Tag Archives: Life

That’s Almost As Many “Likes” As Teenagers Can Say In One Minute Without Even Trying

I’m 8 “Likes” away from 21,000

In the history of my blog.

My heart is very excited

And my soul is like a dog.

If 8 more people like my crap

I’ll finally achieve my goal

Of getting as many likes as a girl

Who posts dancing pics with a pole.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems, To the Reader

What A Blessing To Be No One

Somebody is hurting now,

Hungry and alone.

Somebody is lonely

And addicted to a phone.

Somebody is nervous

Thinking they may be too small.

Somebody feels nothing

‘Cause they just don’t care at all.

Somebody is angry

At the world for being there.

Somebody is drowning,

Wanting nothing more than air.

Somebody’s forgotten

How to laugh and sing and dance.

Meanwhile, I am nobody

And grateful for the chance.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Baby Fat

They made a bigger, safer playground

For the children at the school

And the big kids and the babies

Both agree it’s pretty cool,

And the makers cash their checks

For saving kids from pain

And the parents who know better

See the baby fat remain.

They made a kinder, gentler college

For the kids of yesteryear

Where thinking is discouraged

Because it sometimes causes fear

And the makers plan the lessons

And the students love their chains

And the thinkers keep their distance

And the baby fat remains.

They made predictable excitements

For the prisoners of money

And the watchers and the buyers

Say “That’s scary,” or “That’s funny,”

And the makers give themselves awards

For cutting with the grain

And the living have walked out

Because the baby fat remains.

They gave us safer deadly toxins

And harder automatic wins

And a tolerant sort of hatred

And more pleasant deadly sins.

The makers smile, their strategy

Entirely on track

Because the folks who have the baby fat

Are folks who don’t fight back.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

That Was My First Mistake

When a child is chosen

To come down from Heaven

They’re given a choice

From between one and seven

On how hard a challenge

They want life to be.

Here’s a few quick examples

For you now, from me:

One is a plant

In a jungle somewhere

Far away from the humans

With lots of clean air.

A two is a puppy

In a rich white guy’s home

With unlimited treats

And a whole yard to roam.

A three’s like a two

Until that fateful day

When you start as a “he”

And the vet makes you “they.”

A four is a human

Who lives all their days

With a big happy family

And an annual raise.

At five you have troubles

Like sickness or fear

And just 500 likes

On that pic of your rear.

At six life can seem

Like an old country song,

But you can take comfort

That it won’t last too long.

And seven’s just you

In a hospital bed

With a Taylor Swift song

Ever stuck in your head.

I hope that this helps you

Decide your next fate.

I know that, before life,

A lot’s on your plate.

No matter your choice though

You’ll probably be fine

Unless you’re a poet

Who asked, “Hmm… what’s nine?”

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

And The Lord Made The Oceans…

Some folks say that God is dead,

But that’s misinformation.

The real truth is God is gone

On one big long vacation.

He asked his faithful angel pal

To water his plant before bed,

But the angel pal misread the note

And watered the planet instead.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

1-17 Are Just Slime… 19-100 Are Escargot

When my car won’t work

Because something is faulty

I tend to get angry

Or, some would say, salty.

Yes, salt and rage fill me

Whenever I fail…

That’s reason 18

I’m glad I’m not a snail.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Be Me At 11:49

There once was a poet from here

Who enjoyed quite a bit of good cheer.

He ran out of time

To make comedy rhyme

But I’ll be better soon, never fear!

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Self-Portrait as Crappy Little Beach

It’s forty-seven Fahrenheit;

The sky and I are gray.

No one smart will sunbathe nude

On my poor sand today.

The waves are lapping loudly

Redefining what I am:

I’m a crappy little beach

In a town called Bellingham.

Observing me are humans,

Ages 3 to ninety-five

And a pair of lazy seagulls

Simply glad to be alive.

My face is made of footprints

Carved from mud and little feet

And a single tiny castle

Built in days when there was heat.

A single browning leaf still flies

Above the tiny moat,

Unnoticed by the passerby

Who try not to emote.

Beside me are some benches

With some names carved on their backs

Of love too poor or humble

To be featured on the plaques.

A lovely woman sits on me

With eyes locked on her phone,

Avoiding passing glances

Though she’s scared to be alone.

I’m here in every season

And I listen when you talk,

Supporting you in silence

As upon my back you walk.

I’ll be here with the sunset

And I’ll welcome you at dawn.

I’m a crappy little beach

Here until you’re long since gone.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Identity Crisis

Once a boy wondered if it was okay

That he wanted to feel like a woman someday;

Once a girl asked if she’d feel more joy

If she looked and acted and spoke like a boy;

One adult wondered, for they had forgotten,

If youth was a blessing or if it were rotten;

And so this went on for more than forever

In the weak and the strong and the dumb and the clever.

Behind every eye is a mind that is yearning

To know if their heart is the only one burning,

To know if their fears are the same as their neighbors

And whether they’ll ever bear fruit from their labors.

They seek refuge from the onslaught of “uncertain,”

Ever straining to peek at what’s behind the curtain,

Answering tests that will never be graded

‘Til the years pass them by and the memories are faded.

And Amy and Andrew and Zelda and Zane

Will all long for comfort and cry from their pain,

And only the wisest know what they must do:

Merely listen intently and say what is true.


Filed under Poems

Almost Year of the Ox…

I was in San Francisco

Looking for a Gucci bag.

I saw one that was perfect

But it didn’t have a tag.

I asked the asian shop clerk

“Is this real? I’m not a cop.”

He said, “Bag not counterfeit,”

And that was bull in a china shop.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems