Category Archives: Poetry

The Glass

It’s said to be a metaphor
for how you see the world
how is your life?- full of joy?
or is it full of sorrow?

A simple glass,
half full
or half empty
determines who you are.

If you treat it as a simile
your life (or are we talking me?)
is like that simple glass there
and beverage floating free.

Is it full of sorrow?
Are you consumed with pain?
Is there no tomorrow?
Or are you right as rain?

Now me, I love the sunshine
and all the simple things
My life is generally happiness
and the kiss of butterfly wings.

Some days though I start to realize
there is both pleasure and pain
it’s not a glass, half full or empty
but just two side of one thin coin
their differences rarely plain.

As I stare into this empty glass
what I really need to know is
while you’ve kept me talking here
who’s been drinking my damned beer?

With Apologies to Natalie Merchant

I was inspired. After an afternoon feeling queasy, making poor dietary choices and finding that a walk to the beach is too far, I pulled myself together and spent the night doing springs, modified crunches, performing glute exercises and practicing my warrior cry. I was full-tilt, dashing in darkness, boxers and bucket and a prayer in my heart. Oh dear dogs, please don’t be in my path . . . Continue reading

Break My Fingers If I Get Poetic Again

Stare into the noonday sun
and feel the heat upon me
I used to know a girl who turned me ’round
crazy and beautiful and a little bit scary
she stole my heart away.
Days pass by, the girl is gone
nothing but memories of yesterday.
Thinking back on early love
it’s easy to dismiss
feelings that were once so strong
no more than a shadow’s kiss today.

Stare into the noonday sun
and feel the heat upon me
These days I know a woman who’s turned me ’round
crazy and beautiful and much more scary
she steals my heart away.
Days pass by and I wonder
will she become just memories too?
Or is this what I’ll look upon
years from this time now
and realize these feelings
are the ones that do not fade away.

The one constant in life we can always count on is that I will hurt you

Oh hey! It’s a crappy poetry day! I need to get out more, I think. I see the sun shining through the blinds, but I’m sitting here with bad lighting, pain and a seriously funky attitude just beyond the sunbeams.

Yes you’re beautiful
and I love you so
Too bad I have to lie
and never tell you though

If the truth sets you free
I’ll spend my life in slavery
Fearful of what you’d say
or what you thought of me

You are so beautiful
it hurts to know
I always want to hold you
but I cannot do so

You’ll never be mine,
I’ll always be yours
silently waiting
for a love that doesn’t know

Destroy me, caress me
Set me free, please
I don’t know how much longer
I can live with thoughts like these

Yes you’re beautiful
and I love you so.

Three Shots

I pour a tall shot,
three ounces of Tarantula,
then cut a thick wedge of lime.

Giving it a lick,
the base of my hand is prepared
for the requisite salt dash.

All is ready now:
My salted hand, a shot, and lime.
I pause and take a quick breath.

When I was younger,
the shot would have been Cuervo Gold
or something equally harsh.

I am older now,
and have learned that a tequila
needn’t be a punishment.

Lips to salted hand,
I lick, anticipating now
the mix of flavours coming.

The shot glass tipped back,
tequila spreads across my tongue
and then I swallow slowly.

Biting the lime wedge,
my center fills with spreading warmth
and I prepare the next shot.

Such Bloody Awful Poetry

I call this “Killing Time.” Either because I’m killing time writing this crap, or because you’ll want to kill me just to get me to stop. Either way, here’s some poo-etry.

“Blissful Sleep”
Lonely, horny, waiting for morning
your snoring is boring
I want to sleep again
but I can’t.

A freight train in bed
thund’rous snores again
and me without earplugs
to stick in my head.

Have you considered sleeping
standing on your feet,
lying in the tube
or out on the street?

Good god, woman!
How does a sound so large
come from a hole so small?

Continue reading

An ode to 6 Rivers

Hello stranger
why are you here?
go back home
or bring me beer.

You are not my friend
nor my confidant
if you can’t find me
the beer I want.

So run on home
now that’s an order
and don’t return
without Kona Moon Porter!

I need the beer that makes me strong
the beer that leaves me weak
the sobering beer
so full of good cheer
I could drink it all week.

(Okay, I was pushing things a bit there using homonyms at the end. I am not a poet, dammit!)

Tiger a-la Lils

Never invite a tiger to tea
for it will want some meat
but if you do not give it some
you are what it will eat.

(more from the boy . . .)
The lion’s more vicious
and finds you delicious
regardless of whether
you serve meat with your tea.