It's Saturday morning in the burbs, and I've got nothing to do. The kids don't have soccer or baseball. It's too early to barbecue. I cut the grass yesterday. I already own everything from Lowe's. There's no College GameDay until the fall. I know! I can hook the pressure washer up to the hose! I'll stand in my driveway in a muscle tank and backwards cap and whiten the concrete while I listen to rap! And before I know it, two hours will have flown by. I'll crack open my second beer of the day to combat the ten a.m. heat and think to myself: It's only June. What the hell am I going to do in July?
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Tag: poem
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A Poem: Saturday Morning in the Burbs–Dad With Nothing to Do Edition
Posted at 9:59 am , on June 12, 2021
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Word Prompt Two Ways: Six-Word Story and Unnamed, Ten-Minute Poem
Posted at 1:39 pm , on March 27, 2021
six-word story
The predictable morphed into the unexpected.
unnamed and not revised and barely coherent ten-minute poem
if i hang fire for the unexpected does that trigger me predictable? or a misfire rejected? neglected. or AKA a gunslinger with an AK-47? that's how I'd spend my seven minutes in heaven lingering and fingering this weapon of mass destruction does that trigger me predictable because Colt 45s are my cult, my principles? while i hang fire for the unexpected.
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A Poem: Painfully Pretty
Posted at 12:06 pm , on March 20, 2021
the morning hues state fair cotton candy blue and pink
and stops me and my Vans in my tracks
makes me blink hard and think
how can the world be so painfully pretty
i riffle through my rusty locker at school
while staring at the brunette with the sharp Cara Delevingne eyebrows and cheekbones
who sparkles glossy cool versus me, a murky cesspool
and i wonder what it's like to be so painfully pretty
i skip English class and beeline to the bathroom
because iambic pentameter and two star-crossed lovers
would only weight sighs to my gloom and we both know they die anyway in the tomb
i just can't stomach poetry that painfully pretty
i size myself up in the cracked mirror
wiping away the tears, i fall in and disappear
because everything but me is painfully pretty -
A Poem: Mistake
Posted at 8:56 am , on January 30, 2021
Miss, take my hopeful heart and eat it à la carte. This part, this art, this ache. There's too much at stake. Stake it to your kiss. Stake it to your abyss. This. Miss, take it for my sake-- before you find out I'm a selfish rake. Eat it raw. Don't let it bake. Miss, take my hopeful heart-- before you realize it's a mistake.
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A Poem: A Pandemic Christmas Carol
Posted at 10:02 am , on November 28, 2020
no fear no fear the new christmas cheer! let's pretend the pandemic is as real as rudolph the red-nosed reindeer! they want to cancel christmas? now they've really gone too far! all I want for christmas is to go to the bar! how could grabbing a drink with my buddies send grandma to the e.r.? stop living in fear the new christmas cheer! but 2020 has lasted an era! I deserve to put on my earrings and some mascara and go ring in the new year with sara, tara, and kara! no fear no fear 2020 has spit in our eggnog and beer! fa la la la la and are we listening? why are we scared of social distancing? no fear sounds an awful lot like no fair no fair no fear stop looking in the mirror the new christmas cheer!
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A Teacher Poem: We’re in Trouble, Shoot!
Posted at 9:34 am , on September 26, 2020
trouble trouble troubleshoot nobody can hear me i've been speaking but i'm on mute trouble trouble troubleshoot caydon let the Zoom because his Chromebook needed to reboot trouble trouble troubleshoot amira's not paying attention because she's choosing a filter to make her look cute trouble trouble troubleshoot nobody can hear me i've been speaking but i'm on mute trouble trouble troubleshoot owen! turn off your camera! your dad just walked by in his birthday suit! trouble trouble troubleshoot mj's Google Doc won't load so he can't do the lesson on greek and latin roots trouble trouble troubleshoot i forgot to click record at the beginning of class hope i'm not slapped with a lawsuit trouble trouble troubleshoot Nobody can hear me. I've been speaking, but I'm on mute. We're in trouble, trouble, trouble. Shoot! Nobody can hear us. We've been speaking, but we're on mute. We're in trouble trouble trouble, bang! trouble shots fired! bang! all the teachers are tired trouble shots fired! bang! am i too young to retire? We're in trouble, trouble, trouble, shoot! Nobody can hear teachers. They've been speaking, but they're on mute. We're in trouble! Shots fired! Bang! We're in trouble! Don't shoot the messenger! Bang! The traditional classroom is dead. It isn't funny. Time of death: 2020. We're in trouble, trouble, trouble. Shoot!
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A Poem: Thin Air
Posted at 10:23 am , on July 18, 2020
you’re thin air
i need an oxygen mask
because you’re blowing thin air
i gasp and i gasp and i gasp
and i sighbecause i can’t breathe your thin air
you’re breathing in lies and breathing out lines
i can no longer ignore the signs
when you’re weaving thick lies out of thin airyour thin air is under pressure
your thick lies are under pressure
think you can press my face into the gas
for your pleasurei can’t breathe because you’re pressing my face into the gas for your pleasure
i’m under pressure
i’m under pressure
and i’ve got one question to ask
for good measurehow can you be so cold when you’re full of hot air?
i gasp and i gasp and i gasp
and i sighif i stay here a moment longer
i’ll disappear into thin air
but my lungs are getting strongerMy lungs have gotten stronger.
I won’t stay a moment longer.Because I can’t breathe your hot air.
No more oxygen masks
because I’m through with thin air.You’re out of thin air.
My lungs have gotten stronger.And you’ve disappeared into thin air.
Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com
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A Poem: Sunshine and Turpentine
Posted at 10:03 am , on April 11, 2020
On an indigo whim,
she sweeps her soul into sunshine and turpentine,
whispering its bouquet to the wind.It butterflies like dandelion fluff,
parachuting on the breeze.While teasing the ground,
with ambrosial and noisome sounds,
it harmonizes into hymns of him–
a heady elixir that grieves the miles, the years, the bigger picture–
and lands on his sleeve.He breathes in her song, her scent–
what went wrong and what it all meant–
and breathes out: I was never enough.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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A Poem: The Sated Double Standard
Posted at 3:09 pm , on February 15, 2020
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