Tag Archives: Poetry

A Most Violet Shanty (Not A Typo)

Legend says upon the sea

Beneath the skull and bones

A tiny man with whose skin is tan

With a beard of violet tones

Command a stalwart legion

Or pirates, hard as granite

Who seek to steal from those in teal,

Themselves in pomegranate.

There’s never been a pirate captain

So dreaded to be seen

As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man

Called Captain Aubergine…

Some once called him a dandy man

And some called him a fop,

And that soon lead to many a head

Who’s rollings’ are yet to stop.

And there he’ll stand with sword in hand

And beard the brightest plum

And calls the rat to ladies that

For booty he had come!

There’s never been a pirate captain

So dreaded to be seen

As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man

Called Captain Aubergine…

When on the seas, the frigates fled

When purple sails were seen

For not a sailor, cook, or whaler

Fights with Aubergine.

They knew beneath that gold fedora

A brutal brain belongs,

But none escape pillage and rape

Nor his K-Pop pirate songs!

There’s never been a pirate captain

So dreaded to be seen

As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man

Called Captain Aubergine…

And when the Violet Virgin docked

(As the captain’s ship was called)

The folks in port were naught but sport

For the pirates so ribald.

They stole the bread and beans and rice

And even the polenta,

For nothing stops the pirate fops

Bedecked in their magenta!

There’s never been a pirate captain

So dreaded to be seen

As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man

Called Captain Aubergine…

‘Til finally one fateful night

‘Neath a sunset, heliotrope

A treasure trove in vibrant mauve

With scalawags did elope

And Aubergine was satisfied

And sailed off, drinking wine

To somewhere worse, where grass is perse

And the sky’s amaranthine!

There’s never been a pirate captain

So dreaded to be seen

As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man

Called Captain Aubergine…

At least that’s how the tale’s told now

Of Captain Aubergine…

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Filed under Lyrics, Poems

Your Nostalgia Is Complete

I read someone’s list

Of their favorite childhood movies…

The Lion King, Bambi… those types.

If you are its creator

I want to remind you

Of the Microsoft screensaver pipes.

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Teaching Addition In The Inner City

“Mathematics is the study

“Of revenge,” I said to Steven.

“Five and three are at odds,

“But together they got even.”

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They Don’t Call It “Premium” For Nothing

Today I give thanks

For 93-octane gas…

The kind that nobody buys;

It just sits in tanks

While people say “pass,”

But remains both potent and wise.

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Shut Up, It’s A Valid Question!

Nine out of ten people agree

A zombie apocalypse would be bad,

And yet there are folks you will see

Who think such a plague is rad.

What I really want to know

Is whether those with necrophilia

Would be more or less turned on

By moving corpses that can kill ya…

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Promises

One hundred years ago today

A boy and girl were scared

Together in the chapel,

Neither one of them prepared

To spend a life exclusively

In one another’s heart,

But shared a kiss and promise there

‘Til death tore them apart.

Five years from that fateful day

A child joined the two

And once again they stood in fear

Without a hope or clue,

Uncertain how to raise a child

And keep him safe from pain,

But wrapped him in a blanket

And they walked him through the rain.

When fifteen years expired

Since the day they said “I do,”

They met a world of poverty

And skies were seldom blue,

And sometimes they’d go weeks on end

And not a dollar see,

But when they ate, they said their prayers

They ate as family.

Twenty years and thirty went

And forty passed away

And what was young was wrinkled up

And what was brown turned gray.

The easy things got harder

And the hard things all stayed tough,

But a couple has each other

And for them that was enough.

A hundred years ago today

Two words were said by two

And love that was uncertain then

We now can see was true.

There’s always rain, there’s always fear,

There’s always poverty,

And there will always be two more

To find serenity.

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Both are Mostly Empty…

“Airhead’s an offensive term,”

Said my girlfriend of 30 days.

I said, “Sorry, didn’t know.”

Now I call her “Bag of Lays.”

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For Those Who Missed The Metaphor, The Dragon Is Poverty

The dragon was coming

To Farawayshire

To eat many virgins

And breathe lots of fire.

The lord of the town said

“‘Fraid of dragons we aint,

“For I have procured us

“A fireproof paint!”

And so people painted

The roofs and the walls

Or the houses and stables

And castles and malls

Until the Lord said

With the smallest of sneezes,

“Cease painting at once

“For it causes diseases.”

The paint, it so happened

Did cause minor distress

To persons named Remington,

Fleischmann, and Hess.

Those with such names

Of course caused quite a fuss

While the rest of the town

Wondered, “What about us?

“The dragon is coming!

“How will we survive?

“Sure, a few will be sickened

“But we’ll be alive!”

The mayor just laughed

And he said with a tsk…

“What’s a few teeth and fire

“When our health is at risk?”

And, for some reason, this

Made the citizens calm

And await coming dragons

With nary a qualm.

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Oh No… OH NO!

I wondered what the worst news ever could be

And I finally have an answer:

It’s hearing your wife of 70 years

Tell you she has testicular cancer.

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