Tag Archives: Explanation

Sometimes A Break Is Good… (He Wildly Justified To Himself)

Yesterday, no poem

Was published upon this site;

No letters marked with blackness

Formed a word against the white.

I wrote no form of humor

That is funny ’cause it’s dumb…

On the one hand, sorry.

On the other, you’re welcome!

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Why You Read This Blog Instead Of Actual Poetry

Were it a time of day

And we a natural feature

It would liken us to feel

A passive emotion.

So ere it be

That words long forgotten

Exfoliate our mutual conditions

To clarify depth and artistry.

Whosoever feels

By and large unfeeling

Throws the mercy upon themselves

To the black asp of memory

And by such consumption

Your consciousness neglects

That this poem is really

A fart joke by a PhD. 

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“An Updated Classic” Or “Backstory”

It was one of those days

When you want apple pie

But the waitress is cute

And you’re just too shy.

It’s one of those days

To spend at the riverbank

But when you drive there, the water’s

All stuck in a tank.

You want to hang out

With men who are classy

But good guys are drunk, so you settle

For guys who’re half-assy.

And you and your half-assy

Friends you’ll soon see

Just sit around singing

About mortality.

Oh my my,

I missed the American pie.

Drove my chevy to the levy

But the levy was dry,

And the good old boys

Were drinking whiskey and rye.

Yeah, I guess this’ll be

The day that I die.

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The Missing Poem of June 30th (AKA the Page That Wouldn’t Die)

Eight days ago I wrote

A poem. “What?” you gasp.

I raise my eyebrow at your sarcasm

And then my hands I clasp.

The problem with this poem

Was that I wrote it as a page,

So it did not show up in this feed.

You cannot guess my rage.

So know I’ve fixed the error

And I present for you

The June 30th poem

That you thought had gone askew.


I hit the nail on the head,

Pound, pound, pound.

I hit the nail many times

And beat it into the ground.

I hammered on that nail

With all my worldly might,

And as I did, I thought of you.

It brought me much delight.

Maybe it was better

That the poem above was lost.

I no longer feel the way I did.

This line rhymes with Faust.

Now mercifully I leave you

Until the Ninth of July.

Thanks again Dear Readers,

And once again, good bye.

On an unrelated, but absolutely true note, this stupid Meta-poem posted itself as a page, rather than a post, twice. It may still be a page. We will see.

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