Saturday, April 9, 2016

Lies My Devices Told Me, Pt. 3 (Or Why I Don't Write Anymore, Part 2)

Check off that box,
and then go see a show!
Life's in schedules and lists,
What you make, where you go,
What you spend when you get there,
All the to-dos we all do,
Not subvocalized reasons
We have to push through.
It's the tangible clutter
That I purchase with time
That I could spend relaxing
My thoughts into rhyme.

A Love Anthem for the Survivalist

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
If the world ends tomorrow,
I hope I'm with you,

(Violets are blue.
Roses are red.
But if you're a zombie,
I'll aim for your head.)

Monday, January 25, 2016

I Don't Do Haiku (But I Do Miss Winter)

Hot chocolate, wrapped in
Hot porcelain, wrapped in cold
Hands, wrapped in time-fog.

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Catalog Poem

Real silverware, polished well, how it shines!
Yours for the price of two twenty-nine.

Candy-apple-red dress, like you’d see in a store
For sixty-three dollars and seventy-four.

Electrical football, players buzz like a hive
For a low price of seventy-eight ninety-five.

Stiff, rough, unstonewashed, bark-like and blue:
Work jeans for only forty-five ninety-two.

Baker’s yeast: white-brown grains to make your bread leaven
Will only cost two dollars seventy-seven.

Rocking chair kneeling on your porch as it repents:
Fifty-five dollars and fifty-five cents.

Lincoln-logs (brown-painted, roughly-notched sticks)
Go for thirty-five dollars, and cents twenty-six.

Purple polka-dotted parachute pants, eighties fun:
Used, for a price of five ninety-one.

Pleated pants, sized for most, in the color of slate
Cost just under a hundred: ninety-nine ninety eight.

Towering, teetering entry-way tree
Of a coat rack for twenty-five seventy-three.

Hot rod of a holly-berry Harley,
Spokes straining the wind like a field of barley,
Shining pipes with wide mouths that holler
For the low price of twenty-five thousand dollars.

Monday, November 9, 2015

The Practice of Self-Denial as a Substitute for Social Skills

I was struck by your beauty the first time we met;
Revelation, the second, that no closer we'd get.
My thoughts of you might often stray to that place,
So I buffer with hours--and three feet of space,
and I finish our chats, lay off light-hearted humor
Far before the worst gossip might start any rumor,
For relationships fish with a deepening hook.
You were taken, once; now you're especially took.
So it's not really you that I write to extol,
But my virtue and power of gross self-control.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

To Strikeouts and Fourth Downs

I have the grip of a gorilla.
I won't give the ball away.
The punt's a big momentum-killer.
Pitching to contact's a mistake.
My first tries undershot the glorious,
But no matter where I land
I won't settle for vicarious.
I will live my life firsthand.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Bulking Up: an Increase in Weakness?

Oh folly, accident of birth!
That which I need is not of Earth,
and even less of human matter—
I've loved the first, but not the latter.
When I seek holiness or pray
All this meat gets in the way,
Though it's a fact that I've been thinner
and just as much (or more) a sinner.