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.
They said I could do anything
If I put my heart into it
But after 17 years in a mariachi metal band
A part of me says “screw it.”
Filed under Poems
Nickelback called me
To let me know
They wrote a song
Inspired by my life.
Part of me feels
Honored by their intention,
But I’ll never listen to the song
Which should save me some strife.
Filed under Poems
For those of you who do not know
I have a sparse financial pool,
And so to make some extra bucks
I teach chess at the local school.
Now, names are hard to memorize
So sometimes we play games
To have fun, but mostly to
Help master all the names.
One such game is but a song,
Wherein the person pitched
Is sung to in a pattern
In which some letters get switched:
“Jamie jamie bo bamie,
“Bannana-fanna fo famie,
Me, my, mo mamie,
“Jamie.”
Yes, it is a silly game
But it does its job.
The problem is that you don’t want
To make the children sob
So every single child
Gets their own letter-swapping chorus
To help us learn their names
Before they play chess and ignore us.
In the old days all the Jamies,
Davids, Duncans, Kyles, and Joes
Could sing this song as easily
As “Head, shoulders, knees and toes.”
But now all the La’shamquas,
Chimeras, Flexktons, and Ka’drames
Don’t work as well with this song
(And the Aidan/Caden/Jaydensall sound the same).
Still the worst name ever
That I’ve applied this method too
Was a little boy named Tucker
Who didn’t want to go boo-hoo
So a class of twenty children
Sang “bannana-fanna fo…”
Then sang the next line to the principal
Who then told me I had to go.
So that’s why I am hustling
With my chess board in the park.
Sometimes you end up a hero.
Sometimes Tucker makes you a shark.
Filed under Poems
I look at you, you look at me.
You cannot look away.
You wonder if the state I’m in
Is really quite ok.
You probably think I’m crazy.
Maybe you think I’m brave?
Whatever you think I won’t say no
So join me like you clearly crave.
I’m flattered kindly stranger
But join you I cannot
For the state you’re in repels me
And I am very both’red and hot.
I’m sorry I’m repellant
But search your feelings. You know it’s true…
If I can play the piano naked on the sidewalk
Then doubtless, so can you!
Filed under Poems
Guitar housemate is playing
Resounding evening chords
That resonate throughout the house
And shake its very boards.
Guitar housemate
Will suffer at a later time
Thanks to my new “grow your own giant roach” kit
And 2-day shipping from Amazon Prime.
Filed under Poems
I am a man of many skills.
I write music and poetry,
I play more than five instruments
And I’m good at climbing trees.
I can recite from memory
Every episode of M.A.S.H.
One of these days I’ll learn a skill
Conducive to earning cash.
Filed under Poems
I’ve played the trombone
Since I was eight-years-old.
“No one loves trombonists”
I’ve frequently been told.
Despite this I persisted
With an empty heart and bed,
But now I think I’ve had enough.
I’ll play the accordian instead.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 