Category: Poetry

Amateur scribblings often over rhythmic, rhymey, shallow and too Freudian.

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My Entry to the Problogger iPod giveaway

My entry for Problogger’s 6th giveaway is:

iBlog for iMust

I met a guy from Oz
Tim Miller his name
Of SpyJournal fame
We have never met in person
But are friends all the same

See I was trying out
This fad call blogging
Tim said its more than a game
Blogging is not a fad
It’s here to stay

People make a living
In this digital world
Publishing their own word
Tim advise, “Check out problogger
A site by Darren Rowse.”

Problogger showed the way
Follow these rules
And you can make your pay
In the comfort of pajamas
Sitting at your computer all day

I have yet to make a dime
But Darren must be doing ok
For it’s Problogger’s birthday
And good ol’ Darren
Is giving $54,000 away

Remember, they just needed a poem with the word "problogger" or "Darren" in it. The poem did not have to be a literary masterpiece although there are a couple of gems! At the time of this post, Darren Rowse and Lara Kulpa had 416 entries for their iPod giveaway which includes 4 iPods and 1 iPod makeover. You still have 4 hours to enter.

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Have you ever really felt pain?

My stomach hurts. My back and neck hurt. My mind aches. My soul bleeds. I look back hoping to see how far I have come, only to realize, my journey has just begun. I thought they paved the road ahead of me. Perhaps I left the path. This thicket is prickly and dense and makes me long for a second chance. The easy road is over there. No path goes that way. At the end, I wonder if I will look back to realize my journey has just begun, or realize, instead of seeking pain, I should have had fun.

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Rumpleskin Red

Old Rumpleskin Red
Fell on his head
When he tripped on the crap
Left on the steps to the stair

It would not be a story
Lest be it so gory
He died with his head
In the liter box

The cat was displeased
Torn between where to pee
Use the head
Or the clean laundry?

Ol’ Red caused a quandary
For it was his job
To care for the cat pee and poo
No one else knew what to do

They thought long and hard
About Rumpleskin Red
On how to give a funeral
To this man unexpectedly dead.

He stunk to high Heaven
Of ammonia and rot
No one wanted to touch him
Or explain how he died

So he was buried in the yard
With the box
The cat
And the crap.

Fin.
—–
Discarded lines (the outtakes have you):
Twice in his life
Red’s luck had his head filled with crap
Once metaphorically
And once by the cat.

Suddenly it dawn
A solution to all problems
What to of Ol’ Red, his pet,
And the mess on the stairs

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My existence

I made the mistake
I lived for me.
What folly!
I lived for thee.

I breathe in
The air you exhale.
I am indebted to you
For the honor.

I live a life
Planned.
Altered.
Unstable.

I cannot let go
Things are right.
Twisted around
Mind fight.

I die
Still alive.
No afterlife
Spirit is gone.

I lived.
Never free.
Trapped.
Slave, of me.

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The Fog

Through early morning fog I see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see

I try to find a way to make
All our little joys relate
Without that ever present hate
But I know that it’s too late

The game of life is hard to play
I’m going to lose it anyway
The losing card I’ll someday lay
So this is all I have to say

The only way to win is cheat
And lay it down before I’m beat
And to another give a seat
For that’s the only painless feat

The sword of time will pierce our skin
It doesn’t hurt when it begins
But as it works it’s way on in
The pain grows stronger watch it grin

A blind man once requested me
To answer questions that are key
Is it to be or not to be
And I replied, “Oh why ask me?”

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Today we think

Today, as you raise your hand to the driver that just cut you off, think
Choose to raise that middle finger, or give a friendly wave

Today, when the children learn that a whole roll of toilet paper won’t flush, think
Yell at them, or give them a hug and tell them it is ok to make mistakes

Today, when you miss the deadline again, think
Self-flaggelate to no end, or focus and get it done

Today, when your loved one snaps at you in stress, think
Sulk away and be hurt, or smile and give a hug

Today, think
Because sometimes tomorrow never comes.

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The Fog

The game of life is hard to play
I’m going to lose it anyway
The losing card I’ll someday lay
So this is all I have to say

The only way to win is cheat
And lay it down before I’m beat
And to another give a seat
For that’s the only painless feat

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Wednesdays, my favorite worst day

Wednesdays are Lost
Work is Lost to the children’s needs
Lost as a taxi service
Preschool, preschool, high school, STAR
Time Lost to the kids is precious
On Wednesdays I am in paradise, Lost
In the island of my mind, I am Lost
Lost in self-flagellation and meditation
I so look forward to Wednesdays
My favorite times have always been Lost times
I would not trade my Lost Wednesdays for anything
Best of all, Wednesdays end with Lost

“I can’t do this all on my own. No, I know, I’m no Superman!“

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Sweetness

Tonight is so beautiful

The fog is thick

And the air absolutely still

Only a car or two can be heard

    in the distance

No planes fly tonight

Few lights pollute the darkness

The crickets are silent

The possum and raccoon have stayed home

A hoot owl speaks twice then says no more

My puppy sits faithfully with me

She too is still like the air

The air is crisp like a walk-in freezer

    at the grocery

But not cold

I could sleep on this log tonight

There is magic in the air

Blessed be

I have found calm and peace

After having a child yell at me

    For three hours

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Poem – On Stage

Oh It’s like a game.

The Teachers try to teach

     the meaning behind Arthur’s play

But it is cruel.

The Teachers know the rules.

We cannot be told until after school

But when the final bell has rung

We are gone and a new class has begun

     That cannot be told until after school.

So while in class we ponder the moral behind Arthur’s play

     So we can make our report and make an A.

Then after school has come

     And we are eager to get out and have our fun.

But no one is there to remind us that Arthur’s play has begun.

We get out and make our calls to impress the Boss

     And all the while Cliff’s notes sit at home.

Why do we not remember the moral of the play

     from day to day after school?

Then sometime when it is far too late

     Perhaps sitting in a bar being contemplative

We will think of Arthur’s play

     And recognize our after school fate.

Arthur tried to teach us early

     That we are all destined to play a role.

     And we shall all be Willy in his Play.

-DM 4/31/98