Poetry

Open and Shut

Colon. Dash. Parenthesis.

Since when did such vocables

enter the conscious conversation?

I am guilty of these writings

but feel no strong emotion

toward it.

Call me desensitized. Call me a fool.

Call me when you open or close

the parenthesis

so that I know how to feel.

Poetry

When the Poets Run Out of Things to Say

The saddest word

I ever heard

I heard of just today

that loving her

was to defer

more love to self some way.

How crude,

how worn,

how deep forlorn

that view of love so flawed!

How evident

of life that’s spent

in vanity’s own fraud.

If only you

could see right through

that lie you’re holding close

then you might see

despairingly

it’s not love that you’ve imposed . . .

Poetry

Mooning Around the Sun

here comes the sun

to hide from again

with tattered umbrellas

and lukewarm lemonade

in either hand,

and when the night

should happen to fall

then let us drink deeply

from the moon shine

that flows down

to us,

laughing

that at long last

we avoided that beaming star

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I almost named this poem “Vitamin D(umbass)” but figured the satire was already too on the nose. Anyway, here’s a similarly themed poem from Instagram:

Poetry

It’s Going to Be Okay

Shake your heads in pity

at the poor, unfortunate,

but don’t you dare raise a finger.

Real work fights battles; screens win wars.

Don’t act like it’s about you . . .

or them . . .

or us . . .

it’s

about

me

and it’s all going to be okay

with one more click.

Just one more click.

Just one more click.

Just one more click.

Jst1mrclk.

Hey, I know it’s going to be okay.

And it’s only going

to be okay.

Stuff

Corporate Darkness

My life is one of pain

As I sit in my leather chair

Drinking Cristal,

Smoking Cuban Cigars,

I contemplate on the

Unfortunate state I’m in

Why must I toil in this mansion

By the sea? Why do

Everyday comforts no longer

Hold value anymore? I

Can only come to one truth,

That despite my gross income,

I am but oppressed. Why else

Would I feel so alone, so

Upset at everything around me?

My gold rings and silver watches

Are indeed a sign of bondage

To the horrible life I live,

So there’s no further evidence I

Need than to express my pain

In words only the particular people

Will understand, I am a man

Of the people after all?

Why just the other day,

I lost a penny at the stock

Market, forcing me to wait

On my fifth Lamborghini,

And there was one less

Strand of fur in my

Coat for next winter,

What a tragedy my life

Has become. But I know

The people will understand,

And all I will ask

Is for some charity

To help me through the

Struggle, because I

Am one of you, I

Am oppressed, I

Am full of edge and grit,

And you love me for it…

You will love me for it.

Poetry

Three Minute Positive Not Too Country Up-Tempo Love Song

Inspiration comes from

the oddest places . . .

like an old compact disc

with scratches where

the last track is,

a song not even released

as a single;

a song of substance,

a song with subtext,

a seemingly silly serenade sang to shallow souls

that told them there’s

something genuine in the broken, messy simplicity

of life,

something that made

a young man

smile ear to ear

and still makes him grin.

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