I made a roller coaster
That goes a million miles an hour
It has 50 real tigers
And a giant lava shower
And there’s fireworks and live grenades
And unicorns and shit
And, for some reason, investors
Won’t have any part of it?
Tag Archives: Bad Ideas
Daddy Is The Child, While The Daddy Is Childish
If I were a professional athlete
Who married a supermodel
And knew my progeny’s eventual genes
Would be cranking out talent full-throttle
I think I would name my son “Daddy”
Just to see the look on some faces
Whenever my son is revealed as the one
Who wins all the games and the races.
“Oh yes, Daddy’s enormous”
All the commentators would say
“And Daddy’s been known to dominate
“Everybody who stands in his way.”
Let’s say Daddy learned to play hockey…
I think that would sound pretty slick:
“Daddy comes quickly towards the goal!
“I love how he handles his stick!”
Daddy could master the breast stroke,
Or hook up with a tight end,
Dribble his ball for a lay-in
Or illegally use his hands “to defend.”
Yes, my athletic son Daddy
Would make even golf fun to watch…
But alas, God made me a poet
And no athlete shall be conceived by my crotch.
Filed under Poems
Change Who’s Steering, Or Just Bail Out?
Sometimes it seems
Like society is a sled
Screaming down a snowy hill
To the place from which we fled,
And everyone who rides the sled
Are begging it to slow,
Save those who see the ski jump
And exclaim, “How high we’ll go!”
Filed under Poems
Question Everything
Grassy field,
Snowy chicken,
Sandy bug spray,
Yep to the tooth helpers.
Greedy locks mispelled rent
As goose.
This poem still makes more sense
Than the “share on twitter” link
On porn websites.
Filed under Poems
Public Spaces
Let me tell you
What I saw
While walking in the park:
A naked tree
And silent dog,
Both without their bark.
An ice cream truck
And teenagers,
Both trying to stay cool.
A screaming child
And litter,
Both unwanted in a pool.
The smell of grass
And pollen,
Both filling up my nose.
That girl I dumped
And no hiding place,
‘Cause that’s the way it goes.
A wad of dirt
And my own good arm,
My ex’s now-brown eyes.
Some flashing lights
And handcuffs
Makes me doubt my plan was wise.
A cop’s back seat,
Some iron bars,
A jury of my peers,
Now it’s just me
And “Chainsaw Ted”
For five to seven years.
Filed under Poems
The Day Before the Sawmill Incident
I’m tired of sleeping,
I long to be awake,
But my stupid human body
Has a need I cannot slake.
So I’ve decided on a compromise
To fulfill my needed slumber.
I’ll sleep while I’m at work.
It’s easy enough to cut up lumber.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 