The greatest invention of all time
Was the invention of paper
Not because it simplified written language
Or made knowledge portable,
But because it drastically reduced the number of ties
In the popular game of “Rock.”
The greatest invention of all time
Was the invention of paper
Not because it simplified written language
Or made knowledge portable,
But because it drastically reduced the number of ties
In the popular game of “Rock.”
Filed under Poems
You all begin by passing “go,”
But who will win we don’t yet know.
You buy land with childish glee
Wherever two dice should decree.
This play continues for a while
And all the players wear a smile
Until the property is bought.
Then the game changes a lot.
Instead of paying endless rent
It pays to be of criminal bent
And spend a couple turns in jail
Before you pay a $50 bail.
But at this point the odds are high
That you know who is the guy
Who’ll win the game when all is done.
At this point it’s no longer fun.
But do you stop when joy is gone?
No! No! No! You carry on!
When bankrupt are the car and shoe,
The thimble’s dead and so are you
So ends the game, and that is when
The winner says “Let’s play again!”
Then you and the losers, at your behest
Punch the winner in his community chest.
Through the pain he says “Tsk, tsk.
“Then how about a game of Risk?”
Filed under Poems
I lived in a two-story house.
The upper floor was mine.
I told my mom “I’m moving out.”
She said “you’re 10, so that’s fine.”
I tried to leave my little town
But an old man happened to see
And called “don’t go into the grass.”
Then ordered “follow me!”
I walked back with him to his lab
Where he forgot his grandson’s name
And gave me a living vegetable
That some people think is lame.
The old guy’s grandson challenged me
To a battle without gore
And I showed the power of friendship
Via my brand-new bulbasaur.
From that point on my journey
Is a blur of fallen foes
From Brock, Misty, and zubats
To a couple missingnos.
Somehow grandson Noname
Was always a step ahead
But I met him in Vermillion
And made his Raticate dead.
Then I beat organized crime,
Filled an encyclopedia,
Became the champion of the world
Without even leech-seeding ya’.
I am in fact the very best
So between you and me
I think the secret to success
Is skipping puberty.
Filed under Poems
I figured I could dabble
In championship Scrabble.
Then he played “Krypterqu”
For 502.
Now I just play with the rabble.
Filed under Poems
The young bet on clubs
And slowly lose their mind.
The grown bet on diamonds
And what they seek, they find.
The old bet on spades
And in time all follow suit.
For those who bet on hearts
Best be rich, or else be cute.
Yet I drew five jokers…
I’m either destined for greatness
Or I bet on too many clubs.
Filed under Poems
It’s half an hour to midnight
As the car runs out of gas.
The hat succumbs to the weather.
The little dog treats me like a cat.
My will is like an iron
As I walk in metal shoes
Towards the hotel of my rivals
And I know I’m bound to lose.
No change, though hours are passing
At the boardwalk by the park.
A steamship carrying wheelbarrows
Passes silent in the dark.
And as I spend my last coin
At the railroad B&O
I look at my thimble overlord,
Roll doubles thrice and to jail I go.
Filed under Poems
Gray steam rises from the sod
Obscuring the outlines
Of eleven men who would be God
If their teammates become so first.
The sky is darkness no one sees
Behind the lightning wall.
The crowd is warm despite the breeze
And bravado shields a heart’s true thirst.
A coin is flipped, a ball is thrown,
And bodies slowly shatter,
A ring is forever. A broken bone?
A pittance to the undying.
And so they fight, part man, part boy
So does decay commence.
They’ll either bottle tears of joy.
Or else just end up crying.
Here we see the warriors die,
Although they call it play,
Our voice is one great battle cry
To lend the few our will.
No longer are our swords so deft,
But fantasy’s alive.
Long ago the dragons left,
But here there’s magic still.
Filed under Poems
The pawns do naught but marching,
And often do they fall
For little more than hoping
That they’ll become queen after all.
The knights and bishops frolick
In the middle of the war,
Killed quickly by the competent
Or else begin to snore.
The rooks are oh so deadly,
The queen more fatal still
For these are weapons useful
To those of any skill.
But in the end I’m happy
That kingliness fell to me.
For every win I get the credit
And if I lose I mate for free!
Filed under Poems
Thirty-six hours in the hospital
And $17,000 dollars later
I regret my Halloween in Florida
And bobbing for that gator…
Filed under Poems