Bonus Poem of the Week: Stir Crazy Stupid

Stir Crazy Stupid
May 21, 2015

Man, do I feel stupid—clueless, vapid, dumb!
So many obstacles these days I’m to overcome—
Things with which I’ve never had to cope in the past.
Ah, if only I knew how to make this nightmare pass,
For really, I no longer want any of this to last.

I used to know my math as well as anybody else,
Yet these days, even my adding needs a little help,
And even my writing leaves much to be desired,
No matter how often I do it or how often I’m inspired.
Really, my grammar’s so sloppy that I’m convinced to retire.

My knowledge of events past has also started to wane,
And I doubt I’ll ever remember my state’s capital again,
Much less the states that border mine on our nation’s map
Or when water boils or freezes or how maple trees make sap,
And that’s just the textbook stuff into which I can longer tap.

I’ve also forgotten how to cook my own stinking meals
And how to tend to my bruises and cuts so that they heal.
I can’t even clean a room anymore without making mistakes
And leaving even more dirt and dust than before in my wake.
I honestly don’t know how much more of myself I can take.

I’m surprised my dogs are as well-behaved and well-fed as they are.
I’m surprised my house is still standing. I can say the same for my car.
I’m surprised I’ve any wits left to write this lousy poem.
Oh, how I wish these dark thoughts of mine would leave me alone
And that some good fortune would come via mail or phone.

I know I am not perfect and my flaws, like my perks, are many,
But when it comes to good memories, I haven’t any
Coming to the forefront telling me I’m still worth something.
Instead, I’m sitting here, still fighting for the one thing
To save me from this madness ‘fore my brain becomes worse than nothing.

I know that doesn’t make sense, but hey, I said I was dumb.
You’ve all just read my lament ‘bout how my brain’s now numb.
Something’s got to give soon, too, ‘fore things get worse,
And if I ever wish to add coinage to my purse,
I’ve got to do my part to see to the end of my curse.

Trudge away I shall, then, as my sanity carries on
Plummeting by the second as I sing this bitter song.
Maybe one day, Lady Luck will finally open her eyes
And brighten the path before me to where greener pastures lie.
Until then, I must march forth through that which I’ve come to despise.


Author Pages:



Poem of the Week: Worse than Pain

Worse than Pain
May 1, 2015

Sticks and stones may break one’s bones, and words may hurt like hell,
But when one has one’s soul torn from one’s body, all’s not well,
For when one starts to think and feel in a way one’s never done,
Something more demoralizing than pain tends to overcome one—
Not a sensation by any means, but rather a lack thereof
Where one can’t feel the slightest thing—not joy or comfort or love
Or pride or success or satisfaction or elation—anymore…
Just an emptiness that rings throughout the person’s hollow core,
And in such hollowness can breed something even worse:
A lack of remorse for deeds foul that’s proven to be a curse.
Gone is one’s sense of morality and hence one’s guilt and shame
As well as the notion of doing things to cause others grief and pain,
For grief and pain are now alien when it all comes down to one
Who can no longer feel them oneself, for such feelings are done,
Even though for all purposes, one wreaks of negativity—
Of bitterness, rage, disownment, loneliness, and so on, you see.
After all, what else could cause one to lose part of one’s soul
But a wave of hurtful emotions that turns one’s heart black like coal
And depraves one of the feeling of anything warm and kind,
Leaving naught but the shell of a once-caring human being behind?
Such is how I feel nowadays, at least, when I think of you
And try to remind myself that I’m happy you and I are through,
For there was a time when I loved you—no more nowadays, though,
No thanks tome waking up to what you’re truly about, you ho,
Hiding your true self behind a mask of sweet sincerity
When you’re naught but a superficial bimbo in reality,
Dying your hair and painting your face ‘til I can no more recognize
The soul I once saw in you beyond your glassy mannequin eyes
And donning slutty outfits that show off skin galore—
Cleavage, bare midriff, extra leg and back flesh, and more.
Don’t get me started, either, with your piercings and tattoos.
Honestly, since when was body art ever the thing for you?
At least your clothes, hair dye, and makeup are all temporary,
But permanently inked and perforated skin is downright scary,
And it all makes me wonder just what I saw in you from the start—
Whatever it was about you that touched my foolish heart
And made me fall in love with you. Seriously, how come
Such a thing happened to me? Was I simply that dumb?
What did I do with the morals and values upon which I’ve lived
For so long ‘til this moment? Just when did my will give?
I know I should be furious and ready to punch a wall,
Even at the risk of breaking my hand, knuckles and all.
I know I should be screaming atop my lungs like a siren
Or even crying my eyes out at how our love is dyin’.
Honestly, though, I can’t do any, for my well of emotions
Has dried up by this point, henceforth my lack of commotion.
Instead, then, all I can do is stare and shake my head
And turn my back to you, knowing all too well what’s now dead
Just like that which I could’ve very well called my soul.
Gone are my fury and sense of betrayal. Gone are my grief and pain.
I’ve lost all sense of feeling, not expecting to regain
A single lick of it now. Forever am I numb and hollow.
Thanks a lot, then, for giving me such a bitter pill to swallow,
For where I should feel hatred—or, at the least, disgust—
I feel only the gush of winter night’s wind swirling ‘round in my bust.
You’ve left me hollow as a reed, and thus, I feel no remorse
In turning myself away from you, which is the only course
Of action I can take now in dealing with your crap
Good riddance, you phony hussy! Such is the point of my rap,
For in making yourself into that which I’d never thought you were,
You’ve done something worse than hurt me, you nasty little cur.
My soul’s now gone, no thanks to you, forever lost in the rain,
And the emptiness I’m now left with is something worse than pain.


Author Pages:



Poem of the Week: Static (a.k.a. Brain on the Fritz Again part 2)

Static (a.k.a. Brain on the Fritz Again part 2)
April 13, 2015

Snap! Fzzt! Crackle! That’s all I ever hear:
Countless pointless thoughts clouding up my head.
Even when my feelings are crystal clear,
My mind’s still a mess, filling me with dread.
As my brain throbs away like nothing else
I’ve ever felt in my life, least thus far,
I’m on the verge of pitying myself,
Wondering just where all my brain cells are.
What’s wrong with me? Why’s it so hard to think
When I do that which I know I do best?
Why do I falter with paper and ink
When so often I’ve passed the writing test?
This chaos in my mind has got to stop.
One more burst, and my brain will more than pop.


Author Pages:



Bonus Poem of the Week: What the Hell’s Wrong with You?

What the Hell’s Wrong with You?
May 14, 2015

What the hell’s wrong with you?
What did I ever do
To get you to tease
Me as you please?
Just what’s the deal with you?

Why do I deserve your hate?
Is it ‘cause you can’t relate
To whom I may be,
Whomever you see?
Honestly, what’s your whole debate?

I don’t even know your name,
And yet, you’re causing me pain.
What did I ever do
To upset you?
Are you simply insane?

You’re insulting me left and right,
Always trying to pick a fight,
Taunting me ‘hind my back,
Coaxing me to attack
And put out your stinking lights.

You’re lying ‘bout me each chance
You get with no kick in the pants,
Laughing at me all the way
As you ruin my day
And miserably through life I advance.

My slightest mannerisms you mock
From my beliefs to how I walk,
And with each winning goad,
You hide ‘hind your toads
And ridicule me ‘fore I can balk,

And should I dare give you chase,
You duck down and hide your face.
You think you’re so clever,
Thinking that I’ll never
Put your chicken ass in its place.

You think you’re so funny and cute,
And your stupid friends think in suit,
Yet really, you’re just mean
For no reason to be seen
And petty and obnoxious to boot.

What is it that goes through your head
And tells you to swamp me with dread?
What is it you get
From making me fret
From morning ‘til I go to bed?

What joy do you get from my grief—
From causing me to get no sleep?
Are you trying to make me crack?
Is your heart that black,
Or is there some secret you keep?

Whatever your excuse, go away.
Let me be and stop ruining my day.
I don’t care if you scoff.
You’re pissing me off,
In case you’re numb to my display.

I’d never do the same to you
And put you what you’ve put me through,
Fighting fire with fire,
So please just retire
Your insufferable, childish doo-doo.

You’re cutting me to the bone
And amusing yourself alone
And maybe your friends,
So this torment must end.
Just shut up, back off, and go home.

I already have enough distress
Without you putting me to the test,
So why don’t you grow up
‘Fore things further blow up
And my life becomes more of a mess?


Author Pages:



Poem of the Week: Tragic Love Poem X

Tragic Love Poem X
May 12, 2015

I was in love once upon a time.
However, I’m not anymore.
It’s hard to explain,
But I still feel the pain,
So here, let me settle the score.

My love I once thought had a good core—
So sweet and simple, like rain—
‘Til I realized how dumb
One day she’d become,
And I never felt the same again.

She’d follow the crowd time and again,
Heading with them to whatever slum
They’d choose to spend time
At, wallowing in grime
And doing what they’d do ‘mongst the scum.

Then came the day when her body grew numb
As she sniffed too much at one time.
Now she’s dead like a door,
Buried six feet or more
In the ground ‘neath the soot and lime.


Author Pages:



Bonus Poem of the Week: Carry On, Step Back, or Forsake?

Carry On, Step Back, or Forsake?
April 25, 2015

When one’s passion dies, it can hurt like hell,
Leaving a gaping gap within one’s heart,
And it will take long until all is well,
Leaving one to wonder just where to start.
Does one continue loving the one thing
That no longer loves one back in hopes of
Mining any good from that very thing,
Knowing that it fits like a foot and glove?
Does one turn one’s back on the thing and cease
Wasting one’s time with it once and for all,
Or does one merely set aside that piece
Until later when one hears its sad call?
Such a tasking choice one is forced to make…
Does one carry on, step back, or forsake?


Author Pages:



Poem of the Week: Fake = Ugly. What D’You Say?

Fake = Ugly. What D’You Say?
May 4, 2015

Real women are beautiful all in their own way.
Their beauty’s genuine, no matter what you say.

All you fake women out there, though, make my skin crawl
With how you hide your true nature with what you say,

Do, and wear in given situations for this
Or that excuse. You make me sick, and what you say

To defend your style, words, or mannerisms is
Naught but hot air to me, no matter what you say.

I’ve been ‘round long enough to know fakeness when I
See it, which you can’t hide, no matter what you say,

And I know when one’s putting on an act of sorts
Which some folks just can’t hide, and whatever you say

Will never be enough to hide the truth from folks
Who’ve learned to see through crap, no matter what you say,

So lose the tacky duds, dyed hair, excess makeup,
And all your bogus mannerisms—what you say

And do to fail to fool the public, and simply
Accept yourselves for who you are, for what you say,

Do, and wear to mask your true natures only holds
You back from accepting your true self. What d’you say,

Then? Care to shed your superficiality
In the name of authentic beauty? What d’you say?

Care to be genuine and openly loved, or
Forever be an ugly phony? What d’you say?


Author Pages: