Giant big,
Peasant small.
Giant’s hands
Like wrecking ball.
But giant doesn’t
Wreck too much.
He uses giant hands
To touch
The wounded folk,
Large or small.
He hates pain,
He fix it all.
Giant sees
A little pain,
Giant fix it,
Shine or rain.
Giant isn’t
Very smart,
But giant has
A giant heart.
Filed under Poems
NBC and TNT,
CBS and ABC,
History, ESPN
Discovery and CNN.
All these channels
And hundreds more
All striving not
To be a bore.
Yet of all the options
There are but two shows to see:
“I wish I were them”
And “I’m glad that’s not me.”
Filed under Poems
How big are bigfoot’s children’s feet?
How sassy are their quatches?
We imagine so, yet I don’t know,
So we’ve set up neighborhood watches.
Filed under Poems
I’ve thought a lot about it
And I think that thinking is good.
I also see some virtue to letting
Things happen as they would,
For what is in our power
But our power to choose how to act.
We have no ability to decide
Consequences or outcomes. Fact.
So when thinking about the future
And weighing choices in your head
Don’t worry about the ending
But about the choice itself instead.
Filed under Poems
What if chickens had no wings
And skin instead of feathers
And human legs and feet and heads
And wore clothing made from leather?
What if chickens were actually humans
But disguised as mindless poultry?
I don’t know what my conclusion is,
But I hope it’s something sultry.
Filed under Poems
Breaking up is hard for me,
Requiring courage and stuff.
It calls the waves of an emotional sea
And the embrace of blanket fluff.
I hate to say it, and I’ve told you why
Breaking up is hard to do.
That’s why I’ve decided not to break it off.
Instead, I’m just going to shoot you.
Filed under Poems
Some sports
Are played on courts
Others on fields or rinks.
Some play on pitches,
But I won’t rhyme with that.
(The reason is obvious, methinks).
Some balls are small
And don’t bounce at all
Others are not even spherical.
Some play with pucks,
‘Specially those Canucks.
This stuff’s proven, widely known, and empirical.
When you win, it’s a joy,
Perhaps more if you’re a boy,
But that debate’s for another occasion.
So yippee for sports
And those athletic sorts.
As for me, I’ll just solve this equation.
Filed under Poems
The sun shines yellow
Through the fluffy white clouds
That linger in a sky so blue.
I think it would
Be simpler if
It was all just green, don’t you?
Filed under Poems
A groan is fitting for a bad joke,
A sidelong glance for annoyances,
A yell or shout for problems grand,
A balloon pop for failed buoyances.
To the variety sure is great, y’all,
But I prefer it when one’s sighs fits all.
Filed under Poems
I am an exotic dancer,
And yes, I am a man.
I make money at bachelorette parties
And drive an army cargo van.
Chicks like a man in uniform
So when I see the bachelorette cutie
I give a salute and slap my patoot
And say “Major Turnon, reporting for booty.”
Filed under Poems
