Hollywood!
(It’s so darn good)
Oh yes, oh yes, I say.
Hollywood!
(Land of falsehood)
Oh yes, oh yes.
Where what’s important aren’t the facts unless they fit into three acts.
The place where fiction goes to diiiiiieeeeeeee!
Where it’s okay to have no story. CGI can bring you glory.
So can manly men who cryyyyyyyyyyyy!
Hollywood!
(Our favorite wood)
Oh yes, oh yes.
They’ve done all they could
(More than they should)
Oh yes, oh yes,
To guarantee that you and me will pay hard-earned money to see
A bunch of actors green-screen flyyyyyyy!
Where shirtless six-packed men are common working at Starbucks, eating ramen
Hoping to be a leading guuuyyyyyyyyyy!
You can’t stop Hollywood!
(Long has it stood!)
Oh no, oh not Hollywood!
(What else rhymes with “wood?”)
Nothing I guess…
And if you’ve ever read the book at adaptations do not look
Because you know they’ll only break your heart in twooooooooooo!
And if derivative plotlines can’t send those shivers up your spines
Well, don’t expect the Fox execs to say boo hoooooooooooo!
They gave you big robotic brawlers
And already have your dollars
So why not make Skywalker say “screw yoooouuuuuuuuu?
So if you’re inclined to feel
You don’t want to keep it real
Then come to Hoooooooo
Llllyyyyyyyyyyyy
Woooooooooooooood….
(Dramatic pause)
Toooooooooooooooooo
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
(Olay!)
If you need special education
And can’t digest information,
If you need special education
Thump your chest!
(Thump thump thump thump…)
Filed under Poems
There once was a popular band
Whose singer was pretty but bland.
The sales started to fall
Until for one and all
She showed off a mammary gland.
Filed under Poems
We could talk about the ego,
Super-ego, or the id
But I don’t think that does justice
To the amazing things Freud did.
Anyone can acknowledge
That people’s brains are weird,
Have a couch to lie on,
Or grow a snazzy beard,
But how many psychiatrists
Can also play guitar
Like Dr. Sigmund “Pink” Freud did?
That guy was quite a star!
Filed under Poems
Our lives are like a song
In a language we don’t know.
Our feet tap to the beat of the world
When we feel that special flow.
It starts out as a whisper
And builds into the cry
Of a baby with the will to sing
But no knowledge how or why.
It may turn many corners.
It changes every verse.
The song always gets better
Even if it may sound worse.
Some songs will stop too suddenly
And some go on too long.
Since we don’t know what we’re singing
Why care if something’s wrong?
You can sing however’s comfortable.
When all is said and sung
I hope I’m singing nonsense
‘Til I get my iron lung!
One of the beloved songs
Is titled “Silent Night,”
Of story of a night where all
Is calm and all is bright.
With the writer of the song
I want to have a chat.
A silent night where all is bright?
What kind of night is that?
Filed under Poems
I wrote a poem about breaking up
Though I’m happily single.
I wrote a poem about parties
Though I seldom even mingle.
I wrote one about prison
Though I’m offended by “darn.”
I write one about dead soldiers
Though I’m home, both safe and warm.
Each one I halfway finished
Then deleted with a click
Because my life is so darn easy
I’d come off looking like a dick.
Sorry for the language.
I guess I got unhinged.
No more poetry for me
After a punk-rock Youtube binge!
Filed under Poems
Sleepwalking,
Night stalking…
Insomnia is killing me.
Dead of night,
I feel no fright.
Just a few more hours ’til I’m free.
With empty hearts
And bulging carts
They leave my shelves so very bare.
Their hands are deep
In all that’s cheap.
At these poor beasts I stare.
All these hours
Living in a haze
Just a few more days
On the night shift.
I waste my life
Repeating strife,
Putting boxes back on the shelves.
My peers and I
Just want to cry,
Go home and be all by ourselves.
I ain’t got paid,
But I’ve quit and stayed.
Oh! How that paycheck calls…
I say I’ll walk,
But it’s all talk.
I haven’t got the balls.
All these hours
Hoping its a phase.
Counting down the days
On the night shift.
Then in an instant
I hear the TV:
“Todays winning numbers are
“7, 6, 5, 4, 3.”
Thirty-eight million dollars
Are mine! All mine! Then…
My boss yells “you’re fired
“If you doze off again.”
All these hours
And finally an excuse…
No need for such abuse…
Time to take another snooze…
On the night shift.
The Daily Travesty 