Where I live in Washington
The schools are shutting down.
The restaurants are closing
All across my little town.
Musicians, actors, dancers
Have no place to ply their trade
And artists cannot show their work
And therefor can’t get paid.
Amidst setbacks and panic
There’s a cloud with a silver-line:
Though you cannot learn or act
Or dance or sing or dine
There is no ban on poetry
Being posted on the net;
Thus why I’m still writing at 10:39.
Is this virus over yet?
Filed under Poems
Steve and Sharocco are tigers
But they are not alike.
Steve enjoys a day at the spa;
Sharocco likes to hike.
Steve likes Bob Ross videos;
Sharocco likes to knit.
But both love eating human flesh
So along they somehow get.
Filed under Poems
I was a cock a huntin’
For a wily, free-range hen
I needed a set of wheels
That appealed to chicks, so then
I went to get a car loan
And I jumped through a hoop.
Now I’m clucking happy
Crossing the road in my chicken coupe.
Filed under Poems
Some people say a football player
Is really, really large.
What’s bigger than a football player
Is probably a barge.
What’s bigger than a barge
Is a thousand-trillion ants.
Nothing bigger than that
Exists outside my pants.
Two Americans have died
From Coronavirus as of this date.
Also, 18,000 Americans
By the flu have met their fate.
That a virus 9,000-times less deadly
Than the flu can be this stressful
Is evidence enough for how
Asian folks are so successful.
Filed under Poems
When people looked for Spartacus
For why-ever the heck they did
And all the Roman peasants
Done got the real Spartacus hid
And all of them were saying
“I’m Spartacus!” When they weren’t
I hope some guy was like “I’m Dave!”
And then he got, like, spurn’t.
Filed under Poems
My teacher asks “What’s the square root of nine?”
I say the answer is three.
The girlfriend asks “What’s the value of X”
And I say “She means nothing to me!”
Filed under Poems
I hit my brother
And hit my mother.
It was not okay.
They said “Don’t hit.”
I said “No shit”
And hit them anyway.
Cops saw the fight,
Turned on their light,
And hit me in the gut.
So hitting’s okay
With the government’s say?
And I was all like “Wut?”
I hit the cop
And hit my pop
With my inflatable hammer.
They cuffed my wrists
To stop my fists
And shut me in the slammer.
I was in jail
‘Cause no one paid bail
And was charged in juvenile court.
I can’t write a sentence
But I’ll attempt repentance
And maybe build a fort.
Filed under Poems
“Peculiar” is the word she used
Which made me just a bit confused.
What’s in any way peculiar about a guy
Who likes to eat burgers for lunch
With a glass of fruity punch
And, for dessert, has a slice of gator pie?
Filed under Poems
Massachusetts, 1692:
They say a woman joked
Telling her husband, “I got your nose!”
Within an hour the fire was stoked…
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 