I caught her eye and blinked
In a way I meant to mean
“I appreciate your presence
And willingness to be seen.”
She blinked back in return
That said unmistakably
“I’ve seen you ’round these parts before.
Please stop following me.”
Tag Archives: Humor
Absent That Familiar Twinkle
The Art Of Heisting
I saw a priceless piece of art
Hanging on your wall.
I dug a slit beneath it
Into which it could fall.
I shook the house forcefully
With a wrecking ball,
And now to find the painting,
Through rubble I must crawl.
It seemed a good idea
For thieving at the time.
Your house was so unguarded
And perfect for a crime,
And the painting was so beautiful
It’d sell for quite a dime.
Alas, my plan was vetted
By an unreliable mime.
So because of my planner’s silence
I made a lot if noise
With the pretense of stealing
Your super pretty toys.
I hope I’ll find a better partner
Among the orange-jumpsuited boys.
Ah, the art of heisting
And all its simple joys.
Filed under Poems
Life is Ephemeral
If I were a mayfly
With but one day to live
I’d spend my only hours
Looking for ways to give,
And what better gift
Is there for a bunch of bugs
But a lifetime supply of happiness
In the form of chocolate Hugs.
I would build a factory
A milimeter high.
I’d hire and train the larvae
To work until they die.
I’d create a one-fly empire
To bring joy to me and you,
Only to have it crushed
By some human’s canoe.
So next time you are boating,
Running, swimming, or taking a hike
Think about the little guys
Before doing as you like,
‘Cause maybe the cure for cancer
Or diseases of another kind
Are hidden in the ephemeral
Ambitious mayfly’s mind.
If I were a Mayfly
I’d be the best fly I could be.
But alas, I’m not a fly,
So let’s go watch TV.
Filed under Poems
Places to Be
I thought the “Blue Screen of Death”
Was a relic from a bygone age,
But it took another breath
All over my my unsaved 30-page
Report that was due at a meeting
At nine o’clock today.
So sorry for my lack of a greeting,
But just get the #%^* out of my way!
Filed under Poems
The Expendable Letters
The letters Z and X,
And also Q and C,
Left the alphabet one day
In a flight of misery.
They knew they were superfluous,
That they could not make a sound
Unique and unimitatible
By the other 22 letters around.
And so we started seeing
Other letters filling in.
K and S hung out in a hotel lobby
Until J jekked them in.
The letters had more duties,
And had to get more brainy.
S started having seizures
Filling in for words like “zany.”
Eventually, they all came back
After things came to a head.
Alas, Q was still useless
And Z wanted to be called “Zed.”
X declared a monopoly
On marking spots on a map.
And poor old C remained
Just the first piece of Crap.
Filed under Poems
Long Story Short
Great things happen
To those who find
That every door
Has something behind
Its wooden walls
(Except those doors
Who’re made from refined
And processed ores)
That can be had
By those eho are snappin’
Their fingers with joy
At the great things that happen
To those door-finders
We’ve spoken about.
How’s that for a sentence?
Travesty, out.
Filed under Poems
Deep Encounters
I swam with silver dolphins
Under a shining diamond sky,
And I learned the meaning of everything
As each one passed me by.
I learned of joy and jealousy,
Serenity and rage.
I learned the truth of freedom
And of living in a cage.
I went swimming with dolphins
And learned what life’s about.
Then I smiled as the staff
Of Sea World saw me out.
Filed under Poems
The Competition
Nothing is flatter
Than pancake batter
Under a school bus
At sixty below.
That’s what I thought
‘Til I read your poetry.
Now batter looks better,
And that’s how things go.
Filed under Poems
Eight of Diamonds
There are 54 cards in a deck,
And only twelve are royalty.
I feel sorry for the folks
Who are stuck as a two or a three.
I wondered what card I was:
I’ve not the talent to be an ace,
And I’m really not a joker.
Would I ever find my place?
And then strolling down the sidewalk
I found eight diamonds on the ground,
So I sold them. Now I’m rich
And I don’t worry about this crap anymore.
Thor Throat?
My throat is sore,
My voice is hoarse,
But at least now I know
I can’t speak Norse.
The Daily Travesty 