There’s something to be said
For chatting without snap,
Books without face,
Interacting without that crap…
Gramming that’s not instant,
Interests that aren’t pins,
Singing without tweeting.
Real friends don’t need log-ins.
I think our society’s forgotten
The value of offline truth
So why not forget your password
And go enjoy your youth?
Filed under Poems
I read my child the story
Of a little red poultry whom
I respect, thus its female genitalia
Did not cause me its gender to assume.
My child looked up and said “Parent,
“I like when you do funny voices
“But why can’t we read about princesses
“Then make our own damn political choices?”
Filed under Poems
Today I stood out in the rain
And didn’t wear my hood.
It was frigid and soggy, yes,
But still felt pretty good.
I stood and looked at nothing much
And let the boredom grow
And those tiny discomforts helped
Much more than you can know.
I talked to her at a bus stop
And watched her walk away.
I’m stronger from the fire, now
A pot instead of clay.
And as I walk home in a pair
Of shoes devoid of style
Empty pockets will warm my hands.
My whole being is a smile.
Filed under Poems
I stand atop the rocky cliff
Above the salty ocean blue
And shout to myself “how lovely
“And beautiful are you!”
I stand atop the rocky shore
Above the crashing waves below
And my echo calls back softly
“Whoa now! Let’s take this slow.”
Filed under Poems
I remember yesterday
When to look at someone was okay,
When an elbow or a shoulder touch
Didn’t mean nearly so much.
I remember yesterday
When a compliment would make her day,
When “you look nice” was not a slur
When casually said by him to her.
I remember yesterday
When a man held doors and asked to pay,
When a bit of gentle care
Was not met with a dour glare.
I remember yesterday
When a guy could idly say
“What’s your number?” and not fear
Her screaming “rape” for all to hear.
So if you remember yesterday
In the aforementioned way
And know its loss would lead to sorrow
Let’s keep the past in mind tomorrow.
Filed under Poems
For everything there is a first:
First kiss, first game, first beer.
For everything there is a last
But we don’t celebrate those here.
For everything there are middles
Unless first and last are the same,
But we tend not to notice these
‘Cause they all seem just the same.
So I challenge you today to share
Your one-thousand-second baseball game,
Your six-hundred and eighth bus ride,
The fourteenth passing of a flame.
You never know how special
The present will someday get.
Besides, people tweet food pics
So you’re still less boring than the net.
Filed under Poems
The pot called the kettle black.
The kettle thought the pot was a racist kind,
But then kettle saw that the pot was black too
And, quoth the kettle, nevermind.
Filed under Poems
