“Clumps of dainty silver bones
Mixed amidst the silent stones
Are bathed not in blood or tears
But in the light of yesteryears.”
I don’t know the meaning of that verse,
If it be blessing or a curse,
But it’s tattooed on my forehead
Which is why I no longer drink before bed.
Filed under Poems
I made a fancy dinner
Like they do in Paris, France.
Rose petals and caviar
To step up the romance,
A salad of arugula
(‘Cause kale’s so bourgeois)
And a soup of herbs and lamb compote
Which sounded good to moi,
An entree of duck sauvignon,
A glass of chardonnay
(Which may match well, I sure don’t know
But neither do my guests, so it’s okay),
And all topped off with creme brulee
And fried ice cream served hot.
My only regret for the evening
Was putting them all in a single pot.
Filed under Poems
I saw her in a shady bar
And decided to go a step too far.
I invited her out into my car
Beneath the full white moon.
We did about what you’d expect.
It was so wrong yet so correct.
We surely were not circumspect
And afterwards slept ’til noon.
And when at twelve I done awoke
I very nearly had a stroke
For beside me was a bearded bloke
Where before there’d been a lady.
That moment’s when I’d realize
That full white moon caused the disguise.
I’d fallen prey to a Werewoman’s lies.
Now the bars I go to are less shady.
Filed under Poems
Sum folks dont knead it.
Other folks dew.
Eye’m speaking of coarse
Of voice two text apps. Dew ewe?
Filed under Poems
I’m a very lucky guy!
I got word from the IRS…
They’re giving me an Audi!
A brand new car? Oh yes!
I said she smelled flagrant
And her mood got all wrecked.
It didn’t help when I said to her
“Autocorrect.”
Filed under Poems
I asked “How do I get taller?”
They said “stand on a stool.”
Now my shoes smell like crap
And I feel like a fool.
There’s a big pile of wood chips
Outside my apartment
Just three floors down
From my balcony.
Now Autumn leaf piles
Are my fun department,
And all that small timber
Looked just the same to me.
To I climbed three stories
To the roof of my flat
Thinking of stories
I’d soon have to tell.
In hindsight, I was stupid.
I realize that,
But despite the mistake,
My jump went quite well.
I’m writing this poem
From my private suite
At Saint Andrew’s center
For injuries from small boards.
I’m hosting some bloggers
Who seem pretty neat,
And they say they’ll refer me
To the Darwin Awards.
If you ever doubt that life is good,
Jump into a pile of tiny wood.
Filed under Poems
I always thought I was the type of pig
Who built his house of bricks,
But on my online dating profile
I referred to women as “chicks.”
I don’t know how I’ll find true love,
After dropping such a bomb.
I guess the fire that burned my bridge
Started with a match.com
The Daily Travesty 