Tag Archives: True Story

Five-Year Plan (Updated)

There’s a little yellow house

With tulips in the yard,

Home to a pair of dreamers

And an angel on the way.

One of them’s a teacher.

Her husband is a bard

Who sits at a computer

Making problems go away.

The echo from a timeless love

A love that first began

When she asked him to talk about

His “perfect five-year plan.”

There’s a little library

Inside that yellow house,

A studio where students come

To learn the clarinet,

A kitchen big enough to please

The more attractive spouse,

And two young hearts forevermore

As full as they can get.

They’re thinking of the day he said

“I want to be your man,”

The first of many steps within

His perfect five-year plan.

You’ll never hear a hateful word

Be spoken bu them there.

They never let an apple sit

On any empty chair.

They smile at every photograph

Hung on the family wall,

But they won’t say what happens when

The captain comes to call.

And when the five year plan was done

And the house was home to four

He’d renew the five-year plan

Another lifetime more.

But there’s a little yellow house,

For-sale sign on the lawn.

It never was the home for them

The bard had counted on.

Turns out a five-year plan for two

Won’t work with only one

No matter how much someone cries

When they know that it’s done.

The perfect lifelong five-year plan

In three months was complete,

But when you love someone that much

You can’t call it defeat.

The sun still shines, the waves still crash,

There’s still a dusk and dawn.

The leaves are green, the rain is wet,

His eyes are nearly clear.

Just like the clouds that once were grey,

His heart is moving on

From yellow houses, unborn kids,

The teacher, and his fear.

The one thing he won’t leave behind

And knows he never can

Are memories that came to life

Thanks to a five-year plan.

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Ordinary Life

The hours we spent painting gnome houses

And the hours we spent playing games

And the meals and walking

And laughing and talking

And whispering each others’ names,

The hour we spent after bedtime

Just wrapped in each other, in love,

And the sweet half an hour

That I was your tower

And your lips glowed from starlight above,

A greeting, a morning, a breakfast, adventure,

The downtime, the party, the kiss:

I cannot be lonely when you are my only;

No time was spent better than this.

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But They Only Had Spoons… #Tragedy

Today I ordered Sierra Mist and a fork

For lunch at a drive-through.

Thus ends my presentation:

“Why I have more fun than you.”

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But It Won’t… So There

Tonight I watched a movie

That made me cry

About an awkward redhead

Who can travel through time.

He learned that living every day

As if it is your last

Is the key to perfect happiness,

Not reliving the past.

Unlike awkward redhead dude

I can’t control the ages,

Can’t redo my past mistakes

Or rewrite history’s pages.

What I can do that others can’t

Is make the time you spend

Be used to wish my poetry

Would finally freakin’ end.

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Just FYI

Today I’m going adventuring

To a land without wifi or ceilings.

I’ll sleep in a tent

‘Til my body is bent

Just to not think about business dealings.

The poems from now to this Thursday

Were written Sunday in a blur,

So if you’re not pleased

With poems like these

You have my permission to grrr.

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My Evening Routine

Sometimes I wonder what bumps in the night,

If a leaf feels joy as the wind gives it flight,

How a man feels alone in the heart of a crowd,

If a teacher dreads saying the words “Sperm Whale” aloud.

Sometimes I wonder why I wonder why,

And if I’ll stop wondering after I die.

I smile as these musings run wild through my head,

Then I crank out a poem and go off to bed.

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Story Time, 2321

Today we remember the world’s greatest dancer

Who ten score years earlier passed on from cancer.

Before she succumbed to the tumors and such

She lived a grand life and accomplished so much:

She was the first woman to dance on the moon,

The first to make contact with the Laser Raccoon,

The inventor of Carbon, the first scrambler of eggs,

And ZZ Top’s inspiration to write “She’s Got Legs.”

When she was young people said she was odd

For she went to the pet store and adopted a God.

As she grew older her thoughts turned to war

And where once there was everything there soon was no more,

So she let her pet rebuild quite a bit

While she spent her time just relaxing a bit.

Then she saw an ad in a paper one day

And, on a whim, chose to take up ballet.

She learned how to twirl and wear tutus and stuff

And discovered ballet was incredibly tough…

Much tougher than crushing rebellions, they say…

Worse even than smelling some Axe body spray.

She struggled and sweated, for she felt it vital

That she must be ready for her first recital.

She struggled and strained through each pirouette

‘Til she was the best that a dancer could get.

Some people had doubted, had mocked her and laughed

But after she danced they all saw how they’d gaffed.

“Alas,” they cried out as she do-si’d her do

And those who felt proud suddenly felt quite low.

And as she bowed low and the watchers applauded

And her majesty great by the critics was lauded

She said the five words that ended her tale:

She said “I was born biologically male.”

The entire world raged and volcanoes erupted

As their heroine’s image by sin was corrupted

And so she was wiped from the pages of history

And now even her name is no more than a mystery.

Some people will tell you this poem’s not funny,

That I am just lying ‘cause I want your money,

But know that this legend is utterly true

Or the Earth isn’t flat and the sky isn’t blue.

And if you say otherwise, I’ll have you know

There’s a place where all bad kids like you have to go…

The worst prison ever, a hell of a jail

Reserved for those convicted of being a white male.

That’s all for today, little wards of the state.

Now go home and remember, love is better than hate.

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Gentlemen Prefer Stalls

Still as a statue,

Deer in the headlights,

Sleeps like a baby,

Calm as can be;

These things are common

But nothing comes close

To how still is my bladder

When you stand next to me.

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A Promising Start

Marjorie Jean was a mysterious queen

Who brought me to a miniature land

Where pain and fear did disappear

But not a bit was bland.

She took me out on a walkabout

For a sandwich of significant size

Then we’d settle in as the games begin

Until the evening had sealed our eyes.

But the morning sun said “you’re not done”

And two cats were fondled and fed

Before M and I walked with Mr. Blue Sky

To the land where the sharks go to bed.

A party of two then suddenly grew

And so did the Marjories double.

This new, larger band celebrated as planned

With all of the expected trouble.

And so fed, I turned with my face and neck burned,

And sped off in a car doused in Axe.

One day I’ll be seen back with Marjorie Jean,

And until that day two hearts relax.

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When You Write Yourself An Anniversary Poem

Nine years ago, a bright young lad

With a twinkle in his eyes

Began a grand adventure

(Which, in hindsight, wasn’t wise),

His goal to publish poetry,

Of dubious merit at best

And to do so unfailingly

Without a day of rest.

More or less that happened,

And here we stand today,

With me patting myself on the back

And you mumbling “okaaaaay?”

Thank you for continuing

To read the swill I write.

Let jollity malinger…

And with that I say good night!

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