If go to the sign of the naked duck,
You’ll see some gals you want to befriend.
If you feel that you could use a suck,
There’s a vacuum shop around the bend.
If you want to get more “bang” for your buck,
I got a place for you, bub.
It’s a little place called the “Cluck cluck cluck,”
‘Cause it’s a chicken-strip club.
Filed under Poems
Once again I write to you,
As this poet is prone to do,
To try to change the point of view
That nobody is perfect.
So close your eyes and breathe in.
Then open them so you can read again.
Here’s my theory. There’s just one sin:
The judgement of imperfect.
“You fail, she’s ugly, he’s vulgar, I’m bad.”
According to what? Why make yourself sad?
Life is happening as it always had.
Life is always perfect.
“Why is there evil? Pleasure and pain?”
“Why is there sadness, which falls with the rain?”
Why think these thoughts? What do you have to gain?
Instead, think “This is Perfect.”
Now maybe I’m wrong, and life’s simply crappy.
Maybe you enjoy being unhappy!
You think (with good reason) this poem is sappy.
I accept those reactions as perfect.
But I hope you’ll at least give this viewpoint a try.
This change in your thinking brings blue to the sky.
You will watch your blessings multiply.
Smile! Why not?
You’re perfect.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
Shelly shivers several shivers
By the side of the seashore.
She sees the sheen of seal-shaped seashells.
(A scene unforeseen for sure).
She’s a shy shaking searcher,
Seeking several shining shells,
‘Cause she sure supports herself
Through seal-shaped seashells she sure sells.
Someone once asked, “What would be more dangerous: Slapping a bear on the face, or slapping an elk on the chest?” May this poem be your answer.
If you slap a bear across the face
It will probably break your bones.
It will maul you, bruise you, make you bleed,
And smash your freakin’ phone!
But if you slap an elk across the chest
It will more than end your life,
‘Cause that elk knows where you live,
And he’ll kidnap your wife.
Truth is stranger than fiction.
Filed under Poems
If you share a room your are roommates.
Two witches, they are broom mates.
Two husbands might be groom mates,
And mass graves make for tomb mates.
Two buddies in Australia
Are just plain mates, it’s true.
But we don’t need those titles.
I just want to mate with you.
Filed under Poems
Sticks and stones
May shatter bones.
Steel tears hearts asunder.
Smoke and fire
Are the devil’s choir,
Who’s songs are mankind’s blunder.
But through the violence
And moments of silence
We make a noble choice:
We remember those
Slain by our foes.
We carry on their voice.
So bombings and such,
Our fears they touch,
But our hope cannot be shattered.
Toll Heaven’s bell
For those who fell,
And remember that they mattered.
There comes a time,
From time to time,
When time passes too quickly.
Through times of joys
For girls and boys,
But not times that are sickly.
So I ask time
Just one more time
“Must you fly when we’re having fun?”
And in a timely way
Time did say
“I don’t if your joy’s never done.”
Filed under Poems
Sex is a service.
It takes lots of work,
But it’s a pretty good job
With its fair share of perks.
Sometimes it’s hard,
(And we hope that it is).
It needs some of hers,
And it needs some of his.
Filed under Poems
I picked her up at seven
Going to the promenade.
She was dressed in a vermillion gown
Wrapped tightly ’round her bod.
I gazed into her emerald eyes.
My heart was thumping madly.
That evening’s when I realized
I was going to be a Daddy.
(It’s great to be back after six months. Long live the mediocrity)!
Filed under Poems
When I step on a rug, I always say “I’m sorry.”
I try to good, to warm instead of frost.
Because the world is a jungle, a wild safari,
And sometimes the nice guys get lost.
But the one thing we navigate in this wide, scary world
Is the bedroom, where seldom nice guys are outclassed,
For to the women who look past our impishness is unfurled
The fact that nice guys always finish last.
Filed under Poems
