Tag Archives: Postaday

February 23, 2018 · 12:47 pm

Three Stupid Little Poems That You May Or May Not Enjoy

“Tough Stough”

They’re was once a person

Who said that life is though.

I think life was thougher for him

Because he was dumb, yo.

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“Follow Your Dreams”

It’s hard being a teenage mom.

I’m really not a fan,

But I think I have it harder

Given I’m a middle-aged man.

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“Find Yourself”

Iodine fluorine

Yttrium ununoctium

Calcium nitrogen

Rhenium astatine

Thorium iodine sulfur

Yttrium ununoctium

Argon rhenium

Uranium neodysium erbium

Tungsten oxygen krypton dysprosium oxygen

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February 22, 2018 · 9:46 am

When You’re Flying In 16A

Like the great beluga whale

It weighs a couple tons,

Is pale as homemade yogurt,

And very seldom runs,

It makes a high-pitched squealing

When it means to share its views.

It mentions it’s in 16B

And apparently that’s good news?

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February 21, 2018 · 10:24 am

Today

We are lazy-eyed romantics

Who, slothful, deign to leer

At sexy ghosts like future, past,

But seldom now or here.

We seek the worldly pleasures

That we, in moments, lack

Knowing we once had them

And hoping they’ll come back.

And like the perfect lover

The present sees us gaze

At a future that will never come

And long-forgotten days

Yet gives us still all that we need,

Supports in every way.

I write so we’ll requite the love

Of the miracle that is Today.

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February 20, 2018 · 11:46 am

Fired From Hallmark… Again

Why’d the first flamingo think

“I’ll be flightless, awkward, pink?”

How’d the first hippo decide

To be as tall as it was wide?

Why did the first jackass choose

That name as the one to use?

You may wonder, so here’s a clue:

They all wanted to be like you!

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February 19, 2018 · 5:54 pm

Was There Ever A President Hank? ‘Cause That Window’s Probably Closing…

Today’s the day we celebrate

The presidents half of us hate,

The two or three good ones we got

And the fifty-some we all forgot.

We do not have gifts or a meal.

There is no spirit that we feel,

But it’s a day off so we thank

George and Abe and prob’ly a Hank.

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February 18, 2018 · 9:47 am

The Problem With Democracy (My Perspective Matters More)

“Do you see what I see”

Is a stupid thing to ask,

For though the subject we both see

May be a boot or flask

I see it in the sunset

Flanked by gorgeous fall of night

But by virtue of an angle

You see it framed by walls of white.

I can see what you see

And you can see what I.

We can say “that is a boot”

Though we each use a different eye.

So why not on social matters

Cannot we likewise more agree

That if a thing’s more beautiful

To you than ’tis to me

That the thing itself objectively

Is, regardless, unaffected?

Because it doesn’t help dividers

Unite short-sight to get elected.

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February 17, 2018 · 11:59 am

Don’t Let The Faux-Somnolent Diminish Your Importance!

When one says “I must be dreaming”

(Implying you’re something they snoozed)

You should slap them with a chicken

Just to make them more confused.

An alligator also works

But they’re tougher to hide.

Also, if you’re sleepy and poultry-phobic

I find it’s best to stay inside.

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February 16, 2018 · 11:04 am

Or Just Misspell A Biblical Name

I see little boys and girls

With very unique names

Like Cadence, Weston, Apple, Peityn,

Lembas, Crêpe, and Flames.

Now if your name is “Flames” you’re fine,

But “Crookshanks…” not so much.

So here are some modern names

I think are better much:

Verity, Sanity, Clamperl, Spore,

Visigoth, Boromir, Wikstrom, Implore,

Magnitude, Honeydunce, Kraftool, Parade.

Name your kid one of these and they’ll have it made!

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February 15, 2018 · 11:19 am

They Told Me To Find My Passion… (AKA My Tool Is Longer Than Yours)

As my eyes met the tape measure

I felt the fire rear up in my heart

And I knew that in the future

I could measure

In metric or imperial units

How high those heart-flames soared.

Some people mocked my passion,

Said I’m weird for longing

To know how long my longing was,

But I say its better than being bored.

When I feel that need to now how I feel

And I pull out that flexible metal bar

And with each box, each wall I measure

The heavens ring with a music

Only it and I can hear,

A cord’s secret chord.

And somewhere in that tape measure

That sings our hidden music

I hope its heart is happy

Knowing my pocket will be its home

And gone are the days

When its passions were ignored.

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February 14, 2018 · 11:28 am

Tom Is The Perfect Man

She says she wants a man

Who’ll be honest and true,

Who’ll give her his heart

And support when she’s blue,

Who say they’re old-fashioned

But open to stuff,

Safe and spontaneous,

Non-threatening but buff,

And I can’t help thinking

As I look in her eyes

That I’m glad I’m her cat

And not one of those guys.

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