In her pockets
Are red lipstick,
A makeup mirror,
And a guitar pick.
She’s got a swiss army knife,
A wilted daisy petal,
And an mp3 player
Full of heavy metal.
My pockets used to hold
Similar stuff
‘Til I gave up on pants.
Now I live in the buff.
Filed under Poems
I remember my first experience
With the wild game
With my family in the wilderness.
It started out the same
As always, with me picking
To buy my real estate
As a very wealthy shoe,
Who I promptly nicknamed “Nate.”
For pocket change we purchased
Some purples and light blues.
Then I rolled three doubles
And had to pay my dues.
I spent three turns in jail,
Until the mountain lion came.
Turns out the wild’s not the place
To play a monopoly game.
Filed under Poems
Flashing purple lights.
I’m inside a UFO.
What is with that probe?
Filed under Poems
If I were granted just one wish
I’d have an evil-slaying sword.
It may not be too practical,
But at least I wouldn’t be bored.
I’d go around the moonlit city
Slaying, smiting, chopping,
And otherwise killing baddies.
That, or I’d go shopping.
Filed under Poems
I dreamt that I was sleeping
A dreamless sort of sleep.
Then my dream was invaded
By countless uncounted sheep.
I counted the invaders
And so fell asleep again.
This poem may be real or not,
But either way it’s zen.
Filed under Poems
If I had a tuxedo
Made of golden water
Whose glamor under starlight
Has not been equaled yet
You would find it in my closet
Hidden in the darkness,
For when I don tuxedoes
I do not want to get wet.
So bedecked in wool and cotton
I dream of yonder maid unknown,
Her gown a golden fountain.
On her my heart is set.
And I think of my tuxedo
Growing stagnant on its hook
Because its owner fears the chance
Of some unearned regret.
I hope my fountain is patient
For the tuxedo she hasn’t met.
Filed under Poems
Let me tell you about Annie.
You may have seen her
Trampling the sidewalk
With her scuffed desert boots
And leathery, oil-stained blue jeans.
She has flour in her short blue hair
And a raisin in her blazer pocket,
Unnoticed mementos
Of her time in the kitchen
Trying to act like a woman.
She doesn’t walk, but charges lithely.
Her whispers are orations
To those near enough to hear,
Close enough to understand,
And willing enough to listen.
Annie heeds the winds of change
By standing still, her face pummeled,
Unable to breathe
Until the winds die down
And she smiles too broadly in victory.
Annie is beauty. Annie is strength.
Annie is a poet.
She is standing behind me
Making me publish this
Or else suffer to eat her baking.
Please be Annie’s friend.
Please.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
Trent had spiky auburn hair
Which was never out of place.
Wendell’s hair was a dangly mess
That covered up his face.
Both applied at Microsoft,
But neither got the job.
They lost it to a hairless guy
Whose name, they thought, was Bob.
So both the men, despairing,
Did shave their separate locks,
For to get employment
They needed to think inside the box.
Trent and Wendell reapplied
And once again they were denied,
For most folks care what’s in your head,
Not on it. Or so to believe I’m led.
Filed under Poems
We triumph over evil
And restore justice all day,
Yet evil and injustice
Never go away.
So I’ve become convinced
By the style of all these crooks
That someone’s sponsoring evil
In order to sell more books.
I tried to iron my shirt today
Expecting humor all the way,
I didn’t laugh. That’s how life goes:
‘Twas less ironic than I supposed.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 