Tag Archives: poems


Little ball of plastic

I hit into a hole:

It takes me many tries

To once achieve my goal.

I then repeat the process

Seventeen more times.

This sport is very stupid

But hey, the poem rhymes!

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Too Old

When I am too old to dream,

My mouth too old to smile,

I’ll place my hand upon the land

And feel the Earth a while.

Upon my skin, too loose to shape,

I’ll feel the critters crawl,

Relearning birth through mother Earth

And joy in being small.

I’ll feel the weeds begin to grow

O’er feet too slow to flee

And feel at peace as I release

What I mistook as me.

I’ll look upon my old abode

With eyes I’ve never known,

Then look on all that dared to crawl

And all that’s ever flown,

To use the sight I once ignored

Or else dismissed in haste

And understand ’twas not my hand

On which the insects paced,

‘Twas not my flesh I left behind,

‘Twas not my body gone,

But merely tools to comfort fools

Before their moving on.

When I am both too old to dream

And old enough to go

I’ll make my lair in everywhere

Until you say hello.

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How To Gracefully Excuse Yourself From A Social Event

If you are called at host’s behest

To play the role of honored guest

And feel perhaps a little stressed

Then heed this wisdom I think best:

First, if you need not prevent

Your presence at the said event

Then notice how your time is spent

And be amazed how fast it went,

But if instead you wish to flee

You’re wise indeed to contact me

For ’tis amazing what you’ll see

If you, for just a moment, pee.

If urination’s not your style

Another way to leave a while

Is to enter, wave, and smile

And call out as a greeting, “Heil!”

If these two tips do not work out

Don’t underestimate a pout,

For dourness beyond a doubt

Is a fair way to thumb one’s snout.

Urine, Nazi, or be sullen:

All are safe ways to be cullen,

So brand yourself ein angsty creep

And thou shall glow from longer sleep!

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Sometime In The 1800’s Maybe?

Once upon a time

A guy tried something new

For no reason besides

To see what stuff would do.

Afterwards he used

What he found as an appliance

And thus was born the toaster

And, with it, modern science.

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Why Amazon Makes Billions A Day

Sam was 28 years old,

Had never seen the sun,

Had never eaten chocolate,

Never had any fun,

Had never hugged a puppy

And got stung by a bee

And he’s telling the cashier about it

Right in front of me…

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Last Save: 7:59 Am -Pompeii, 79 AD…

This is the point in history

Where things aren’t going well,

But you aren’t very worried yet

Because you know a spell

That opens up a menu

Where you reload your latest save

And go back to start on easy mode

Instead of to your grave.

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Researching Self-Control

If I had a potato chip

For every theory that made sense

I’d have a much larger stomach

And not a lot of evidence…

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Car of Man, Car of Poet

He’s got a triple-axle

Turbo-powered 4×4

With a 12-liter v-20

And a carbon-fiber door.

It goes zero-to-sixty

In 1.72

And has a TV in the hood,

But me… My car is blue!

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Lucky for Me… I’m a 3!

She was meretricious

And he was five-foot-two

And yet somehow between them

Amorous feelings grew.

He thought she was a goddess

And she thought he was funny.

So go the lives of 4’s and 5’s

When they have boobs or money.

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The Case Against Hell

Were there an inventor,

Perhaps of a car,

And it found its vehicle flawed

I’d think that the fault

Was not with the car

But with it’s creator, Car God.

And if Car God said,

“You dumb stupid lemon,

“Made flawed because I wasn’t clever,

“Instead of repairing,

“Refining, retrying,

I think I’ll just burn you forever…”

If that were the case,

I’d want a new God

For fear that I might somehow fail.

But our God is better:

Our God is forgiving

For he made, but has not burned, kale.

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