If you died in one hundred days,
About you, what would people say?
I’ll keep it simple: Is it good?
Have you been doing what you should?
And if you had that hundred days
And had the chance to change your ways,
What would you change about the world
Before your life did come unfurled?
Now go into the world with this:
A single goal which brings you bliss.
Now whether or not you’re going to die,
Carry out that goal. And now, good bye.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
You are reading this poem
On a computer made by a man
Who lives in a manufactured house
Made by someone in Japan.
The house builder wouldn’t be able to get to work
Had his buggy not been fixed
By the buggy-fixer down the road
Who ate breakfast that was mixed
By the breakfast mixer Sally,
Who sat down on a chair
That was made in Alaska
By a guy who fought a bear.
What this ridiculous scenario
Is intended to point out
Is that if we were independent,
We would be without.
For to read this, thank the British
Who invented this alphabet.
When you go to the bathroom
Thank the guy who made your toilet.
And when you laugh or smile
In your everyday life,
Thank the person who made you happy.
With joy, the world is rife.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
I never drink Folgers,
And I’ll let you know why.
That slogan they say
Is a big stinkin’ lie!
No matter what model
They hire to promote
Their instant coffee,
The chance is remote…
That they’ll realize
The secret we keep:
The best part of waking up
Is going back to sleep!
Filed under Poems
Dear sister, on this special day,
That occurs in August instead of May,
You’re twenty-one! Yay oh yay!
And so I mean to simply say
Happy Birthday Katy!
You make you joyful when I’m sick,
And our shared gutter mindedness is quite slick.
I mean that in a good way, not like “ick.”
You get what I mean by that, ’cause your mind is quick.
Happy Birthday Katy!
Today you can have a gun or drink alcohol.
You want to do one of those, the other not at all.
This being on a blog, people will likely not comprehend the correct option, ’cause they’re not as smart as you. Not at all!
(And if my readers are mad at my rudeness or my long lines, I’ll take the fall).
Happy Birthday Katy!
And thus your birthday is immortalized by a travesty,
As was your full name by the hurricane that started with “Katri…”
This poem’s going downhill if you see what I see,
So I’ll sign off now. Thank you Sus-comma-Je!
Happy Birthday Katy!
Filed under Poems
Hark, as this sonnet rolls across your screen,
The day unfolds before you, like thick screens.
Unless you read this sonnet at night, seen
By your eyes through darkness,without sun’s sheens.
And as you finish the first stanza here,
You visualize both day and night, yes.
Perhaps you drink some milk, or perhaps beer.
Perhaps you instead visualize chess.
Whatever sites and sights your mind goes to,
You will most certainly agree that it
Ventures there so willingly, unless you
Have a mind that decided to just sit.
But no matter what you find, here my call:
This sonnet is about nothing at all.
Broccoli, celery, artichokes, grapes,
Candy corn, hamburgers, cheeses and crepes.
Around eating these foods I do carefully traipse,
Because I am a picky eater.
Sour cream, margarine, butter, and gee.
These dairy products don’t taste good to me,
And when I see them I feel need to flee
Because I am a picky eater.
I only eat pizzas if cut in a square.
I never eat sausage or hosenfeffer.
My nutritionist’s angry, but I really don’t care
Because I am a picky eater.
However, there’s something I do like to eat.
You might find it creepy, but I think it’s a treat
To munch on my friends, their hands and their feet,
‘Cause I like to eat picky eaters.
Filed under Poems
I’m sick of dirty humor!
It spreads like a disease.
It’s gritty and bad, like a tumor,
And I think it should have fleas.
Instead I propose, to rise anew,
The shining era of clean jokes,
That bring people up, show skies are blue,
And charm both chums and blokes.
On second thought, F*** that.
Filed under Poems
I have lots of hobbies.
I like working with my hands.
I spray my garden with my hose
And spray the fertile lands.
I like to pet the heads of snakes
And hear them hiss with glee.
I like big sandwiches, especially foot-longs,
Because they’re similar to a part of me.
I like long tubes and guys named Richard
Who go by their nicknames.
I like roosters (take a guess why),
And playing all sorts of games.
I also like innuendos,
And I hope you do too.
But if you didn’t, I’ll not fix my mistake,
And you’ll go on thinking this poem blew.
But if you enjoyed what I did
For you this summer eve.
I guarantee I’ll come again,
And with that, I now leave.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
Some folks fear spiders, the dark, or piranhas.
Some fear the color blue.
Some folks fear heights, ducks, and iguanas,
But how will a duck hurt you?
Yet many more people live in fear of their needs,
So they miss out on what life has offered.
They miss new beginnings, they don’t plant their seeds,
And their lives turn out not how they proferred.
So don’t worry about clothing, wrinkling and splotching,
And ask what questions abound.
Why don’t you ask out that person you’re watching?
(No matter how creepy that may sound).
Say “Yes” to life, and you’ll find ample luck!
Go ahead and live like you wanna!
Do what makes you happy, and don’t give a…
(And then I was attacked by an iguana).
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
Erm, hey there everybody.
I’d like to say something.
Though I understand if you don’t want to hear it.
If you’re bored, just do your thing.
So, well… I’ll be gone
Tomorrow, away from internet.
Thus there won’t be a post,
Unless it’s something you really want to get.
I’m really very terribly sorry
To say this to you.
(Actually that’s BS)
And until Tuesday, toodaloo!
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
