Tag Archives: Misunderstanding

Elton John Meets Dumbo

I’ve always been an ally

To animals and butterflies,

So I wanted to play piano

For the beasts. Never did I surmise

That tickling the ivories

Would, in fact, lead to my demise.

I thought it would be cute,

But the elephant thought otherwise.

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One Hot Lady

Like oil in a lamp

Your body casts light

On those huddled around you

In the heart of the night.

Made brave by your radiance

We shall never tire,

But I still wonder why

Someone set you on fire…

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The Solvers and The Havers

Most men enjoy solving problems;

It gives them a meaningful life.

Alas, this is not something wanted

By most men’s eventual wife.

A man will fix up an auto,

A house, a business, a toy,

But it’s not solving problems but having them

That I’ve noticed most women enjoy.

A woman takes pleasure in saying

“I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m gross,”

Because other women say “me too”

And by such connection grow close.

If a man tells another “I’m hungry”

Another will say “have a snack”

And the problem is solved with five words

And the men to their task may go back.

Now the trouble occurs when the solvers

Treat problem-lovers the same:

A woman says “I’m bored,” and the man

Says “go play a video game.”

Now if the woman obeys him

She’ll prob’ly no longer be bored

And thus need another discomfort

Until her drama-quota’s restored,

So the man has given a solution

Which really won’t help her a bit

So she says “you don’t understand me!”

And runs off and calls him a git.

The man is confused by her answer

But has a solution to that:

He says to himself “bitch be crazy”

And then changes the sink in his flat.

So men, if you want to help women

Be happy then here’s what to do:

Have lots of flaws in your character

So she’ll always have drama with you.

And women, you know how to please a man

And don’t need advising from me,

But (as a man I must say this)

Without drama how happy you’ll be!

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Back When Some Men Weren’t Rapists

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.

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It’s A Matter Of Efficiency, Really

Today is Easter, as you know.

It’s also April Fool’s Day.

I think those go together

As they celebrate the way

That Jesus was all dead and stuff

And then suddenly he wasn’t.

The two holidays make sense to me

Because the whole “not dead” thing doesn’t.

What also doesn’t make much sense

Is a question of this kind:

It’s that God sacrificed himself

To appease himself I mind.

Not only that, but if it’s true

That Jesus isn’t dead

Then why not find another way

To cure one’s Godly head?

It seems if you’re omnipotent

You could just say “hey folks,

“Get your shit together”

Instead of the “oops, not dead yet” jokes.

But I am just a human

And can’t be my own son

So I’ll just eat my chocolate eggs

And let His will be done.

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They Probably Met Online

Sharp and cold’s the flashing rain

Upon my black umbrella

Which I relinquish happily

Unto my new love, Stella.

Now her springtime golden tress

Is dry as my nervous mouth

For my journey takes me northward

While she vacantly looks south.

I stammer “what’s your number?”

As an adolescent might,

And I’ll never forget her eyes,

Dark blue just like the night.

“First you give me this thing,”

She says towards my umbrella,

“Then follow me for blocks

“Like I’m some sort of Cinderella?

“I won’t give you my number

“And I beg you, leave me be!”

Then she closed my umbrella

And thrust it into me.

And in that painful moment,

Twice breathless made am I

For my heart says “Dude, she saw you!”

Though my gut tells me to cry.

Thus as my tears join eagerly

The gutter’s growing moat

I wish her path be free of puddles

For I cannot lay down my coat.

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The Problem With Democracy (My Perspective Matters More)

“Do you see what I see”

Is a stupid thing to ask,

For though the subject we both see

May be a boot or flask

I see it in the sunset

Flanked by gorgeous fall of night

But by virtue of an angle

You see it framed by walls of white.

I can see what you see

And you can see what I.

We can say “that is a boot”

Though we each use a different eye.

So why not on social matters

Cannot we likewise more agree

That if a thing’s more beautiful

To you than ’tis to me

That the thing itself objectively

Is, regardless, unaffected?

Because it doesn’t help dividers

Unite short-sight to get elected.

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