Category Archives: Poetry

Haiku poetry: “Mitt’s a pacifist”

Mitt’s a pacifist
What a hilarious joke
Funny but not true

Hawks don’t become doves
Not in one debate, at least
That’s some magic trick

Mitt’s no magician
He’s a damn used car salesman
Selling past failures

History will repeat
Mitt will answer the hawks’ cry
I want an answer

Why $2 trillion more
On our military spending
Talk does not come cheap?

Poetry: “It’s All Our Invention”

Didn’t set out to be brave
I hungered for more realized days
Youth flashes by and out goes the flame
Potential wasted is the greatest shame
Grab this life, shake it up, feel something inside
Grab this life, shake it up, feel something inside
What we do with our time is our invention
It’s all our invention

Poetry: Notorious B.I.G.+ Hippie Mashup

NOTE: I am in the midst of drinking my weight in white chocolate mochas on this sun-drenched Sunday afternoon in Portland. Outside Peet’s Coffee on Hawthorne is an eternally stoned hippie Jesus and his hippie lass (think: Miley Cyrus washed-up at 28 with horrendous green arm tats). For some reason, this hippie power duo called to mind Notorious B.I.G., specifically his timeless smash “Hypnotize.” Check it!

Hippie, hippie, hippie, can’t you see
Sometimes your bongos just hypnotize me
And I just love your woodsy ways
Guess that’s why they so clean, and you’re so unbathed (uh!)

PS: Awww! The bearded hippie man stopped playing his bongos to flash a peace sign at a little girl. Somewhere a hippie just got his dreads!!!!

Poetry: “If The Idea Of God Disappears”

NOTE: I started this Tuesday during lunch and finished it this morning.

If the idea of god disappears
Who will be there to answer our prayers,
To ease our fears or count our sins
Does this mean the world will never end
Will we look within, accepting responsibility
For our flaws and simple-minded hostilities
Or will we treat each other like shit
And wash our hands clean of all it means to be human
I don’t want to live forever, give me 70 years
Yeah, 70’ll provide enough laughter and tears
But I don’t want to think much about death either
There’s nothing sexy about the Grim Reaper
I’m looking east, toward the sun and the city
Away from the west and its gray misery
Time to wipe away fear and play my chips
As skaterbros say, “Fuck it dude, life’s a risk”

“Frank’s Got A Flaming, New Ginger Beard”

The Gingerbeard Man

NOTE: This is a piece about one of the most mysterious beards in recent memory. I am one to welcome fake gingers into the tribe (see: Florence Welch). But this situation has left me not knowing whether to include Frank in the ginger family or seek to have him prosecuted for wrongly impersonating a ginger. Don’t worry, Frank. I’m in Portland. You’re in Austin. It’s hard to prosecute you for crimes against gingers when we’re so far apart.

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An Ode To Baxter, Who Speaks Via Death’s Megaphone

Darth Baxter

This is dedicated to my roommate’s yellow lab, Baxter aka Baxter Blue (for his eternally sad facial expression) aka Darth Baxter (for his heavy panting). He’s almost 14. He sounds every bit of it too, I am sad to report. He can’t catch his breath and he can’t catch a break. Father Time is a bastard. I think Baxter would agree with me if he could read.

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“Pledging Independence From Ignorance”

Wrote this in my Notes app on my phone at 3 in the morning. I watched a Vice video about blowing up mountaintops to extract coal minutes before. It made me question why we fight for some lives but not others. Our righteousness is rags – that’s something I learned in a fundamentalist church and still believe.

Stupidity reigns supreme in the 21st century
When sheep lead sheep toward rising seas
You mean to tell me, pastor
God cares more about sodomy
Than how we treat the least of these
Seems your gospel is the devil’s creed
You mean it’s kosher to turn God’s creation to feces
In the name of corporate greed, a false deity enslaving many
Why fight for the unborn’s heartbeat
If we’re content to let them enter a world of unchecked atrocity
They will forgive us one day, maybe
Long after a woman has total control over her body
And sexual preference is not prerequisite to marry
And people realize their true meaning (to love)
That is my hope, at least

Poetry: “Happiness Is A State I Want To Call Home”

Cameron Diaz: An OCD beauty

I started “Happiness Is A State I Want To Call Home” last night and finished it this morning. What inspired me to write this was, in order: learning a friend had terminal cancer, reading the first half of Richard Ford’s The Sportswriter, and my own incurable restlessness. Looking at this poem on the page I am hypnotized by the funky “F” it calls to mind.

I wrote the poem in HTML format, in a way where each quatrain arrived at the same stopping point. The web site does not reflect this. Womp womp womp! I blame my fixation with the lines matching on an article I read about celebrities with obsessive compulsive disorder. Cameron Diaz and Leo DiCaprio have it, I learned.

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