Poem of the Week: Bullying and Retaliation

Bullying and Retaliation
March 15, 2018

“It’s nothing personal/
It’s just a joke.”
“Just a joke,” they say.
“Just a joke,” nothing!
Nothing about this is funny.
Nothing like this should happen—
Happen to anyone,
Happen for any reason.
Reason escapes me,
Reason to help me understand,
Understand why,
Understand what…
What motivates such actions,
What people get out of it.
It annoys me.
It frustrates me—
Me with my throbbing headache,
Me with my subverted expectations—
Expectations of my peers,
Expectations of my fellow ex-children.
Children they still are, apparently.
Children they might forever be—
Be, even when they attain adulthood.
Be still, clenching fist.
Fist, stay away from that wall!
Fist, stay away from that face!
Face the reality of the situation.
Face the truth.
Truth is, you and I would become guilty as well.
Truth is it ain’t worth it.
It ain’t worth the criminal record.
It ain’t worth the vile reputation—
Reputation as a hothead,
Reputation as a scumbag…
Scumbag like those I’ve been facing,
Scumbag like those who’ve been bothering me—
Me when I never did them any wrong,
Me when I just want to be left alone…
Alone to learn,
Alone to grow.
Grow some spine\, they ought to…
Grow some brains on top of that.
That is all I can hope for.
That is all I can expect—
Expect until the year is done,
Expect until this is all over.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com


Poem of the Week: Early March Weather

Early March Weather
March 9, 2018

Fickle weather…
Snowing, raining, blowing…
Isn’t spring here yet?
Waiting, wondering, sighing…
Begone, winter!


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Age of the Disclaimer

Age of the Disclaimer
March 1, 2018

‘Tis the age of the disclaimer, for ignorance knows no bounds
As the overzealous, oversensitive masses quickly sound
Off with their disgruntlement at the drop of a hat,
No matter if one’s right or wrong, for they don’t care about that—
Not as much, that is, compared to whether or not they agree
With the words of whoever’s speaking about Topic A, B, or C,
And should said speaker say one wrong word, no matter the intention,
He or she runs the fatal risk of provoking contention
From his or her audience at hand for wrong or for right,
For even the sound-minded can find fault in what one writes
Or speaks, and understandably so, seeing as words can mean
One thing or another, depending on the context in which they’re seen,
And if even the discerning can find fault in any message at hand,
Imagine the aforementioned masses forming a frothing band
And demanding the speaker’s severed head on a platinum platter,
And whether his or her goal is noble or wicked won’t matter.
Sure, it wouldn’t kill folks to slow down for once and think,
But in this world, where laziness and brain farts literally stink
Up the air we all breathe, none can take such a chance,
Thus leaving it to us speakers to do a verbal dance
And construct our own messages carefully so that none can take us
Out of context whenever we say whatever we must,
For those of us who mean well can’t afford the same reputation
Of the same rabble-rousing fools who’re the scourge of each nation
That allows free speech, even to those who’ve no grounds to speak
Based on the blatant ignorance that makes their arguments weak.
We know we’re bigger than that and thus have what it takes
To challenge the global status quo and all the errors it makes,
So let’s avoid coming off like condescending egotists
And be smarter with how we phrase things so that all get the gist
Of that with which we take issue and wish folks would rearrange
So that society’s standards in the end for the better can change,
And if that means using disclaimers to cover our tails, so be it.
It’s better for us in the long run for when we say what we see fit—
All the better to show the thought we put into what we say
In hopes of spreading wisdom that all may absorb one day,
And gone that day will be the crap that’s held humanity back
From attaining the morality we all for too long have lacked.



Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Old Fool

Old Fool
February 19, 2018

Quit feeding kids your ego. You know that ain’t cool.
Grow up and do your job right, you pompous old fool.

The poor kids who go to you are seeking advice
For their troubles, not flagrant tongue-lashings, old fool.

Not all troubled kids are raging demons who need
To be punished for their “sins,” you senile old fool.

Where do you get off, then, losing your patience with
Them for even the slightest infraction, old fool?

Do you somehow think you’re above acting grown up
And professionally? Because guess what, old fool:

You’re being PAID to help troubled kids move forward
And become productive adults one day, old fool.

That kind of responsibility isn’t one
That anyone should handle lightly, you old fool,

But yet you do, and quite recklessly at that, too,
Not giving a damn ‘bout how your actions, old fool,

Will affect—nay…IMPACT—your clients for years to
Come during the course of their lives, you dense old fool.

Will your conscience be ready for when the other
Shoe drops and the kids you should’ve counseled, old fool,

End up making life worse for themselves or someone
Else in one nasty way or another, old fool?

Perhaps even to the point where they end up in
Jail or—even worse—six feet underground, old fool?

Have you even conscience to care? I highly doubt
That…but hey…best of luck to you in life, old fool,

For you’ll need it when you at last lose your precious
Throne to one far worthier of the job, old fool,

And from then on live in the shame you’ve forged yourself
From your own ignorance and negligence, old fool…

Not to mention your laziness and cowardice
As well—all the tools of which you’ve used, you old fool,

During the course of a career you deserved not,
Nor does anyone with a mood like yours, old fool…

All warped with stereotypes and precognitions
Of those whom you were meant to serve with care, old fool—

Care, wisdom, and respect—all of which you clearly
Lack, hence this diatribe towards you, you old fool,

And I hope you get a kick to the curb, too, for
All the crap you’ve pulled while you had power, old fool—

Power to help establish a better future
For generations down the road to come, old fool.

Ah, but what’s the use? You’re too old now to learn from
The errors of your ways, stupid, senile old fool,

So I guess there’s little point in me chewing you
Up when you’re gladly chewing your own foot, old fool,

So enjoy whatever misery falls upon
You for all the wrong you’ve done. You’ve earned it…old fool!


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: “Millennial” Means Nothing

“Millennial” Means Nothing
February 13, 2018

“Millennial” means nothing. It’s just another word
That’s amongst the dumbest labels I’ve ever read or heard.
It’s meant for folks who’ve been born between ’81 and ’96,
Yet it’s just for anyone of youth who happens to be a twit,
Be he or she loud, vain, self-entitled, foolish, or immature,
And because this word’s been so misused, its meaning’s no longer pure.

The binge-watching Netflix addict who spurns regular TV;
The controversial YouTuber who’s a millionaire, apparently;
The selfie-obsessed Snapchatter who won’t put down his or her cam;
The memory-depraved jump-cutter with the paltry attention span;
The snarky, self-assured “genius” who digs up, then bashes the past;
The nostalgia junkie who slams the present, praying to all it won’t last;
The screaming mimi who flips his lid at the pettiest of things;
The obnoxious brat who causes a scene for the sake of “entertaining”;
The self-absorbed “social justice” preacher who hates the other side;
The political extremist who’s got a temper she just can’t hide;
The shrieking conspiracy theorist; the posturing alpha male troll;
The callous meathead whose love for tasteless humor fuels his foul soul—

All these archetypes and more, in one form or another,
Have given “Generation Y” its reputation, brother,
For right and wrong alike, which society reminds us at each turn,
Always eager to trash them for their flaws, too stubborn to learn
How the generations of yesteryear were at their age back in the day
With behaviors of their own that were childish or selfish in some way.
In fact, some middle-agers and seniors today still carry on
Many disgusting mannerisms, dragging younger folks along
As the whine about the current era and all that they’ve lost
‘Cause they were too careless with their cash and now must pay the cost
Right alongside their children, who must now clean up their mess
And learn from the mistakes they’ve made, for Son and Daughter now know best.

That is, of course, when they’re not groaning about all they’ve been denied
When they were kids, and yet, they’ve got the chance to change, if they’d try,
The current state of things for the better, but alas,
They cave in to doing the same old thing that’s been done in the past,
Albeit oftentimes perverted, with old morals and values flushed
Down the toilet while the real turds linger ‘round and leave us hushed
In the wake of their pungent smell that manages to seep its way
Into the brains of the masses, making us dumber by the day
As we latch on to everything overhyped that lacks quality and taste
And ignore or dismiss all that’s honest and good, thus making us waste
The talent and efforts of those who try to break through the ceiling and thrive
While the people who lazily take shortcuts are those whose work comes alive,
Thus helping to shape and define the mindset of today’s society,
Which is why things have long been in the dumps according to you and me.

What’s worse about the word “millennial” and how it’s used
Is how “millennials” themselves say it ‘til it’s abused
About the younger generation and all the flaws they bare,
Criticizing “Generation Z” left and right without care
For their own apparent ignorance , buying in to what they’re told,
As well as the trash they themselves admittedly pull, which, too, gets old.
Such irony in the twist of this tale behind an age group’s name
In that it’s used by older folks to bring a measure of shame
Upon those whom for the name is meant who use it in turn
In the same way towards a younger demographic. Oh, how things burn!

It makes me wonder why even bother labeling age groups at all
Or why we have them, period, if it becomes a name to call
The demographic after us for what certain members of it pull
And the stereotypes that are thus born. Doesn’t it all make one mull
Over the stupidity of it all and question why one should dare
Follow the same mindless trend like a drone, knowing it’ll lead nowhere?
In fact, why even have age groups at all if we all know it’s a trap
To further divide us against ourselves as based on each group’s bad rap?
Isn’t there enough bigotry with which we’re made to cope—
Racism, sexism, homophobia—from the minds and mouths of dopes?
Must we really add ageism to the already overflowing pile?
‘Cause for me, this childishness has already long grown out of style.

Problem is, this foolishness hasn’t stopped yet, and I doubt it ever will,
Leaving “Generation Z” now to wallow through this idiotic swill—
A tradition that’s lasted years, if not decades, as things stand,
And all ‘cause older age groups can’t cope with the changes that come at hand
When the next generation comes of age and culture moves along
To something the don’t recognize. It’s the same old tired song.
Good riddance, then, to generation bashing, a tired old sport.
Nothing good ever comes of it or other acts of such a sort.
Good riddance, too, to the word “millennial,” which now means squat.
As far as I’m concerned, the creator of such a term can rot.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Rambling about Dreams

Rambling about Dreams
December 17, 2017

Had a dream the other night, and not a pleasant one.
I was at a bowling alley with my family not having fun.
The place was crowded cheek to cheek and deafening as hell,
And the bowling we did was abysmal, as I’m sure you could tell.

Why I dreamt it, I’ll never know, but one thing I do know
Is that I’m glad it was a dream and that I’m spared the woe
Of having to live it for real, for I’ve enough grief and pain
To deal with in the real world threatening to kill my brain.

I don’t remember doing anything lately related to bowling,
So why would I dream about it? Just who or what is controlling
My train of thought when I’m asleep? Are these visions of mine
Perhaps from a life I’ve lived elsewhen that I’ve somehow left behind?

Are these visions of a future that has yet to come
Or the memories of some other soul caught, too, in a mental slum?
Are they trying to teach me a lesson or merely telling a tale
Meant solely to entertain me? The truth here might help me prevail

In my career, for who knows just where inspiration lies?
Maybe these dreams are for my own good and come to me so that I
Can craft new stories with them that folks have yet to hear and see.
That notion at least sounds promising, but something else troubles me:

What if these dreams are reminders of the schmuck I used to be
And a lifestyle I’m not proud of and have tried to leave behind me?
The events may have been reforged, but my old persona remains,
Portraying my faults, and if that’s the case, maybe I’ve something to gain.

There’s the birthday dream, after all, in which I kicked a hole
In the speaker of my birthday present: an expensive stereo.
There’s the dream where I worked at a department store and wouldn’t help
Any customers because I was such a prickly, nervous whelp.

I’ve even had many dreams in which I was made to relive high school,
Getting lost, losing my locker combo, or otherwise playing fool.
All these dreams remind me in one way or another
The problems I’ve tried to leave behind me in some way or other,

Even though the memories remain, much to my chagrin,
No matter how much I move on from them or the situation I’m in,
For in my dreams, they haunt me and may stay with me ‘til I die,
Which is why I try to purge them in my efforts to find out why

I dream, for surely my dreams mean something to me somehow
In the grand scheme of things…or I’m just having a cow,
Trying to read something from nothing in the long run,
And I should give up right now while I’m sane ‘til my name’s done.

After all, all this pondering’s been annoying even me,
For is there really one thing that all my dreams are meant to be?
Each dream needs to be treated like its own unique entity
In the instance I should analyze it learn what it means to me.

Each dream tells its own story, no matter the genre at hand,
And only by dissecting it by itself will I come to understand
The meaning of the dreams I have as they come to me at night,
And once that at last happens, there’s no stopping me, brother.

On that note, then, dreams, come on out, wherever you are,
And riddle my mind with wonder, whether you be near or far.
Paradise or purgatory, Nightwish or nightmare,
I’ll be ready for you, so come at me if you dare.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Wrestling Fans of the 2010s

Wrestling Fans in the 2010s
January 29, 2018

Immature, spoiled rotten, thinking they know everything,
Crapping on whom they don’t like, hoping they feel the sting
Of their spiteful words as they pour out their foul, faux-macho maws,
Slamming all who disagree with them, insulting all without pause,
Thinking they’re somehow entitled to see things play only their way,
Screaming and crying and breaking things when their favorites don’t seize the day,
Threatening others’ lives for receiving attention they don’t deserve
From the upper brass for this reason or that…it’s all absurd!
No longer can we enjoy the art that others already scoff at,
For these arrogant, narcissistic brats are smashing it quite flat,
Doing their part in killing off that which they claim to love,
And it’s time for an intervention to descend from up above
And put these overcompensating know-it-alls in their place
Before professional wrestling they further disgrace.
The bitching and bickering’s gotten old, right down to the “smark” shaming
And the bashing of “vanilla midgets” who’ve long been butts of blaming
For the alleged assassination of an industry once held dear
When bookers and promoters, too, have made the sane fans fear
The dying of an entertainment form that once used to be big
Until the spring of 2001 when its backbone snapped like a twig.
Ever since then, many have tried to bring the scene back to life,
Only to make like Victor Frankenstein and bring on more strife
With their monstrous creations, many of which have died out
In no time at all, thus showing the world what the struggle is all about
When even the people behind the curtain being out of touch
With what once made pro wrestling great for everyone and such.
Sure, times have changed, and not for the better, but that doesn’t mean
We can’t pull things together so that something good can be seen.
Everyone of us needs to shape up and adopt a better mood
If we want pro wrestling to move on and evolve with the times, dude.
Let’s all knock off the trolling, the fanboyism, and all the rest,
For constructive positivity is what this business needs best.
Let’s tell these promoters what we want and show that we care
And support those who show the effort in their quest to go somewhere.
Only then will we receive anything close to what we once knew
And help wrestling breathe life back into itself before it’s all through,
And once that change at last happens, oh what a relief it’ll be
To see pro wrestling thrive again for the likes of you and me
And persist for generations down the line ‘til humanity
No longer exists. Until then, though, things will stay a disgrace
With all the crap we’re pulling now, lest we all grow up and move on,
And I’m sure there are others like me who are sick of this same old song.
Alas, I can only change myself in the wake of this idiocy,
And quite frankly ‘midst such nonsense is nowhere I’d like to be.
Will wrestling fans as a collective whole wisen up? I can only hope.
All I know is that I’ll keep my own head on my straight and not be a dope.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Agent Query Connect Experience

Agent Query Connect Experience
January 19, 2018

Arrogantly talking down to those who can’t quite get it right,
Brow-beating them for the simplest mistakes,
Condescension spewing forth from your mouth day and night,
Dismissing those whom you don’t feel have what it takes.

Egomaniac you are, prattling on and on,
Full of fecal matter in what you say—
Gobs of words that ultimately mean squat in the run so long,
Heavy with burden in many, if not all, ways.

Insensitive and ignorant, not even helping one bit…
Just who do you think you are, hopeless nag?
Knock off being so overbearing. I’ve had enough of it.
Learn some respect or pack your lousy bags.

My self-esteem deserves better than the beating it gets from you.
No more will your wretched essays disgrace me.
Open your eyes, ears, and mind if you know what’s good for you.
Put your words back in your mouth and let me be.

Quit acting like you know everything when you don’t know crap.
Realize you’re as fallible as the rest of us.
Stop making points that don’t even hit home and shut your trap.
Talking further to me for you from now on’s a bust.

Ugly have been our conversations, hence why I’m checking out.
Very upset has your patronizing made me.
Welcome your next victim if that’s what you’re all about.
X me from your life from now on, chickadee.

Yes, it’s time I moved from your judgment and abuse.
Z you in Hell, should I end up here myself.
I’ve learned the hard way that asking for help isn’t always of use
When trying to put myself on a bookstore shelf.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: A Long-Overdue Rant on Internet Grammar in the 2010s

A Long-Overdue Rant on Internet Grammar in the 2010s
January 9, 2018

Fifteen to twenty years ago, when I’d surf the ‘Net,
Grammar made sense just like it did in school.
Nowadays, though, old man that I am, I can’t help but fret
At how today’s folks write ‘cause it isn’t cool.

Miscaps here, misspellings there, lack of punctuation all around—
It’s all enough to make me sick to my gut.
I hate the way it looks on screen and even the way it sounds
When I read it aloud and witness the kind of rut

Society’s now in mentally ‘cause honestly, what the hell
Has become of us from a written point of view?
We used to be so neat and concise, but these days, all’s not well.
Where did we go so wrong out of the blue?

Have we really gotten so stressed for time that we cannot bear
To take a moment to write a sentence right,
Or have we just gotten lazy and stopped giving any care
To what we publish on the Internet day and night?

I only ask ‘cause not only is our grammar collectively
Devolving, but so is our sense of thought,
For no longer do we think through what we want others to see
Or hear, even though deep down we know we ought.

Somebody stinks at something? We scold them, “Git gud, scrub!”
Something angers us? We type IN ALL CAPS
With multiple exclamation points ‘cause we’re just that livid, bub,
And are in that serious need of a nap.

Its versus It’s, Then versus Than, There versus They’re versus Their
Not to mention Yore versus You’re versus Your
This misuse of similar-sounding words is more than I can bear…
And yes…bear! Not bare. Leave that at the door

Right along with your ellipses used in the place of periods
‘Cause they’re made of three periods themselves, right?
Also, Dont versus Don’t? Isnt versus Isn’t? Whose teaching these kids
How to not use apostrophes day and night?

Notice, too, how I used Also to start a sentence rather than And
Like we ‘80s kids were taught once upon a time,
For conjunctions’ function is to join sentences and fragments at hand,
Not start them like we do now, friends of mine.

Alas, though, each mid-paragraph, it’s And, But, Or all day,
Every day like it’s nobody else’s bloody biz,
Right along with the double negatives like don’t none and ain’t no way.
It’s insulting, even to one who’s not a grammar wiz.

Comparative forms in adjectives these days also makes me mad.
I’m sure you, too, have noticed this vexing matter,
For kids and even adults now say more hairy, more petty, and more sad
As opposed to hairier, pettier, and sadder.

To think, too, I’ve only scratched the surface of this steaming mess,
And the more I look, the less relief I see.
I know it’s petty and paranoid of me, but I can’t rest
As I wonder where the world’s literacy could be.

Am I overreacting? Are things really that bad?
Will we ever revolve from where we are now?
All I know is how all this bad grammar’s been making me sad
And wish that we could go back some way, somehow.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Zombie Apocalypse Now

Zombie Apocalypse Now
January 4, 2018

Zombies strolling
Zombies stomping
Stomping on the lawn
Stomping along the streets
Streets of ruin
Streets of the damned
Damned ears plugged with buds
Damned eyes turned towards screens
Screens in our stores
Screens in their hands
Hands too busy with gadgets
Hands too busy with trinkets
Trinkets of precious metal
Trinkets made to distract
Distract from the world around us
Distract from the rest of humanity
Humanity turned away from itself
Humanity enslaved
Enslaved by its own vices
Enslaved by its own devices
Devices meant to be tools
Devices now made our masters
Masters of our free time
Masters over our free will
Will this ever stop?
Will we ever fight back—
Back against our own dehumanization?
Back against our own undoing?
Undoing that’s escalated from previous generations
Undoing further made by blind fandom
Fandom of any given media
Fandom that leads to disturbing behavior
Behavior deemed disruptive
Behavior deemed infantile
Infantile in public
Infantile on the Internet
Internet where all is as good as archived
Internet where nothing is forgotten
Forgotten is rational behavior
Forgotten is civility
Civility and respect
Civility that we used to have
Have we been destined for this?
Have we been meant to suffer like this?
This can’t be how humanity ends.
This has got to stop.
Stop everyone from becoming a zombie!
Stop the apocalypse!


Author Pages: Smashwords.com