Expressing unimportant thoughts concisely
Gross kids’ bathroom,
Sticky to the touch.
Toothpaste everywhere,
Except on the brush.
My kids are very capable, generally, except when confronted with a tube of toothpaste. Then they turn into infomercial actors and the toothpaste just shoots all over, completely outside their control. WHAT IS THIS? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THIS?
Where do I get them?
Well, my ideas are pests.
They bother me all the time
Yelling, “Look at me, I’m the best!”
I can’t drive, run, or walk
Without finding one on the ground.
They try to play it like coincidence,
But I know they follow me around.
Like too many children,
I can’t give them all attention.
The best ones get my blood and tears.
The others? Honorable Mention.
Everyone creating something (unless it’s fan art/fiction) will get asked at some point, “How did you come up with that? Where do you get ideas?” I can’t tell you where mine come from exactly, but it’s critical for me to let my mind wander, to notice details, and to go outside, away from all the things and screens and small, loud people. You might see a guy riding a bike anywhere. Look closely, and you’ll see that he’s carrying his stuff in a Crown Royal bag dangling off the handlebars. Now you have a story.
the neighbor lady
pressure washes her driveway
into losing weight
My neighbor is a frequent user of her very loud power washing device. Every imagined particle of dust must be blasted out of existence.
“But look at all the dirt that comes off!”
That’s your driveway.
Never ask a creative
What color you should paint.
The answer will always be
Some color that it ain’t.
You should ask a farm kid.
They’ll say, “Get the leftover stain.”
They’ll get a roller and use it up
And the rail looks nice again.
I’m working on getting that second-story deck rail finished, a year after I started it. I could blame it on the rain, but you’d probably cry fake–mostly the problem is that it’s way more work to “frame my vista in a buttery vanilla color” than it would have been to “slap some stain on the fence that keeps the kids from falling off the deck.” Regrets, I have them. I also have an ugly half-finished deck rail. Not what I had imagined.
Long day. If you are posting Back to School pictures, well, good for you.
I have decided now it’s Fall.
I’m tired of this hot Summer.
What? Another month, you say?
You better check your number.
I dress us all in cardigans,
We sweat so much, we float.
If I don’t relent soon,
The kids will ruin their coats.
I’m making pumpkin pies,
Enough to feed a horde.
Never mind that no one here
Likes pies made out of gourd.
I took a heat gun to my trees.
The leaves have that autumny crunch.
Thankgiving is next weekend, folks.
We’re gonna thanks a bunch.
When September rolls around,
And the weather actually turns,
I’ll send the kids sledding down the hill!
No snow? Not my concern!
The Truth: I do wish it was Fall, because I love Fall. I do not love Pumpkin Spice, in fact, I hate it. The only redeeming thing about it is that it heralds cooler weather and all of the other delicious things about the holidays. I also think that song I referenced in the title is terrible. So, I used two things I dislike to name my own work. Bad.
I’m forty-two years old
But don’t you say that I’m over.
You can’t even see my game
‘Cause I take my kids for cover.
I don’t care what it is,
Weedle, Meowth, or Spearow.
I’m gonna catch ’em all.
Hell, it’s my new careero.
I’m looking for that round thing
Covered in wriggly stuff.
Meanwhile, I’ll just grab my ‘balls
And catch this Jigglypuff.
I used twenty Pokeballs
Locking up a Gastly.
Never gonna give him up,
I’m the PokeRickAstley.
I’ve got so much Pokecred,
I’m the yugest Big Fromage.
Honestly, man, I’m so great
I deserve a Pokemontage.
When I finally get them all,
Spots, spikes, and paislies.
I bet they’ll be worth a FORTUNE,
Just like my Beanie Babies.
Note: Yes, people are actually selling their accounts full of rare Pokémon on eBay. I do not get this, just like I didn’t understand Beanie Babies during that craze. I buy bags of Beanie Babies at Goodwill, cut the carefully protected tags off, and wash them–then I give them to my kids to play with. Also…. #rickrolled.
I told my kids, “It’s time to go!”
They refused to get out of the pool.
“But it’s fun to stay at the YMCA!”
Oh, kids. That’s SO not cool.
Note: Tomorrow’s Bad Poem-A-Day is about Pokémon. Make sure you catch it all.
The problem with young poets
Is that they’re much too earnest.
They emote so gushily, you gag,
But with age, they learnest.
Note: If I could, I’d record these short poems and put the audio up here, because they have a sort of timing that is a challenge to convey. Then again…if I was trying to write good poetry, I’d try harder to meet that challenge, I suppose.
I started watching that Game of Thrones,
I realize I’m a little behind.
Y’all are about 5,000 deaths ahead
But you keep going, I don’t mind.
See, I read the books already
So I’m not exactly a newbie.
I’m not shocked by a little blood
Or the sight of the ubiquitous booby.
I’m not scared of your spoilers,
I knew more than you did to start,
But my advantage seems to have slipped away
Because The Winds of Winter are mere farts.
Yes. I’m doubting you, Mr. Martin.
Another book? He’s just pretending.
I’ve given in, I’ll watch the show,
Just so I can see the ending.
YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY 