If you don’t know what to say
You needn’t speak. It’s okay!
It’s only silence… don’t be scared.
Besides, odds are that no one cared.
Tag Archives: Truth
The Victors
You see the victors on parade,
Their smiles of sweet relief.
You hear their proffered words of thanks
For the ending of their grief.
But what they do not realize
Through their newfound lack of pain
Is that to stay victorious
They’ll have to win again.
They’ll have to reface challenges.
They’ll have to reforge swords,
Reconquer their old demons
And rechallenge hated hoards.
They’ll have to suffer all again
And all this not to grow
But just to stay a victor:
And maintain the status quo.
Yes we conquered those we feared
And silenced those we hate,
But should we take such lavish pride
In merely stalemate?
So watch the victors on parade
But envy them do not!
You would not wish on anyone
The pain the victors brought
Nor would you wisely wish to feel
Their pride in wielding well
The arms and armor of the war
That merged the Earth and Hell.
One day we’ll see no victory,
No men will march with pride.
We will erect no monuments
For those who bravely died.
We’ll stand without a trophy
And we’ll not conceal our grins
For all will be the victors
Come the day when no one wins.
Filed under Poems
Dear Not-America, Love The U.S. of A
Hello from America,
Where we play real football!
Our dicks are the same size as yours
Although you’re not as tall.
Our women spend more money
And our kids aren’t well-behaved
But we have free tap water
And most of our roads are paved.
We owe your nation money
That we’ll never repay
But we also have lots of nukes
So please do what we say.
Our politicians are all crooks
And most are wimps as well
But we pledge them our allegiance
And pretend that things are swell.
But speaking patriotically
Our country’s still the best
At drinking booze per-capita
And functioning while stressed.
Here’s how you can emigrate
From where you live right now:
Just walk to California
And never leave. Kapow!
Filed under Poems
Ode To A Xylophone
Thirty-six to forty-eight
Bars of polished wood
Cut in a way that they vibrate
To play the note they should.
It isn’t quite a saxophone
If used to woo the fairer sex
But out from the crowd it has grown
Because its name starts with an X.
Filed under Poems
Pre-Apocalypse
We haven’t had apocalypse yet
In this world in which we thrive.
We don’t fear the undead
For we are the un-alive.
We don’t need no fallout
To keep us inside all day long
And everyone is perfect
Except the half of us who’re wrong.
Food is not a luxury
(Except for homeless folks)
And only half our news today
Is a cruel, ignoble hoax.
So I hope you feel safe
As you stroll a corpseless street
Because, while life is kinda hard,
You aren’t yet a zombie’s treat
Filed under Poems
I Have A Dream That I Can Hate A**holes Of Any Color Without Being Vilified
You’re unhygienic,
Ill-tempered and mean.
You’re perhaps the worst tipper
That I’ve ever seen.
Your humor is childish.
Your language is coarse.
You’ve the breath of a dog
And the face of a horse.
You burned down my house,
Ran away with my wife,
Destroyed everything happy
I had in my life.
You’ve made far more enemies
Than you’ve made amends
But I’m white and you’re black
So I’ll say that we’re friends.
Filed under Poems
Ancient Wisdom
“Let he who is without fault
Cast the first stone.”
-Ye Olde Baseball for Beginners
“Just because my path is different
“Doesn’t mean I’m lost.”
-Traditional Male Excuse
“Even though I walk
“Through the darkest valley
“I will fear no evil
“For you are with me.”
-Man With Concealed Handgun License
“Faith can move mountains.”
-Faith’s Lazy Little Brother
“There’s something about a woman
“With a loud mind
“Who sits in silence, smiling
“Knowing she can crush you
“With the truth.”
-Some hoe, probably
Filed under Uncategorized
Plenty of Fish
He stood on the granite cliff
Screaming hoarsely
Over the roaring black ocean.
From one of the shores beyond
An echo returned to him:
“Citygal17498 has blocked you.”
But mostly there was silence.
Filed under Poems
The North and the South
If you’re the type of fancy guy
Who calls pink things “magenta”
Then I can cook you up a bowl
Of “Fancy-Guy Polenta.”
But if you’re the type of guy
Who shoots and drinks and spits
I’ll fry it up for half the price
And call it “Good Ol’ Grits.”
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 