You ever had that feeling
When you wake up at nine
And think “I’ve got work to do,
“But waiting twelve hours will be fine.”
Tag Archives: Bad
Nope, Not The Cat
I live a life of luxury,
Amidst my massive family.
They rub and brush my golden hair,
And I reward them with “I don’t care.”
I have three hobbies. These are they:
On your freshly vacuumed chair I lay,
Peeing on your lovely walls,
And playing with my hairy balls.
You say you love me. Who knows why?
You’ll probably outlive me (heavy sigh).
Having me is lots of fun.
Forever yours, your teenage son.
Filed under Poems
Apathetic Yoda
Write a haiku?
I’d like to,
But today I won’t.
Instead you
Get this… Poo.
Care about this, I don’t.
Filed under Poems
Wildflengths
A rose by other names
Smells the same.
But poems would be lame
If flowers had a different name.
There would not be “flower power”
But instead “flength strength.”
I might pick a dozen gwazzles
Or a bouquet of mength.
I think you get the point,
And I’m running out of time.
This poem wasn’t flengthy
And very easy to rhyme.
Craigslist Roommate
It’s cool you cut your own hair,
That you’re into taxidermy,
But maybe do those both outside…
Could you do that for me?
And I know you love your tuba.
It is an amazing instrument,
But playing it at 3:00 AM
Makes me want to raise your rent.
I don’t mind extended family.
In fact, it’s great you are so close,
But eloping with your cousin
In my basement’s kinda gross.
I know I said no pets allowed,
And to that I will hold true,
But unless you leave my presence
I will sic the dogs on you.
Ode To An Inserted Thing^
To me you’re like an insert thing here^
Full of double meanings
Absent of rhyme or reason
Or punctuation
You make my anatomy act
In a way appropriate for anatomy
In a situation of extreme emotion
Such as sweating
Swelling^
Or accelerated heartbeat
You make me want to write iridescent
Not because you are
But because it sounds pretty
And you like pretty things
Like diamonds
And Benjamin Franklin
This poem is not a pretty thing
I am writing it in bed
By myself
Shortly after waking up
At 4:30 PM*
I am alone
I have B.O.**
I have cable***
And five hours before bedtime****
Although it’s not a meaningful term
Because I might not leave my bed
Rehashing of the similarity
Between you and the object
Which was inserted in the first stanza^
Because after all
This poem is about you****
Happy Valentine’s Day
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Untrue, but it makes me seem pitiful
** Probably true. Can’t tell due to nasal fatigue.
*** Also Untrue
**** See ***
^That sounded naughty…
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
The Tale of the B-list Movie Skeleton Prop
Last night I went spelunking
And I got to do some thunking
About my life, my hopes, my dreams, my fears,
And just like a stalactite
I found my life had not been upright
But full of hanging out and wasted years.
Then a rock fell on my head
And I found out I was dead,
So I lay for many years down in the damp.
But my life derived its meaning
When some other cavers came careening
And saw a dusty pile of human bones.
Filed under Poems
A Fast Fast-Food Poem
I asked you once,
I asked you twice,
And now I ask thrice
Do you want frice with that?
Happy Birthday Mom!
By my sister you first became “Mother.”
Then you made me, the brother.
Dad helped with that too, and how-do-you-do,
We’re a family like no other.
But this family really started
When off your mom was carted
To the delivery room, then bang-clang-kerploom!
From her body you departed.
And so this day we do
Take time to celebrate you.
Not with cheap paper hats (we are cooler than that’s),
But with a birthday choo-choo boogaloo.
(Figuratively speaking).
So whether weather is warm or cold,
You we will will hug, kiss, and hold.
So have a wonderful year, and just to be clear,
Our love for you never grows old.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
Read This Poem… I Dare You
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.
The Daily Travesty 