They purse their lips and blow
Sweet kisses in the air
Magic miracles to grow,
In a lawn under my care.
But my weed killer is focused
On having miracles ungrown
Once my spray gun’s hocused pocused,
Watch some magic of my own.
Category: humor
Beh-duh Growing Up Soon
Listen to my daughter though you lack her
Simplicity in conversations tried.
Beh-duh beh-duh Beh-duh beh-duh cracker
Beh-duh beh-duh Beh-duh beh-duh outside.
That’s how she talks to me and tells her tales,
A garbled summing up of afternoon.
Cohesive conversation surely fails,
But cohesion kills simplicity too soon.
On the Way to the Well
I live in a place where the water’s unclean
And rather than choosing to drink the unseen
I go to the store for a vending machine
Dispensing five gallons of water that’s clean.
All my containers experienced drought
So last night I gathered them up for my route
To a filtration spot that’s completely about
The reverse osmosis to get garbage out.
Only it starts to pour as I pull in the lot.
I luckily manage to get the first spot,
But I sit in my car because I’d rather not
Get soaked to the bone like someone who’s caught
On a walk unsuspecting the water to come.
I see it, I came to get gallons of some
Cleaner water that’s filtered and not falling from
The sky I fault for this unfortunate sum
Of water that falls down with irony’s pain.
As me and my empty containers complain.
I step out in puddles that think I’m insane
To go out for some water in this kind of rain.
The Internet Door
The internet is like an open door
That swings in from behind before I know
The information’s like an open sore.
I pick it piece by piece as I implore
My clicks to lead me on, a friend info.
The internet is like an open door.
My windows broke last night and so my floor
Is now translucent booby-traps galore.
The information’s like an open sore.
The bugs ate through the screen or simply tore
Their way through obstacles as if for show
The internet is like an open door.
I’m still unsure what information’s for
If memory’s retention is so low
The information’s like an open sore.
I still recall the past when I’d explore
But can’t remember where I’d like to go
The internet is like an open door
The information’s like an open sore.
Urinal Surprise
A friend of mine, a man of God
Was wandering on retreat.
He had to go, but found it odd
Enough to have to tweet
And facebook out his circumstance
For all the world to see
What made him take a second glance
When on his way to pee.
The sign read “women” on the door,
But this convenient compromise
Left him unphased before
He had his urinal surprise.
The friend mentioned in the poem was Chris Padget. Check out his site.
My Overwhelming Basement
I should sit down to sort through
All I’ve chosen not to,
Since I’ve finally cleared a spot in
Basement piles I’ve forgotten.
I can clearly see the product of some spider sweat,
Decorations in between the Christmas that I’ve let
Sit for months behind a box of Halloween
That should have squeezed in right between
The box of camping gear that waits to live in twenty-ten
And the clothes I’ve kept that, maybe, might just fit again.
My pegboard hangs near empty on the wall
While the tools returned from projects start to sprawl.
The treadmill, the weight bench, my old furniture
All of which will someday be used I’m sure,
In fact right now they’re put to use by shelving gear
For babies who we know won’t show this time of year.
The aforementioned clearing must have been a mirage.
So instead of cleaning this mess, I’ll go look in my garage.
Jesus and Cornflakes
My son was eating cornflakes
And I took a flake or two.
This random act of playful theft,
Led contemplation through
A chain of thoughts that circumvent
My normal cornflake thinking
My thought pattern might represent
A drunkard ‘midst his drinking.
My tongue curled inside my mouth
Scraped the caverns of my bones
Starting North and heading south
To flick for food in pearly stones.
Then pressed against the molar
In the back most leftest corner
Sweeping Closest to the solar
Where Christ remains adorner
The food bits flick on out
With Creator from a crater
To the front of my closed mouth
Was my Lord I’d saved for later.
Heaven-Scent Steubenville
Undoubtedly, there’s something in the air.
The scent of which was sent to twitch your nose
Old factories there have olfactory flair
So that must be the stench, you suppose.
Now let me reveal the truth of the deal,
The stink and why we live near it.
Once you know, there’s much more appeal
Since the smell is the Holy Spirit.
Of all the scents that God perused
For His person without body
This strange new smell leaves us confused
‘till wisdom make us oddly
Okay with the stink in the morning.
With understanding, we realize
His morning breath’s adorning
Our Steubenville’s sun rise.
Imagining Manna
I imagine bread falling from the sky.
Oh Manna, that would be awesome.
Reaching out to raining rye
As angels simply toss ‘em
Out of the giant bread boxes up there.
What if it drizzled soda bread or Naan?
Maybe sticky buns would fill the air
As humidity, until the grain was gone.
The light of the moon’s on a crescent roll
That falls down with bagels and yet
I’ll venture out for a midnight stroll,
Dodging croutons and sliced baguette.
Every time that it’s graining outside
We’d see bread putting on a show.
But what if we solely relied
On flakes of bread falling like snow.
Rainbow or Chocolate Sprinkles
My face is pressing a tasteless façade
Smudging up the glass I look through
My breath fogs up the lens of God
While finding which toppings I want to
Have placed on my ice cream, already chosen,
So I can truly enjoy this treat.
My father behind me knows all of the frozen
Combos, his knowledge is sweet.
This decision could be life changing
What if I choose the wrong sprinkle?
I imagine my choice rearranging
A space-time-continuum wrinkle.
My dad knows everything and so I ask
“Should I get chocolate, or rainbow?”
He looks at me, puzzled by the task
Of answering a question I should know.
I turn and face my sprinkles one more time
Rainbow sprinkles, or chocolate ones to flow
Off of a spoon onto the Ice cream I’m
Going to have, but right now, I don’t know.
I’d hate to have the wrong thing sprinkling
So I wonder what would dad want me to do.
Is it rainbows, or chocolate that will bring
Us closer as a family from his view?
One flavor or the other wouldn’t bother
Him or me, it doesn’t really matter
Chocolate on my mouth would look to father
About the same as rainbow sprinkled splatter
I asked my dad again for his solution,
Since I didn’t know exactly how I felt.
He desired me to seek a resolution
So the Ice cream I was gifted wouldn’t melt.
BonjourPoetry 