Tag Archives: Late

Close Calls and My Unintentional Confession That I’m A Wimp Who Doesn’t Know What “Staying Up Late” Means

Some days I stay up too late…

Like right now. (It’s 11:38)

Thanks to my late bedtimes

I’ve kept up with daily rhymes

And not yet inspired your hate.

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Autobiography, Chapter 1

Writing lousy poems

Is really not that hard.

It doesn’t take a lot of work

To be a blogging bard.

The only bit that’s difficult

Is deciding what to write,

Thus my meta-poetry

At 10 o’clock at night.

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Truth, AKA The Last Resort

Once again I find myself

Besot by evening’s chill,

No longer in possession of

The time I had to kill.

My mind fixates upon the task

I’ve thus far left undone:

I swore I’d write a poem a day

And yet have written none.

Thus I lie upon my bed

Writing where I am now,

Stating the truth about my life

As syllables allow.

Now comes the peril of present-tense:

I write that I’m writing,

Now I reread the previous line

To see if it’s exciting.

I also find, where once I wrote

Six syllables then eight,

My meter has forsaken me

By virtue of it’s late.

Thus endeth my desperate foray

To create relevant verse.

To all reading I bid good night!

(Poetry is a curse).

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Why I Love Football

This month we will experience

The NFL’s preseason

In which millionaires hit each other

Deapite the lack of any reason,

And we the fans will cheer

To kick our team’s rival’s posterior

Because we can’t play ourselves

Since we’re genetically inferior.

We’ll sit and eat and fart a bit

And somehow manage to sweat.

At the end half of us will sob

While half say “best preseason yet!”

Then we picture our team’s victory

And order larger pants

With the logo of some other team

That actually has a chance.

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What My Mother Tells Me

When you have to stay up late

Because you’ve got a flight

You can forget until 11:56

To write your poem tonight.

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A Sneak Peek At Poems From My Upcoming Senate Campaign

You may have both heard

I can’t be bothered

To write funny poems

Before evening’s chill.

I’d like to address

To the question, and yes

I will address it

Although first I will

Bring to your sense

The problems immense 

That plague creativity

Such as lack of caffeine,

An unhealthy diet

(Though I’d urge you to try it),

And a sleep cycle deadly

To the health of one’s spleen.

These matters now raised

The establishment praised

Solutions that will not

These problems make right.

My plans will be different.

Now what was the question?

You don’t even remember.

With that said, good night!

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Possible Political Folly = Guaranteed Comic Gold

So many nights I spent

Uninspired in my bed

Staring at the blinking cursor

With pages empty as my head.

The night after the election

So many topical jokes did flow

Which, hilarious as they might have been,

Of them the world can’t know.

A literal pot of gold

In my conciousness did lie

On the bright side much humor’s to come

Thanks to America’s choice. Bye bye!

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Camelot, <60 Seconds Before This Poem Becomes Tomorrow's Poem

The table’s round.

The knights are young.

The swords are drawn

And the fu is kung.

The mists descend

Like falling water

While the king mourns

That no one has yet made “Welcome Back Kotter.”

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Thus The Lateness

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.”

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Apathy and all that

It’s a long weekend:

Yee hah and woo hoo!

You didn’t want a long poem,

Did you?

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