My favorite flowers are daisies.
My favorite black president is Obama.
My favorite meal and my favorite animal
Both are the same: They’re yo’ mama.
My favorite flowers are daisies.
My favorite black president is Obama.
My favorite meal and my favorite animal
Both are the same: They’re yo’ mama.
Filed under Poems
The car windows are steamy.
My chest is warm and bare.
My fingers tingle, running
Gently through her golden hair.
Her chin is in my fingers
And I pull her lips to mine.
Our tongues do dance a tango
That defines the word divine.
I pause, she gasps and whimpers
But I say “I’ll be back soon.”
I step into the parking lot
Beneath the crescent moon.
I can read “humane society”
Despite the evening fog.
I tell the clerk “I’ll take her,”
And that’s how I met my dog.
Filed under Poems
A Mexican magician
Was the epitome of grace.
He would count “uno, dos,”
Then disappear without a tres.
He did this trick in Europe.
When he reappeared he said “mama mia!”
Then he asked “can you see me now?”
And the crowd said: “Yes, oui, si, ja.”
Filed under Poems
A pyromaniacal lizard,
A grand aquatic turtle,
A plant-infested dinosaur
Walk into a bar.
Some ten-yeard-olds
Go on a quest with them.
It’s worked out well so far.
Filed under Poems
Three grey crows
Walk into a bar
Where liberals make jokes
About how white they are.
Filed under Poems
Why did the [subject]
[action in past-tense]?
Because [satisfying irony],
But that’s just my two cents.
Filed under Poems
What is orange
And six feet tall
And smells like it is dead?
This isn’t a joke.
I’m asking you
Because one is in my bed.
Filed under Poems
You enter the clearing
Where your publisher lives
And wander up to his home.
You’re greeted by
A lovely smell
And ceramic garden gnome.
You didn’t think
You’d leave here rich.
You thought you’d just come for dinner,
But at the Publisher’s
Clearing House
You may already be a winner.
Filed under Poems