Tag Archives: True Story

Dearest Saturday

I worked all week,

I sweated and toiled,

I broke my back,

My plans were foiled,

My heart was shattered,

My brain turned to goo

So that, Dearest Saturday,

I could make it to you.

I slaved and I slobbered.

My displeasures grew

As I sat through lectures

I already knew,

I held off angry clients,

Protected my pen

So that we, Dearest Saturday,

Could be one once again.

Metaphorical dragons

Have fallen before me,

Slain so I could assure

That you would not deplore me,

And although I am thankful

To not be deplored

Why is it, Dearest Saturday,

That I’m this freakin’ bored?

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Guess What I Did This Afternoon!

When arguing online you do

Your foe may fail to convince you,

May reject logic, spew rhetoric,

And end up looking pathetic,

May cite false studies, make up a fact,

Surrender any façade of tact,

May display no virtue and every sin,

But alas, my friend, you still won’t win. 

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Today Poetry Turned Out To Be  a Useful Life Skill! (Kind Of)

Backstory: I’ve been in touch with a graphic designer. It’s taken a few weeks for her to send me designs, and her emails hadn’t shown up in my inbox. When asked my opinion of the work I whipped out my poetic prowess and replied… 


In neither spam nor inbox

Did the message you sent go.

Where it came from I am certain.

Where it went to, I don’t know.

The message’s presence may bring joy.

It’s absence truly doesn’t,

So if sending seemed like a success

I assure you that it wasn’t.

Now isn’t that more fun than please send it again?”

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

The True Stories Are The Best, And The Best Deserve Many Likes And Comments

A spin across the border

Up to Canada I go

But as the guards interrogate

My engine starts to slow.

A bit of coaxing later

There’s a spitter-sputter-spop!

And off I go, yet unaware

I won’t make it to my stop.

I travel down the highways

91 and 99

Going Northward to Vancouver

And my truck’s still going fine.

I pull into a left turn lane

And my heart can only drop

‘Cause the green arrow says “go”

And my engine says “nah, stop.”

And so I try a jump start

To no avail, I hate to say.

911 responds and sends

A friendly tow truck on its way.

The nicest driver ever

Hooks up chains and ropes and all

And we drive back to America

Truck as f***ed up as Darth Maul.

Now a tow truck is a large machine

That can’t turn on a dime

And the driver drops me kindly

At the border crossing line.

I wait and wait and wait and wait

Until the light turns green

And thus begins the uphill push

Of my alternator-less machine.

I push up to the crossing

Halfway out and halfway in

$270 Canadian poorer

But back where I said “begin.”

So for a second tow I wait

Watching hour hands tick by.

If this poem’s unusually thoughtful, well

You know the reason why.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

The Last Word Means “Isn’t It” In Sekigaharan-Era Japanese… Or Something

I’m a bit of a shut-in,

A nerd I confess.

(A semi-pro poet?

Now who’d ever guess?)

But today I got social.

(Is he out of his mind?)

I got out of the house

Leaving nerddom behind.

At 8:00 AM sharp

I watched children play chess

Then I drove to Canada

To play Pokemon (yes).

Then I played a game

Of Sekigahara

Which is about Japanese folks

Whose names rhyme with Ishikara.

I ended it all

By taking a friend

To an improv show based on

The D&D trend.

I got home at 11:00

And 51 minutes.

It’s good to know I’m

A nerd no longer, innit?

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Valor’s Better Half (Alternate Title: Close To Home)

Discretion is a virtue

For which some have a knack.

Alas, it seems my roommate

In this department oft does lack.

I too must use discretion

When I lay upon his pillow

Subtle ads for soundproofing

And houses for rent on Zillow.

His endurance is remarkable

As much as his discretion.

He can “dance” for 90 minutes

Split into 60 micro-sessions.

I thought about live-tweeting

My compatriot’s loving dance

But by the time I’d typed my password

I’d already lost my chance.

Now in addition to discretion

Temperance I must display

To avoid sending him this poem

About his “bet you can’t have just one” lays.

You might call that passive-aggressive

And Dear Reader you’d be right.

I’ll ponder such implications

As I’m live-tweeting tonight.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Medical Motivation

I’m a proctologist,

Healer of butts.

That much I swear is the truth.

Folks always ask

Why I’ve chosen such work

That so clearly is gross and uncouth.

Some say it’s because

I want to be rich.

Some think I must be gay.

Some say I’ve got

A stick up my butt

And I want you to feel the same way.

Some say I had talent

In medical school

And I’d probably have aced all my classes

If I hadn’t been so

Dedicated and focused

On the likes of my peers and their asses.

Some say I love butts

A little too much

But hadn’t the talent for porn.

The truth is I want

To study in depth

How politicians are born.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems