People say that music
Is the worst it’s ever been.
I disagree because of one song
Written by Herr Beethoven.
If you take his fifth symphony
(That goes Da-da-da duuuuuuuh)
And simply give it the lyrics
“Oh baby yeah, oh baby uhhh!”
It becomes a pop hit
To match the best today.
Here’s a link to prove it.
You’re welcome, by the way.
Helpful hint: Just sing those two lyrics with the melody for about twenty seconds and you’ll get the intended effect.
Filed under Poems
I read my child the story
Of a little red poultry whom
I respect, thus its female genitalia
Did not cause me its gender to assume.
My child looked up and said “Parent,
“I like when you do funny voices
“But why can’t we read about princesses
“Then make our own damn political choices?”
Filed under Poems
I’ve always admired blue whales,
The largest animals ever
Who traverse the world routinely
And are beautiful, noble, and clever.
And so I became a blue whale
But a good choice, alas, ’tis not been.
I’m surrounded by feminist bloggers
Who just wish they could grow baleen.
Filed under Poems
For everything there is a first:
First kiss, first game, first beer.
For everything there is a last
But we don’t celebrate those here.
For everything there are middles
Unless first and last are the same,
But we tend not to notice these
‘Cause they all seem just the same.
So I challenge you today to share
Your one-thousand-second baseball game,
Your six-hundred and eighth bus ride,
The fourteenth passing of a flame.
You never know how special
The present will someday get.
Besides, people tweet food pics
So you’re still less boring than the net.
Filed under Poems
I think I know why plants don’t speak
And the reason is this:
They cannot pronounce the word
“Photosynthesis.”
My other hypothesis
For why speech is elusive
Is that plants are politically moderate
(But evidence is inconclusive).
Filed under Poems
Peter picked a peck of pickled peppers.
It seemed to him the decent thing to do,
Then sweated sweetly with some swarthy schleppers
To schlep the peppers way back home to you.
But you, alas, had since left for the seashore
To sell your silly seashells I don’t doubt.
So I went to the park to soothe our offspring.
Didn’t give tidy teeter-totter daughters time to pout.
But somewhere in my heart I felt a tugging…
The tongue-tied tugging you and Jack know well.
I hope it goes away as I fetch water.
But oops! I tripped or slipped. Jill? What the hell?
Filed under Poems
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
