We are lazy-eyed romantics
Who, slothful, deign to leer
At sexy ghosts like future, past,
But seldom now or here.
We seek the worldly pleasures
That we, in moments, lack
Knowing we once had them
And hoping they’ll come back.
And like the perfect lover
The present sees us gaze
At a future that will never come
And long-forgotten days
Yet gives us still all that we need,
Supports in every way.
I write so we’ll requite the love
Of the miracle that is Today.
If wishes were fishes
We’d eat way more trout,
If thoughts were diplomas
We’d have much more clout,
If logic were clothing
We’d mostly be nude,
But if teardrops were onions
We’d really be screwed.
Filed under Poems
Amidst the misty morning,
Atop the naïve snow,
The thin white wind blew, chilly,
‘Neath sun’s unearthly glow.
The living glass of needles
Lay beneath the stalwart fir
And I, the bear, thought all this
But, alas, could only say “grr.”
Filed under Poems
She was a starving art history student,
Forced by fate towards whatever was prudent,
Yet she had a temptation she could not evade…
A man, in a sense, who with her heart played.
He was the Egyptian God of the dead,
With unlimited power and an animal’s head,
Yet despite devestation he doled out at will
His heart had an urge that he just couldn’t kill.
Her focus was on just money and Monet.
All of existence was under his sway.
She spent her days in the study of cubists.
He spent his evenings just being Anubis.
Somehow the two met at a holiday party.
She thought him a bad boy. He thought her a smarty.
The exchanged numbers and met up for brunch.
She loved his mystique. He loved how her bones crunch.
Yet, deep as their love was, they each said good bye
For they’d not live together unless she would die.
So ends the tale of this starcrossed romance
Of a girl and a God, both with un-gotten-into-pants.
Filed under Poems
I am a person made of bronze,
Carved from orangish metal.
My body looks so human
But I’m closer to a kettle.
I’ll never move, I’ll never speak,
I’ll never love or feel.
I’ll never be a human,
But I’m absolutely real.
I’ll never learn of math or art.
I’ll never know a fact.
I’ll have no skills in anything,
So I guess I’ll have to act.
My body’s perfect, ageless, strong
Although I can’t be dumber
And thus I’ve come to Hollywood,
Renamed “The Up-And-Comer.”
Filed under Poems
If I make a million dollars
Writing poetry some day
I’ll buy a bunch of bushes
And cut them in a way
That they’re shaped like women
Who don’t like 50 Shades of Grey
Because we all need a bit more
Of those in our lives, eh?
Filed under Poems
Poetry
Is like a knee;
It certainly has it’s place
But we’ll agree
Whether poem or knee
It’s better off not in your face.
Filed under Poems
Visualize synchronicity:
The epiphanies stimulate
Largesse and postulation.
Improvement is realized through
Calamitous virtues,
And that is why pigs are green.
Filed under Poems
The shape of Mount Everest,
And nearly the size
My dog’s defecation
On my neighbor’s lawn lies.
The shape of an axe
(Because that’s what it is),
My neighbor reminds me
To keep off what’s his.
The shape of a puppy
And the acent of a fart,
My dog watches this thinking
“They just don’t get my art.”
He drew a pair of tentacles
And a rocket on its side
With a pair of spiny barnacles
Beneath a grey-black sky.
Barry shouts “it’s patriotism,”
And Andy says “That’s it!”
The rest of us just sit and stare,
And Laura says “well, shit.”
The Daily Travesty 