Tag: humor

Facebook Poem

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Facebook Poem

I’ll see what you’ve been up to
In a place where time suspends,
Hung up on walls for me to view
What’s up with all my friends,

Friends I haven’t spoken too
For forever and a day
Or friends I’ve never met who
Just happen in to say

A comment on my wall, a link,
Perhaps a status update.
If I don’t stop and think,
At least I hesitate

Before I click to view your photos
And all your conversations.
Perhaps you did not know that those
Were public complications

That I just saw, or over heard
By clicking through the sprawls
Of information friends inferred
And wrote on others’ walls.

http://www.bonjourpoetry.com

Do I Drive-Thru?

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Do I Drive-Thru?

There is a time when it all comes together
That instant when you have to make a choice
You reach a climactic moment as to whether
You go in or speak to a voice.

Do you enter brick and mortar,
Where it’s obviously shorter.
I can’t imagine it’d be worse in-
Side where there’s one person.

Still I think the way to go
Is driving with my radio
Allowing frequency of talk in
My car to stop my walk-in.

Tempted by Raining BMWs

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Tempted by Raining BMWs

God isn’t worried about Money
Because Heaven doesn’t have a hole.
But what if someone drilled through the sun He
Put there and then stole

A stream of gold from heaven’s street.
And left the hole to show his Feat
So everyone on Earth would know
He stole a part of Heaven’s glow.

What would we do with this guy
Who’s taken our thoughts of Heaven to try
And redirect our attention to buy
Sun-beemers that fell from the sky?

We’d let him sell us all sorts of stuff
That we really don’t need anyway.
‘Cause even with more than enough,
Our Freewill would happily pay.

Me and My Spaghetti

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My wife went out to our yard and
Allowed the children to play
While she plucked up from our garden
Ingredients for the day

Of cooking she had planned
With fresh tomatoes, peppers and spices.
Over a hot stove she would stand
Creating some tasty new vices

For me and our dinner guests to try.
These specially made combinations
Were very pleasing to the eye
When presented as calm sensations

But before then, it’s intense
With the chopping and sauce splatters
The mess becomes immense
Although it’s taste that truly matters.

I start to do some reasoning,
And decide to boil water.
While she’s overworked with seasoning
I’ll make the kitchen hotter.

I’m stirring but my boiled over pasta mocks
The way I try to help with cooking dinner
I followed the instructions on the box
But perhaps it’s too advanced for this beginner.

Soon everything’s laid out and ready.
The conversation starts with “who’s the cook?”
My answer’s simply “I made the spaghetti.”
Then my wife gives me that look.

Changing my Routine

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Andy's Mug

Everyday when we go to drink our coffee,
My wife and I have our own assigned mugs
That we place in a consistent spot we
Can find before drinking our drugs.

Leading up to our liquid caffeine
In an effort to hinder delay.
We’ve formed a substantial routine
That keeps us on track day to day.

But sometimes my mug is taken
By a guest who’s come to our house.
I’ll feel robbed, like there was a break in,
And look over to my spouse

Who sees my lost and forlorn look.
The corners of my mouth won’t turn up
‘Cause my own guest went and took
A hold of my favorite cup.

http://www.bonjourpoetry.com

This Parent Rocks

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Here’s a warning to those who don’t know,
That as a parent I might go
Back and forth from side to side.
I’m standing still, but still I glide

Back and forth as if at sea,
It’s slowly been ingrained in me.
It started around 2 or 3
Each morning and habitually

Has transformed how I now relate
With conversations everyday.
Be warned when we communicate,
My stance is now a sway.

Scraping the Jelly Jar

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In my refrigerator, I disperse
A line of bottles balancing inverted.
My experience and training is diverse
As seen by bottles ready to-be blurted.

My knife enters a jar ready to scrape
The scraps of jelly left along the sides,
As stained glass preserved in sugary shape
Or jammed along that curved lip, it resides.

My P B and J’s are growing thinner
But there’s always just enough for one more lunch
There might not be enough for a beginner,
But this expert scraper’s scraping out his hunch.

And when I’m finished, I’ll return the jar
Back to the fridge to find tomorrow’s knife,
I’ll angle, pry, and slowly raise the bar
Until someday it’s thrown out by my wife.

http://www.bonjourpoetry.com