The pot called the kettle black.
The kettle thought the pot was a racist kind,
But then kettle saw that the pot was black too
And, quoth the kettle, nevermind.
The pot called the kettle black.
The kettle thought the pot was a racist kind,
But then kettle saw that the pot was black too
And, quoth the kettle, nevermind.
Filed under Poems
Hollywood!
(It’s so darn good)
Oh yes, oh yes, I say.
Hollywood!
(Land of falsehood)
Oh yes, oh yes.
Where what’s important aren’t the facts unless they fit into three acts.
The place where fiction goes to diiiiiieeeeeeee!
Where it’s okay to have no story. CGI can bring you glory.
So can manly men who cryyyyyyyyyyyy!
Hollywood!
(Our favorite wood)
Oh yes, oh yes.
They’ve done all they could
(More than they should)
Oh yes, oh yes,
To guarantee that you and me will pay hard-earned money to see
A bunch of actors green-screen flyyyyyyy!
Where shirtless six-packed men are common working at Starbucks, eating ramen
Hoping to be a leading guuuyyyyyyyyyy!
You can’t stop Hollywood!
(Long has it stood!)
Oh no, oh not Hollywood!
(What else rhymes with “wood?”)
Nothing I guess…
And if you’ve ever read the book at adaptations do not look
Because you know they’ll only break your heart in twooooooooooo!
And if derivative plotlines can’t send those shivers up your spines
Well, don’t expect the Fox execs to say boo hoooooooooooo!
They gave you big robotic brawlers
And already have your dollars
So why not make Skywalker say “screw yoooouuuuuuuuu?
So if you’re inclined to feel
You don’t want to keep it real
Then come to Hoooooooo
Llllyyyyyyyyyyyy
Woooooooooooooood….
(Dramatic pause)
Toooooooooooooooooo
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
(Olay!)
I think that in a former life
I was a block of wood
Because I like to do nothing
While smelling sort of good,
I’d be hurt if hit by a chainsaw
And I’m warm when set on fire.
My dream is to one day be famous
So next life I’ll be a Goodyear tire
Filed under Poems
Deep in a forest
In some ancient year
Lived the grandest buck ever,
The king of the deer.
His antlers were mountains.
Sun and moon were his eyes.
There was nothing more massive
Or nearly as wise.
He spoke only truths
And healed all ills.
His laughter was music.
His teardrops were hills.
This primeval buck
Made all that’s good, fair, and lush
But his name was “Pookums”
So you don’t hear of him much.
Filed under Poems
A girl whom I admire
Asked me “do you want to go
“To an all-inclusive, safe-space
“Fair-trade, vegan comedy show?”
She said, if not, I could suggest
Something I think’s more fun
Which is why this weekend
I got a colonoscopy done.
Filed under Poems
If you go to prison
It’d probably be lame
If your parents gave you
A come-hither name
‘Cause if your name’s “Maggie”
Or “Dropped Le’Soap AndI’m Gay”
You’re probably in trouble.
That’s why you’re named “Flay.”
Filed under Poems
You laughed at me unreasonably
When I said “my name is Ben”
‘Cause you were thinking of the ’50s
When a lot of future men
Had names like Richard Jr.
But went by “Little Dick,”
And after you told me this
I knew you’re a girl whom up I should pick.
Filed under Poems
I really liked green eggs and ham.
I really, really gave a damn.
Then they wrote the book and whoo!
Everybody loved it too.
Now I hate green eggs and ham,
That Dr. Seuss and Sam-I-Am.
I hate them so much I can burst,
Yet proudly say I loved them first.
Filed under Poems
My love for you’s beyond that
Which human words can express,
But if I had to make a word
Then… let me think… I guess
It would sound somewhat like
The sound a beaver makes
When it stops chewing tree bark
And moves to eating rakes.
Filed under Poems
My urine is made of pure oxygen
Because of a disease that’s rare.
It’s not that bad except for the fact
That my parents called me “Pierre.”
Filed under Poems