Thursday, February 15, 2024

Miserable Poemetricle Shorts

 Numbered in reverse order: (according to the amount of pain they inflict)


I am the last ray of the final setting of the sun


Sunlight soothes my eyes

A warm wind calms my nerves

For God’s sake, make it stop!


I live today

I breathe today

Today is not the best of days


Get a grip

Inject your lip

Here’s a tip

Don’t slip

Don’t flip

Don’t drip

you ain’t hip


the exiter

people come, people go

or, as they say,

"you can be replaced"

on and off the stage

like players in a play

speaking lines of hello-goodbye,

people come, people go

and of course,

"you can be replaced".

but, if you're good,

if you're really really good,

you will leave an empty space

You sons of bitches


One pill makes you swallow

Another pill makes you fall

And the ones the dealer sells you

Throw you up hard against the wall

Don’t take any meds with malice

Unless you want your brain to stall


One snowflake

two snowflakes

three snowflakes

Snow Snow Snow is all I see

man this snow is thrilling me


I am a bonehead

my head is thick with bone

if it weren't for other boneheads

I would truly feel alone


Satan smells like a bad burrito.

Almonds make me cry. 

Dire Straights won't play my town. 

Orange is an edible color.

A plane flies overhead thru swamps of clouds. 

Tarantulas live for the day they are to be eaten. 

Monkeys don't lie. Buffalo don't fly.

Shamu, the killer whale, is a guy. 

Towels can sting your eye. 

Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye



Do what you have to do

Do what you need to do

Do what you want to do

How do you do?


He wasn’t you

You were him

He’ll never know you

You do know him

He is fortunate

More so than I

Tuesday, February 13, 2024

Apology concerning a pile of crap

 Apology Unaccepted

I need to apologize to Spanish speaking people for degrading the Spanish language by using it to refer to the disgusting piece of crap that moved to Washington D.C. in this year of 2017.

I've been trying to find a title that fits the beast that rolls in diarrhea which in no way elevates him above the status of cesspool content. I must now apologize to cesspools.

In doing so, I thought I had found the perfect term with "el cerdo", however, it is unjust of me to sully the grand Spanish language by associating it to that putrid crap headed freak.

It is also not right to associate an animal as beloved as the pig ūüź∑ to such an abhorrent monstrosity.

I am shamed.

I may have found a partial solution to this issue by using only pig Latin in reference to ethay itshay eadhay in the future.

I understand I will burn in hell for sullying both Spanish and English to reference urdtay aceFay and I accept my punishment willingly as I consider myself a person of some, if not great, integrity.

Friday, February 2, 2024

Moins Misérable Poèmétrie

Moins Mis√©rable Po√®m√©trie     <---  mutilated French


Got to go to bed.
Maybe rest the head.
Try to sleep like the dead.
Dream in colors that aren’t red.

Stay There

everybody goes to hell
we're all going to hell
pack your bible and pack your beer
we're hightailin' it to hell 
and the devil will be there
Some people got no choice
others always have known
when we hit the flames, 
we’re all on our own

Say Goodbye

The year will never end.
Like every year previous,
it will linger upon our existence.
Following each of us.
Stalking us. Ensuring we break.
Harvesting our energies.
Harvesting what remains of our souls.
Eventually, each and every year
Will continue beyond us
Not recognizing we ever inhaled,
Exhaled, digested, or cried
Until we are no more
And the years still will never end

So, happy new year!

Moon Itch

I'm climbing upon the underside of the moon.

All spidery legs and itchy too.

I am a circus without a tent,

a gambler without a working pair of dice.

Whosoever itches themselves itches me too.

Phone Betrayal

I await a phone call.

The sky outside is gray.

I hear autos pass by on the street.

A set of brakes slightly squeals 

as though happy to slow down. 

I await the phone that never calls.

Tobacco Load

She’s got brown fingertips

And 3rd degree burns on her lips

She’s got ash tray breath

I’d kiss her more often but

I fear catching her death

She smokes like a chimney

putting the atom bomb to shame

But it’s not her fault

It’s nicotine to blame

sky purges itself

Grandma won’t open the door

Raindrops sting like darts


loud Seagulls cry out

Fish fry in oily sizzles

Coca-cola pops

Evening Blessed

It is dark outside

the sky has shut its eye

warming us gently

beneath its lid.

The Sound of Nature

This is the sound of nature

beating your soul to a pulp.

I apologize. I am mistaken.

This is the sound of humanity

beating your soul to a pulp.

Nature blithely lurks watching.

Whether in horror or agreement,

nature does nothing to indicate.

Nature makes no effort to prevent

your soul from becoming pulp.

Once done. When you are gone,

when you are just a stain of pulp,

Nature may have a taste, a gulp,

Or not

in a bar

in a bar,
just want to lift my glass, be left alone,
crawl inside the television set,
pull the screen up around my neck,
tuck myself in, and
be gone

[ Meanwhile, in another location entirely ]

I am your deity

said the pony to the snowman

it's time to get deliberate

and you are out of focus