Monthly Archives: May, 2013

I Got Nothin’

My muse tapped his finger against
the table, and went about fiddling
with his phone, dialing out in
search of a more active scene

while I hawked at the horizon,
gazing hopefully, straining my
neck in hopes to see a trail of dust
a cloud of smoke, something but
all there seemed to be was a
hot stale wind and a single lost
lazy tumble weed.

and, when my muse juked my gaze as he
snagged his jacket, I finally gave
into this applicable, dry rhyme
settling instead of obsessing and
deciding to go on about my life.

Damned words-

They’ll show up to the party when
they’re good and ready,
I suppose.


Welcome to the weekend, folks. Even though it was short one for most of us, it was far too long for my liking and, finally, the weekend’s come ridding in like the Calvary to save those of us who just felt like they couldn’t go another step. As you might have noticed from the post, my mind still seems to be adjourning on whether or not to keep working, so you get another post themed as such. Hopefully the decision will be made sometime this weekend, and I can get some more productive and livelier poems out!  Either way, I hope your weekend is awesome and you drink yourself straight into the dawn!

. . .


My words didn’t come when called,
two weeks of being stalled and, look,
they’re gone!

Ungrateful whelps.

Words, disloyal strays that need
all the help they can get and, yet,
when I need a moment to deal with
life, I merely blink and they’ve
jumped ship!

Gone in search of some other mouth,
another mind where they can shred,
memories up, and nest and hide,
lending themselves reluctantly,
never coming half the time!


I don’t know why I bother,
thumbing through pages, their
synonyms calling,

Here, uhh malice! Here, spite!
Here, malevolence! Umm, I know it
starts with an…A?

Ohhhh, what’s the
use of it? Not like I need them anyway,
getting vowels all over the rugs,
leaving plural little stains.

Fickle things, words.

Thought’s dirty
little strays.


You can’t live with them. You can’t live without them. Words and writers seem to have a rather unique relationship going on. They need writers to get written, and writers need them to, well, write. Either way, it can often be tense when one end isn’t working like it should. Now, in their defense, I did have about two weeks there where I couldn’t write. Still….

Anywho, hope you enjoyed the post today! Here’s to your week ending quickly! Hold on, cause there are only two days left, folks. You can do it and I’ll do whatever I can to make it seem just a little less far away 🙂

Let’s Make Some Noise


They say some people make
beautiful music together but you and me?
We send the ally cats crowing for the cops
but a car crash is twice as hot
as a bland band-stand story,
so stick with me, kid,  and, together,
we’ll make some noise they’ll
be talkin’ about for weeks to come.



There’s the relationships that are the white fence types, and then there are those train wrecks. Those messes that just work. This one above is an old school sort of ode to them!

As for the blog, getting back onto my posting schedule after a bit of time off due to personal reasons, but it looks like the funny is finally eeking its way back into my life. Kinda like a runaway dog who is coming slinking back on in, giving me those puppy dog eyes after going off where it shouldn’t have been. That being said, I’ll be tossing a poem at you tomorrow about just that. The sort of wondering I have been doing when my words just wouldn’t come!

Life – The Bad Dog

The Bad Dog

The Bad Dog

You can’t turn your back on it,
you know.

You’ve tended to it, cared for it,
nursed it from vacant bones and
put meat to its flesh, but it doesn’t
know any better, does it?

You won’t be able to make it
understand exactly what time and effort
and love you’ve put into it, or what
hope you have for it, what future
you want for it.

Sure, you can pander to it,
plead with it, prey about it,
but it is not so much deaf as alien,
aware, alive, yet unknowing-
uncaring for our ways.

Unlistening and yet hearing, it
is just another animal, another
guiltless stray that wanders on in step
with us from the moment we take it in
to the feasting scraps of
our final days.

And, worst of all, it will not linger
when our kindly offerings are gone.

No. It will just do as it must,
just do as it does, and simply carry on
searching for that fresh and vibrant scent,
seeking out its next meal where someone
gasps that gullible breath.


Alright, so this one isn’t funny or happy, but that sort of thing happens occasionally. I honestly got the idea from this poem from a friend who, upon mentioning life, said you can’t turn your back on it. I answered with a kind of wry chuckle that, ‘it’s like a bad dog, isn’t it?’ and, well, now you just looked at what came after that though. Once again, not happy but a bit snide and aloof but it’s just one of those honest to goodness how I feel about things poem.

Now, with that downer sort of nonsense out of the way, I hope the rest of your week picks up, your workday flies by and, if life happens to get out of line, you roll up the nearest news paper and smack that bitch square on the nose to let it know just who’s in charge here.

(Thanks to  Minita for the awesome picture! )

The Spoken Word

There was a voice;
it lingered in back lots
of my mind, mingling with
memories on their way to
either side, it ran into
things I’d left behind,
and leered at those I’d lost.

Then it rocked between
crowded seats of sparkling
right brain epiphanies
and got off at the last
stop before the car returns
home to its reviewing lot.

From there it hitched a
ride, tying its immaterial
baggage to the hissing tide
of vapor that exudes and
arrives from the land of
its birth.

And from there I watched
it go as strangers often
part from their common row,
giving it little thought
to immigrant entering that
foreign tangible land.

But occasionally now I do
wonder, over the volumes of
vagabonds that have stumbled
apart from my path, to where
they wander that they seem
so eagerly to go?
This poem came to me about 11pm last night, and I finally got to a sort of ending just as I posted this. I really liked the sound and the imagery of it, even though I’m not quite sure why I began writing this while half awake…sometimes I swear I am not at the wheel of the mechanisms of my mind. Honest.         

Anywho, happy Friday and here is to hoping that your weekend is long, and that your Monday seems far away!


image description


Well, my two cents used
to be worth a whole lot more
to you, but I’ll be damned if
the price of your admiration
didn’t amoritize in the way
I’d ever though it would.

But I’ll appraize my options
and diversify what pocket change
you left behind, because while
you’re riding those penny stock
pipe dreams into the ground,
I’ll be sticking around to that
five year plan of placing my
bids wheremy heart has always been,

And heading down a venture both
risky and sound, knowing
well that I’m a long term asset
anyone would be a fool not to
invest in.


It’s all about realizing your own worth, folks! Really. This is just a little poem to try and help you get through your Wednesday. Once again, here is to hoping that the rest of your week goes quickly.

Writing Rhymes

type writer keys

Writing Rhymes

What matters most is a tough one,
but what simply means something I find easy.
I locate a species wide norm and nominate it
before I begin delving in colloquially

Add in a dash of borrowed wit and give it a
little kick of my smart aleck and snide chime
and, folks, you’ve got yourself the makings of
a good ol’ fashioned rhyme.


It’s true. That right there is my formula for sitting down and writing poems. Well, at least ones I post on here, at least. It’s short, simple, and too the point; basically it’s me in written form. Anywho, today is just a short one  that describes how I get things done and keep them moving along, even when my brain wants to call it quits or my muse refuses to reschedule his hair appointment. Here’s to still hoping that your week is going by quickly and that Friday feels just on the horizon!

Breakfast of Champions

Breakfast of Champions

Breakfast of Champions

Sipping spite from a coffee mug,
washing down the bitter reality,
chomping on a bacon, egg, and better days,
savoring the bowl of sugar frosted memories.

Buttering up a burnt out slice,
you’re making the best of everything,
playing chef with lukewarm left overs,
seasoning bland strained broth with
your dreams.


Mornin’, folks.  It’s especially on Monday’s when you have to scrape something nutritional together in the morning, mustering up the will to just get back at it for another week. Here’s to hoping that your Monday is mild, and the week goes quickly by!

Where Your Heart Is (Friday Fictioneers)

decorative bar with abstract painting

Where Your Heart Is

They say it’s where your heart is. The place where you love to rest your head.

Sure, I’ve got a box in a picket fence down on Main Street where I park my car at night, and have one sided conversations about my day or hers. But it’s nothing like here.

Here I’ve got Remmy, Jack, and Jim. Here I’ve got Saul’s long face on the wall. I’ve got color and mood lighting, comfortable seats, and jokes I’ve never heard before. And here, if I ever run out of heart, there’s always some waiting for me.

You see, I am home.



I finally got back on schedule enough to do another Friday Fictoneer’s post! I love these little 100 word prompts so much. They’re fun, and a bit challenging, plus getting to read what everyone else does is equally as awesome. Basically, each week brings you a new picture as a prompt, and you have 100 words to tell a story in. Like I said, fun but challenging.

Well, here’s to hoping that your weekend is awesome and that your Monday takes a while to get here!




Life it swept me
off my feet, sent me
careening down crowded
streets, and flooded my memories
till my dreams seemed to leak,
water through holes punched by
nit-picking complacencies,
and my lungs filled, worries
soothed by sirens eagerly smiling
at thoughts of my demise
but then, somewhere amidst
the rocks, I snagged on a line,
a single drop of red smoking
into blue hues of regular life
and my eyes flew open, I
choked, sputtered, and grasped
for light, kicking free of all
those spiteful sprites,
I parted liquid with hands
that brushed formalities aside
and, breaking the surface, I drew
a type of breath that reminds the worth
that comes from swimming
against the tides.


There really aren’t any lifeguards on duty here, folks, and that makes it easy for us to just slip off our life path and into some murky waters that really aren’t going to get us anywhere.  This is just a little poem to remind you that, sometimes, it takes a painful little reminder- just enough to call you back to your purpose in life- before you start kicking for the surface again!  Hope you enjoyed and here’s to a happy hump-day. May your coffee taste awesome and your Friday feel not so far away!

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