When you ask me if I’d like
To come inside and have a drink
I must admit I am unsure of
Just what I’m supposed to think.
For if you wish to offer me
Some decaf, juice, or tea
And chat a while and then retire
That sounds alright to me.
If you’re friendly invitation
Is an amorous innuendo
I’ll be flattered. Nonetheless
I’ll respectfully decline though.
And when, to the inviter,
These truths I clearly state
I get to home home early
And needn’t have a second date.
There was some smashing,
Some twisting and spitting,
Some moaning and throbbing,
And the eating of a peep.
I lay on my back and
The sheets got all sweaty
But now I’m all comfy
And ready for sleep.
Las poema de todayo
Estas un indicator-õl
De how mucho yo remembero
From das high school Espagnõl.
Filed under Poems
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
The horse passes by.
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
It has no shoes, but why?
Flip-flop, flip-flop.
Problem solved.
Filed under Poems
Chanel number five
When she comes home at night…
Something about it
Just doesn’t feel right.
She won’t catch my eye.
There’s a lie I can see.
This sounds like a job
For Double-O Me!
I’m spying on Wilson.
I hope it’s not John.
I’ve got to find out
Just what’s been going on.
My heart will stay broken
‘Til I find out the truth.
Time for Double-O Me,
The ultimate sleuth!
She doesn’t like Travis
And Alfred is a bore.
Ted’s not into women
And Pete is off at war.
Her other male friends
I cannot recollect
So maybe the answer’s
Not what I expect?
I’m done spying on Wilson.
I know it isn’t John,
And still I have to wonder
Just what is going on.
My heart will stay broken
‘Til I find out the truth.
Yet more time for Double-O Me,
Still the ultimate sleuth.
I’ve gotten sick of lurking
And staking out my friends.
Now I’m hoping that the means
Will justify the ends.
I asked her “why the perfume?”
She said “It blocks the smell.
“I like pet-sitting Scruffy
“But he stinks like bloody hell!”
For sure it isn’t Wilson.
John was innocent too.
Turns out that my suspicions
Were anything but true.
My heart’s no longer broken,
But I’ve one more thing to do.
Next up for Double-O Me:
To give that dog a talking to.
As icy water wraps me
Like Satan’s comfort blanket
The naked truth hits me
Like one of my French girls.
I realize that I will die
And almost certainly not win an Oscar.
I look out on the ocean,
Green waves far away massage
Where the shore’s shoulders would be
If the shore had shoulders.
A cold wind turns the surface
Into a speckled visage,
The watery face of a teenage boy
If that’s what the ocean were.
Leagues below, seaweed dances
As a beloved mermaid sings
About how unsatisfied she is
With royalty and wealth.
All I hear is screaming,
The sound of burning wreckage
Sinking below the surface,
And Celine Dion warming up offstage.
As I gaze into the eyes of my love
Whom I met a few hours ago
My suffering diminishes
For I do not suffer alone.
A thousand boyfriends will share
This 214-minute suffering
For so long as home videos exist.
I was her shoulder to cry on,
Something the shoulderless shore
Will never be.
Okay, I’m cold now.
Filed under Poems
A little bird told me
“Tweetley tweety tweet tweet.”
I don’t exactly know what it means
But I bet it’s something neat!
Filed under Poems
Why yes indeed,
I rode my steed
To do the deed
Of rescue.
For a maiden fair
I did ride there,
My only care
To rescue.
I slayed the foe
That guards her, though
I only did so
To rescue
That stolen dame.
I would lay claim
To lass and fame
Through rescue.
The door open wide
I rushed inside
To where she does reside
To rescue.
When I did, I saw
A girl with bloody maw
Holding a chainsaw.
Now my rescue
Seemed quite in doubt.
As it turns out
Well, could you help me out?
I need rescue.
Filed under Poems
Sometimes I get tired of writing crap
So I write something lovely instead.
Tonight is not one of those times.
Now I’m done and I’m going to bed.
Filed under Poems
In a bloody mass of who-knows-what
A tiny terror meets the world
The doctor slaps it on the butt
Then gives it to you, warm and curled.
Ten years later it has grown fangs
A whirling aura of disease,
It looks so cute behind its bangs,
But that hair is full of lice and fleas.
It makes a noise that never stops,
A high pitched whine, a piercing cry.
Alas, it seems to call you “pops”
So you cannot wish that it will die.
Someday it will become a beast
That eats your food and drives your car.
All your boundaries will be pushed
Until it knows its gone too far.
And then it leaves, all big and grown
Perhaps to university.
You wonder how the time has flown
Until it moves back in with a degree.
After a while it gets a job,
You get gray hair and shrink a bit,
And then you die and people sob
And people bury you and shit.
Your lives are done, your beast is weaned,
You’ve given all the vital talks.
Now from the grave you proudly beam
And watch the dryer eat its socks.
Filed under Poems
