About dmw1011

I'm a former English teacher and long-time aspiring author from northeastern Illinois who FINALLY jumped ship with the whole e-book publishing scene in March 2012. Fiction is my specialty (although I admittedly tend to flex my poetic muscles a lot on this website), and my interests are diverse. I aim not only to entertain my readers, but also to inspire them through my writing. Feel free to check my work on Smashwords.com, Amazon.com, and Amazon.co.uk to check my current work out for yourselves!

Poem of the Week: Death to Old Habits

Death to Old Habits
February 16, 2019

You know you’re getting old when that which you used to love
No longer for you has anything in store,
When the stuff that used to fit you like a hand inside a glove
Doesn’t quite fit you anymore,

When hobbies you used to have no longer reward you
With the same sense of satisfaction as before,
When past interests of yours nowadays bore you through and through
And begin to feel less like fun and more like chores.

It’s a state of life we come to accept, whether we like it or not,
But could it be that it happens for the better?
After all, don’t you feel at times like a lazy, childish sot
Or perhaps even a little under the weather

When you try to engage in something you used to do as a child
And accomplish nothing but lose plenty of hours
That you could’ve spent doing something perchance not as wild,
Yet useful still in establishing your power

As an adult in this messed-up world, able to take it on
And the responsibilities expected of
Someone cast in your station, mind quick and wise, body strong,
And heart open, willing to love and be loved?

Don’t old habits leave you empty, yearning for something else
To invest time in and grow as a human being?
Wouldn’t you rather journey through life each day improving yourself,
Looking for new things to be doing, hearing, or seeing?

Doesn’t being stuck in life’s doldrums drive you nuts after a while,
Knowing you could be in a much better place?
Doesn’t trying and doing new things give you reason to smile
And wash away any feelings of disgrace?

I sure know I feel that way, for some of what I used to adore
Hasn’t loved me back, hence why I’ve moved on
And have taken on new interests and what rewards they have in store,
And since then, I’ve learned to sing a new song:

A song we all come to sing once we reach a certain age
And set aside our childish ways once and for all,
And I bet if I went back to those ways, I’d be filled with grief and rage
Upon trying them and no longer having a ball.

“It’s hip to be square,” I guess one can say, as Huey Lewis once sang,
And he’s not wrong in my case. That I can say,
So pardon me as I move along and keep on doing my “thang,”
For I’ve no time to let my old ways get in my way.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com


Bonus Poem of the Week: Poem of Protest Against Dirty Old Hypocrites

Poem of Protest Against Dirty Old Hypocrites
February 9, 2019

Entitled old men,
Entitled perverts—
Perverts concerning women,
Perverts and hypocrites,
Hypocrites in the name of “art,”
Hypocrites in the name of “beauty”—
Beauty of women,
Beauty of the fairer sex.
Sex allegedly not a focus, yet…
Sex “in all things”—
Things, too, made without a thought of sex,
Things, too, of no sex appeal—
Appeal more towards functionality,
Appeal more towards refinement and beauty.
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.
Beauty is subjective—
Subjective to taste,
Subjective to moral standards,
Standards and boundaries,
Standards concerning modesty.
Modesty is still a virtue.
Modesty deserves respect—
Respect from body bearers,
Respect from nudity supporters,
Supporters of art,
Supporters of women.
Women have a right to modesty.
Women have a right to conceal—
Conceal that which they hold dear,
Conceal and reserve,
Reserve for whom they love most,
Reserve for those whom they deem worthiest—
Worthiest of their affection,
Worthiest of their love.
Love isn’t always boldly displayed.
Love is often kept and felt—
Felt quietly,
Felt deeply,
Deeply in one’s heart,
Deeply in one’s soul.
Soul is true beauty.
Soul is true power—
Power over obstacles,
Power guiding through life,
Life with or without clothes.
Life goes on.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Power o’er Others

Power o’er Others
February 9, 2019

Never force folks to do what they don’t want.
Show respect, keep your distance, and move on.
Power o’er others ain’t something to flaunt.

So a woman’s got a figure quite gaunt
That she doesn’t want to bare. How’s that wrong?
Never force folks to do what they don’t want.

You don’t stand by to nag, harass, or taunt
Her into doffing her bra or sarong.
Power o’er others ain’t something to flaunt.

So a guy won’t go back to an old haunt
Where he forged habits from which he’s moved on.
Never force folks to do what they don’t want.

Perhaps he likes his throat, though it be gaunt,
Clean of mind-warping whiskey, gin, and bong.
Power o’er others ain’t something to flaunt.

Should you injure others, may your deeds haunt
You forever, even once you’ve passed on.
Never force folks to do what they don’t want.
Power o’er others ain’t something to flaunt.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: To Those Who Bash That Which Has Yet to Be

Dear readers:

Three weeks prior to this entry, I’d posted a poem on this blog entitled AEW Backlash in which I voiced my opinion regarding the wrestling (i.e., WWE) fans who heard news about the soon-to-exist wrestling promotion, All Elite Wrestling. After having reread the poem myself in between the projects I’ve been working on, I realized just how bland and half-hearted I was in delivering my message to you all (I know…took me long enough…SMH) and decided to revamp my composition into something that I hopes strikes more of a nerve with everyone, wrestling fans and non-wrestling fans alike. Therefore, I hope that today’s piece, To Those Who Bash That Which Has Yet to Be, more definitively defines my feelings towards those of whom I speak. My apologies for last time, but at any rate, thank you and enjoy!

Dustin M. Weber


To Those Who Bash That Which Has Yet to Be
January 28, 2019

So All Elite Wrestling was announced to be one day,
And the pro wrestling fandom became abuzz
With some people delighted, hoping to see it in some way,
Having long been fed up with the ‘E’s apparent scuzz.

Then again, there were also the naysayers, who naturally
Dismissed the whole thing as just another pipedream
To the point of bashing a product not yet around to see.
Naturally, then, this stupidity makes me scream.

One’d think that being wrestling fans, they’d want this product to grow
And thrive as an alternative to the ‘E,
Especially when they themselves aren’t shy of airing their woes
About how the ‘E isn’t what it used to be.

So many rants I hear each day ‘bout Vince miscasting stars,
The bookers clueless in writing their characters,
And about the stars who “suck” so much, they ought to be banished to Mars,
Thus somehow ridding the show of its low-ratings curse.

So many are those who damn entire programs straight to Hell,
Be they TV episodes or pay-per-views
Over the slightest botch or misbooking, even when all else goes well.
It honestly takes little to light such a frail fuse.

So many are those who complain like this, and yet, in the end,
They continue to watch the ‘E the next day,
Only to whine ‘bout it more later on…makes sense, doesn’t it, friend?
Are they that desperate for it to improve in some way?

Why not watch independent wrestling if the ‘E’s so bloody bad?
Oh, wait…that’s right: ‘Cause indie wrestling “sucks”—
Just “vanilla midgets” and “charisma vacuums” wearing bland tights and pads
Doing “flips and kicks” like “faux-gymnastic schmucks.”

Never mind the fact that not everyone can start right away
Beneath the McMahon corporate umbrella,
And even then, those kids, too, are cutting their teeth for the day
They make it to the main roster, ladies and fellas.

Besides, did it ever occur to you that some of the greatest stars
Of pro wrestling once roamed the indie scene,
Driving from one show to the next in beat-up rental cars,
Plying their craft wherever they could be seen?

Honestly, this brand loyalty crap’s been killing the industry
Since I can only begin to guess when.
These spoiled brats don’t get how they ruin the art form for you and me
With each profane, self-entitled rant they send.

At any rate, along comes AEW to shake up the scene,
And these naysayers suddenly throw another fit.
“What’s the point? It’s just gonna fail!” So they scream ‘bout Cody’s dream
And the Khans’ investment, not knowing when to quit.

“Just another money mark!” they wail. “Just another TNA!
Nothing will compete with McMahon’s empire!”
“Wrestling’s dead!” some even shriek, and yet they watch the stuff anyway,
Not yet ready to give up on that which they tire.

What’s with this double standard? I just don’t understand.
Why not leave the fan base if you’re so disenchanted?
Why not at least approach things with cautious optimism, man,
Instead of being so negatively slanted?

Are the hopefuls being overzealous? Are they getting to you that much?
Why not, then, just encourage them to watch their step?
“Hold on loosely. Don’t cling too tightly,” as once was sung and such.
Such advice will surely keep folks’ sanity in check.

Are Cody and company making too many promises they might not keep
As has proven true with many promotions in the past?
Because even then, such bold ambition shouldn’t cost you much sleep,
So stop letting your disdain rage at full blast.

Just be happy there’s another place for pro wrestlers to go
When they don’t want to work for Vince and family
For X, Y, or Z reason. Furthermore…who knows?
The final product just might be worthwhile to see.

That in mind, let’s all relax and sit back to see what shakes
When AEW finally becomes a thing.
No more negativity. Let’s all hope it’s got what it takes
To revive the industry from its fatal sting.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com


The logo used in this poem (c) All Elite Wrestling, LLC. All else is the author’s own work and opinion.

Bonus Poem of the Week: A Call for a Foundation of Fact

A Call for a Foundation of Fact
January 29, 2019

Always looking for a patsy…always looking for a goat…
Always looking for one to blame when things go up in smoke,
For rarely do things go as planned, no matter the era at hand,
And with a country divided and folks raging ‘cross the broken land,
Forming parties and drawing lines, behind which they stand and plot
Their agenda to reclaim the ravaged realm and “save” it from the sots
Who are little to nothing like them in one way or another.
Such a difference is all that it takes to turn sister ‘gainst brother,
Children ‘gainst parents, neighbor ‘gainst neighbor—even husband ‘gainst wife!
Too often, too, do innocents get caught up in such petty strife,
For should one bear the “fault” that one group or another has sworn ‘gainst,
One must be prepared ‘gainst assault and being backed up ‘gainst a fence.
‘Tis wisdom and strength one must need to fend off senseless attacks:
Strength to stand up for oneself and wisdom to know when to hold back
With the hatred on one’s own end, for why stoop to the same ground
As the aggressors with all the blind arrogance that they spread ‘round?
When was the last time fire extinguished fire? Answer me that.
Instead, then, why not rely on logic to detox the venom they’ve spat?
Why not stand tall with conviction, look the hostiles square in the eye,
And disarm them with proven facts and figures to dismantle their lies
And poorly founded belligerence? Furthermore, why not stand
Side by side with one another across this wisdom-depraved land
And share our conviction with one another in the face of despair?
We’re all in this together, after all, so let’s all show that we care
About helping America move forward during these troubled times,
Dispelling those who’ve been tearing it sunder, and leaving them behind
So that we can rebuild the nation on a foundation of facts
And from there live in greater peace than we do now with these cracks.
For too long have we been hating, henceforth this call for harmony.
No more looking for patsies or scapegoats. Let’s all share the responsibility.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Badgered Resolution

Badgered Resolution
January 9, 2019

On and on and on you go.
When you’ll shut up, hell if I know.
So many are the flaws you see in my work
That you scold me like I’m some stupid jerk.
Your words you beat into my head
Like it’s your ego that must be fed.
Your points you incessantly nag on me ‘bout
With snide disdain pouring out of your mouth.
Your ridicule you slather on
As though everything I do is wrong…
No encouragement or compliments
Or any positive reinforcement,
For according to you, I can do no right.
In your mind, all my work’s but a blight.
Your message I too well comprehend,
But why the need for you to condescend?
Why talk down to me like I’m some child
With talent for naught but running wild
And causing mischief everywhere I go?
That thinking’s off base, if I may say so.
Not all who struggle at their craft are fools,
Though according to you, that is the rule,
Which you clearly show in your tiring essays
That tear me apart in every which way
To the point where your “help” no more does so
And comes out in insulting blows,
Slapping me ‘cross the face at each interval
To where I feel like punching a wall
At the notion that you need so many words
To tell me my flaws, in case I haven’t heard
From folks more gracious and astute than you
All that I need to see, say, and do
To grow and develop into something more
Than what I am now, you self-absorbed bore!
If nothing else, you vex me because
Some of your aid actually makes me pause
And notice its fallacies quite plain,
Which only further wracks my damaged brain
As the words you use don’t accurately
Describe where I went wrong, further frustrating me,
Telling me “Show. Don’t tell” when that’s not the case.
But rather too much detail given space
When I simply need to trim the fat in my work
And tighten things up. Thanks a lot, then, jerk,
For belittling me just to fuel your ego
Just like your precious sidekicks, who all must go
Away and do something more constructive
Than echo you and be counterproductive
In the name of “solidarity”
In your efforts to humiliate me
And treat me like trash just ‘cause I still slip
And fall. Yeah, thanks for that extra lip,
You broken records…you mindless shells…
You bandwagon jumpers…go to Hell!
How ‘bout being true “third pairs” of eyes
And cutting down your idol’s critiques to size
When they don’t make sense? Have you no spine
To call out ignorance, critics of mine?
No! You just sit there so finely by
And join in the “fun” of hanging me high,
Repeating that which has already been said
By one barely heavier in the head
Why my work is apparently trash,
Having no guts or sense to dish back hash
At the creep’s ignorance and arrogance.
Well, guess what: No more kicks in the pants!
I’ve had enough with the ridicule
And being treated like a total fool.
Yes, I’ve set myself up for it all
And shouldn’t be so surprised by this great fall,
But ‘twas simple advice I came to seek,
Not disgrace slapped upon my earnest cheek,
And if haughtiness is all you plan to serve,
Then good riddance! I’ll have none of your nerve
Anymore. Now, kindly excuse me,
For I’ve other places I need to be.
I’ve a plan to execute, and I shall
See to it that I at last succeed, pal,
And prove to myself and to creeps like you
And anyone else who comes out of the blue
To witness my rise that I am worth a damn
And can think for myself without you, man,
And learn from the mistakes I’ve made back then
To join all the other women and men
Who’ve achieved glory in my field before me
And at last be where I’ve long known I should be,
And you’ll be eating your words from your hand
As I prove that my work has a place in this land,
So sit back, hut up, and kiss my grits.
I’m done taking tongue lashings and cheap hits
From pseudo intellectuals just like you.
Now let me show you how well I can do.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Ramblings from Atop the Iron Tower

Ramblings from Atop the Iron Tower
January 4, 2019

Solitary confinement, squished into a nook,
Trapped with my own thoughts, feeling like a common crook,
Rooting through these dusty shelves and reading these same ol’ books
Over and over again ‘til my head hurts.

I learn and learn all I can, pouring over each tomb,
Absorbing all these facts I can until my brain goes BOOM,
Only to end up with a headache so strong that I swoon
And naught to remember, for all that it’s been worth.

Even the facts that stick don’t do much to feed my soul
Or nourish my hungry mind, over which I’m losing control
For my inability to apply them has been taking its toll,
And if I don’t so much as leave this room, I’ll scream.

I know there’s a world out there towards which I can apply
All I’ve been trying to learn, and I can’t understand why
I can’t do so, for how many tests must anyone, including I,
Pass to ensure I wake up from this dream

That’s gone sour faster than I’d initially expected?
Furthermore, what of these thoughts in my mind I’ve just detected
Like my fear of unfulfilled mastery and my dread in being rejected
By those who’ve no faith in or want for my skills?

The beginning of my journey, after all, may have gone well.
Then again, it was the simplest step, as ‘m sure you can tell,
And the more complex things have gone since, the more they’ve become hell
With each and every brain cell I’ve surely killed.

I need a break from all this toil before I lose what’s left
Of my sanity, of which I’ve already become mostly bereft.
Surely, there’s more to being human in which I can become deft.
Why not grant me leave from this cell so I can see?

Alas, I’m forbidden, hence I stay here and atrophy,
My muscles shrinking by the minute just as my brain fries,
My stomach gurgles, and my lungs burn with so much dust I’d cry,
If only my eyes could shed such relief for me.

Then again, would I even know how to interact with the masses,
Should I finally pull myself together after all these classes?
Would I know how to hold a conversation or even handle passes,
Or will I be doomed to live inside my own head?

Would all I’ve learned be of any use even without application
Prior executed ‘fore I’m at last unleashed upon the nation?
At this rate, I doubt I’ll ever live up to expectations,
Oh, how I wish I’d overcome this dread!

Maybe I’m merely working myself up into such a snit
And dooming myself in my quest to find my perfect fit.
At the rate this whole thing’s going, I might as well up and quit.
On the other hand, it might be too late for that, friend,

And I wonder if I’m the only one who’s come to feel this way
Upon being locked up in an iron tower day after day,
Feeling as though I’ve been doing nothing but slaving away
For something that might not be worth it in the end.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com