
Was not satisfied at that,
And I need no longer pet sit
For my neighbor’s tabby cat.
My car has no more tires.
My cereal has no bowl.
The goat ate my begonias,
And then it ate my soul.
My pet, it needed punishment,
But I did not know the way.
Luckily I got some “guidance”
From Leonardo’s Greek café.
‘Twas three months ago it started,
That a companion I did seek.
Today I seek another.
Maybe something with a beak?
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The dream team took the field
Before the final playoff match,
And so the game was cancelled
Without a single catch.
Thus ended what had promised
To be a splendid day,
For if the field has been taken
Where is one supposed to play?
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Grunt and growl,
Hoot and howl:
These sounds are inspired
By the immovable bowel.
Filed under Poems