I went to college and got a degree
And hoped it would get me a job.
I learned how to drink, put off work and have threesomes,
And be both a loser and snob.
I can write ten page papers with ten words of content
And get booze with no valid ID.
Now I’m an unemployed expert in horticultural psychology
And I think you deserve this for free.
Filed under Poems
Roses are mauve
And kale causes addiction.
Two women sat quietly.
This poem is fiction.
Filed under Poems
A daddy seashell said to his son
“If you want to have some fun
“Hold a human ear to your shell
“And you can hear the sound of blood. ‘Tis swell!”
Filed under Poems
There lived a man who wished to die,
With lips malformed so when he’d sigh
The anguish that emerged was like
The first sunrise of Spring.
The humans that he’d never known
Had from all places to him flown
With no intent to comfort him
But just to hear him sing.
The singer sang, the cryer cried
To oceans deep and mountains wide
And every human listener thought
The singer read their mind.
The speaker spoke, the moaner moaned.
His sorrows said, his hopes intoned
Leaving unspoken just enough,
Ensuring seekers find.
He screamed at them in loneliness:
A girl in far too short a dress
Confused by why she couldn’t find
A man who’d stay ’til morning
And, to the men who eyed her, said
To see her heart before her bed
But all they heard were pretty words
And not the singer’s warning.
He sang to those who owned the gold,
The young who’d never gotten old,
The old who’d never been a child,
To those without a penny.
His sharing was his means to cope.
His medicine was spreading hope
Perhaps to you, the listening few
Among the mindless many.
The living listened as he cried,
He sang also to those who died,
A song for all who made mistakes
And sought to change their fate.
Some say that Satan turned to hear
And even shed a single tear.
Although the angel fell from grace
His wings might still bear weight.
No one asked the singer’s name.
To his wake no listeners came
For clouds above were pearly white
And sky above was blue.
Thus did the singer move along.
No longer needed was his song.
The singer lives forever
Even though his wish came true.
95 Americans contracted the plague
From 2000 to 2017
12 of whom have died from it
(At least that we have seen).
It’s amazing that all these years later
The plague is here to stay,
And that it’s death toll is greater
Than all-time ticket sales of the WNBA.
Sources:
https://www.cdc.gov/plague/maps/index.html
(Unfortunately there is no significant data indicating the purchase of one or more tickets to a WNBA event)
Filed under Poems
I heard him tell her “You’re breathtaking,”
And I thought “That’s nice, isn’t it.”
Then I realized it was a guy with a lisp
Who just punched his wife on the tit.
Filed under Poems
Today I saw one per cent milk
And so I gave my mom a holler.
Turns it it’s just crappy milk,
Not 100 milks for a dollar.
Filed under Poems
