Reality Me » Poetry

To rue the day or not to rue the day

Doug McCaughan — Mon, 14 May 2012 13:02:23 +0000

This day shall not own me!
For it is Monday
And I am master of my calendar!

Oral Happiness

Doug McCaughan — Wed, 09 May 2012 18:18:36 +0000

Stuck it in the mouth
And wiggled it about
Thrust back and forth
Then took it out
The stuff left behind
Was then spat out
Felt so good
Want to do it again
Brushing teeth
Leaves such a grin!

I will change the world

Doug McCaughan — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 21:04:00 +0000

I recall childhood dreams
And the adult in me
Misses them
So it seems
All I have left are
Daydreams.

Protected: That hollow feeling in the chest

Doug McCaughan — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 17:59:14 +0000

MANKIND from Grooks by Piet Hein

Doug McCaughan — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 12:46:21 +0000

Tim Minchin’s Anti-woo beat poem Storm

Doug McCaughan — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 22:10:14 +0000

Very well produced!

Seen on BoingBoing.

What is woo-woo?

Woo-woo (or just plain woo) refers to ideas considered irrational or based on extremely flimsy evidence or that appeal to mysterious occult forces or powers.

[Source, Skeptic's Dictionary]

An Artificial Light

Doug McCaughan — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 00:09:07 +0000

[n.b. 1st draft of an incomplete one that's been sitting on a piece of paper far too long]

There’s a crowd in here
With so many voices
and so many noises
How can one be so alone
In such a crowded room

There’s a party in here
Everyone is having fun
Except for one
Who knows
It’s an artificial light.

With a flicker flutter
   Pop a fizz
We’re all aware
We all know
It’s an artificial light
   about to blow
And the darkness comes
Because all artificial lights
   burn out
The light has to go.

The sun is shining bright
Birds are singing
Daises tickle the bellies
of cats playing with dogs
Rain has washed the clouds away
Only fog in the shadows remain
The sun is shining bright
It’s an artificial light.

A shiny man lies in my closet
He wears the clothes
   that no longer fit me
The light in the closet
   burned out long ago
The shiny man does not care
He lives in the darkness
   with nothing to fear
But an artificial light.

The Past Clings Forever to the Future

Doug McCaughan — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 13:53:07 +0000

The Past cannot be undone
And will always haunt The Future
We extol ourselves,
“Learn from the past”
While brooding with regret
Frustrated, lacking the ability to forget
The desire to move forward; hampered
By our bygone action which shackles us
Immobilized
Frozen
Unable to escape its grip
The Past is one with us
No separating from it
No forgetting
Perpetually haunted by its ghosts
When at last, you have forgiven yourself
And believe yourself to have moved on
The Past latches on like a Tigress
Pouncing upon Her prey
Not even Death provides absolution
For you take The Past to your grave
And worse
Leave some for those left behind.

The simple solution to keeping The Past at bay
Be inhuman
Never make a mistake.

Living large

Doug McCaughan — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 14:17:05 +0000

I will do everything big!
For no success should go unnoticed
No voice unheard
No risk taken without chance of harm
No conditional love
No joy mundane
And no mistake can ever be small.

Tomorrow’s Future

Doug McCaughan — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 19:21:20 +0000

If there was a future in my past
At present I can see
There was no future in it for me.
I awoke living each day for tomorrow
And slept lamenting yesterday.
Today I can only think
Of going back and doing it differently.
Tomorrow will be a new day
Then I can begin to live my future
Much more happily.

If Not

Doug McCaughan — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 15:20:35 +0000

If not for this darkness
   I could see
If not for this sadness
   I could be happy
If not for this weight
   I could move
If not for this pit
   I could escape
If not for this solitude
   I could laugh.

I was never a very good _____

Doug McCaughan — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 01:03:17 +0000

I was never a very good Presbyterian
Nor a very good Baptist
I was never a very good Methodist
I attended a Catholic church once
   And was not a very good Catholic
I was never a very good Lutheran
I tried reading the Book of Mormon
   But was never a very good Mormon
I attended some Wiccan ceremonies
   But I was never a very good Wiccan
I have chanted
   But I was never a very good Buddhist

I have seen fairies
Spoken to the Great Spirit, o’ Maker of Life
Drawn down the moon
Worshiped the Sun
Praised the Mother
Oh Blessed Be!
I have been a trespasser
And a debtor
I have taken communion
The Body and The Blood
But I was never a very good believer

But, in all these things, the Spirit in me
Has been the best that I can be.

Anxiety

Doug McCaughan — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 02:47:38 +0000

This hand versus that
The good and the bad;
Trying to spread good
But feel only sad;
A harmless white lie
still tears at the soul;
Her ego judged me
When I did no wrong
Then I judged her
Same verse; same song.

Look in the mirror
It’s me that I see;
The image that is
Not the one I want it to be;
They write the rules
I write the rules
There are no rules
We; the fools.

I cannot live
Upon this pillar
So very tall;
Such that all can see
The stature
The nature
The me;
The higher it rises
The bigger it becomes
More of the pillar they see
And so much less of me;
As big as I wish to be
I’m shrinking
Vanishing
Becoming
To small to see.

Poetry at 70 mph

Doug McCaughan — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 16:14:22 +0000

I tapped this out on my phone after cresting the hill south bound before the I-40/Pellissippi Parkway exchange. My normal glance at the peaks of the Smoky Mountains was obscured. The weather inspiring.

There are no mountains today. A cloud blankets the horizon. More so, it blankets us all. @djuggler

Theo Aukerman suggests this could become a Haiku.

With slight mods, could be a haiku: … @knoxcoder

So how’s this?

No mountains today
Cloud blankets the horizon
It blankets us all.

Hmm. I may have a thing or two to learn about meter versus moras ("on").

One on is counted for a short syllable, an additional one for an elongated vowel, diphthong, or doubled consonant, and one for an “n” at the end of a syllable. Thus, the word “haibun”, though counted as two syllables in English, is counted as four on in Japanese (ha-i-bu-n). Source, Wikipedia, Haiku

Too stressed to type

Doug McCaughan — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 03:39:32 +0000

Thy todoth list overfloweth. Nay, thine own muse shouts silence. Gagged. Hiding in thy shadows within the deepest recesses of mine own mind. Today’s stories shall be passed upon to giveth thy brain a necessary reprieve such as tomorrow’s adventures shall be retold with vigor! William eat thine own heart out with a spork!