In 36 minutes
The world goes on sale
And you can buy with a click
A big TV
Or game machine
Or even a bigger… machine.
You can spend
With a plastic card
From a company that travels to Venus
But you’ll still seek
A solution to
Your very tiny… bank account.
I didn’t mean
For this poem to be
This amount of long,
But then I thought
Of way too many
Things that rhyme with… ya know?
And so I end
With a big salute
To anyone named Morgan
And wish you
Happy Prime Day
And a poetic male organ.
Filed under Poems
If you want the very best
Be a fan of the New York Jets.
That rhyme didn’t work quite right
And neither do they.
Filed under Poems
If your name were Bedtime
And asked for a bedtime story
People might share anecdotes
Of you in all your glory.
Your children might get all confused
When it’s their rest-your-head time
And you ask them to ask you
“Tell me a story, Bedtime?”
Or say you want a lesson
In a subject like history
And you have to tell somebody
“Tell me, Bedtime, a story.”
One thing no one asks though
Is why Bedtime isn’t sad
When he tells the story of the time
He killed his mom and dad…
Filed under Poems
My mom was a pterodactyl
And my dad was an asparagus;
This is not true at all,
But maybe your life now seems less a mess?
Filed under Poems
I found what I thought was a condor
That was terribly sick with the flu.
But my asian vet said, “That’s ill eagle”
And now I don’t know what to do…
Filed under Poems
Little ball of plastic
I hit into a hole:
It takes me many tries
To once achieve my goal.
I then repeat the process
Seventeen more times.
This sport is very stupid
But hey, the poem rhymes!
Filed under Poems
Soccer’s like “The Notebook:”
I’ve never watched for more than a minute,
I consider it nap-time
And don’t like anyone in it.
Soccer and I
Are also much alike
In that no one ever scores
And the entertainment it creates has unsatisfying conclusions.
Filed under Poems
Deep below, the hipster slugs
Are killing worms and taking drugs
And handing out free slimy hugs
And chanting “Slug Lives Matter.”
High above, against the odds,
Someone applauds the gastropods
And, thinking they are modern gods,
Eat escargot and grow fatter.
Filed under Poems
She showed a sign and shouted
And got up in our faces
Telling us about how white folks
Are the worst of all the races.
The way her spittle spattered
Was a most impressive sight,
My first and last impression
Of a peaceful Portland night.
Filed under Poems
They should clone Queen Elizabeth
14 billion times
So we can all have immortal bodyguards…
It’s true and it rhymes!
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 