Poem of the Week: How to Maintain a Marriage (Message for a Young Groom)

How to Maintain a Marriage (Message for a Young Groom)
May 11, 2019

The goosebumps that line your arms when she so much as passes by,
The sound of her sweet voice that at times makes you cry,
The scent of her perfume as she steps into the room,
The visions you have each hour of you two being bride and groom,

The boiling of your blood when some bastard puts her down,
The sinking of your heart in your chest each minute she’s not around,
The urge to kiss and embrace her every time she draws near…
All these things and more tell you she’s clearly your dear.

Alas, no matter how much you tell her day in and day out,
None of your attempts to tell her so will ever bring about
The confidence in herself she needs to get through the day.
Henceforth, you’ll need to show your love in some special way.

Always treat her on her birthday and your anniversary.
Cook her a meal every once in a while, if not regularly.
Lend her a hand around the house, for it’s also your living bubble,
Then take her out of it to help her (and yourself) escape life’s troubles.

Communicate with her each day, even when you’re miles from home.
Spend as much downtime with her, lest she wants to be alone.
Always show consideration towards her, both at home and away,
And do all you can to keep her safe and secure each and every day.

All these things and more a man must consider when having a wife,
And should you do just that, you’ll find happiness within your life,
For she’ll reward you with kindness for all you’ve done for her.
Take it from one whose parents are still wed. Dad will concur.

Marriage is give-and-take, after all, and often must you give
If you want that which you want, for honestly, how can one live
Give-give-giving or take-take-taking ‘til death do you part?
Why disrupt that balance that nurtures the human heart?


Author Pages: Smashwords.com


Poem of the Week: Rant Against the Whole “Pro Wrestling’s Fake!” Argument

Rant Against the Whole “Pro Wrestling’s Fake!” Argument
April 4, 2019

“Wrestling’s fake as [BLEEPING] [BLEEP]!” Such is the paraphrase
That pro wrestling fans worldwide keep hearing day after blessed day
By critics who won’t let it go and feel an excuse to spout things off,
And frankly, when it comes to these small-minded brats, I just scoff
And pop back off with, “No duh, Sherlock! You just figure that out?
You just now realize what pro wrestling’s ultimately all about?”
Besides, aren’t movies and teledramas fake to some degree?
Yet people watch them day after day, year after year, constantly,
But no, we wrestling fans are the dopes for watching something that falls
Into similar territory with a “sports” flavor and all—
“Sports entertainment,” it’s known as, or “sports theater,” as I say.
We know it’s not meant to be real, but we watch it anyway
Just like soap opera fans watch soaps: It’s the drama that sells
Us on the story we tune into and why we find it so swell.
Add to that the action, predetermined though it may be—
The more realistic, the better, of course—and one can surely see
Just why we like pro wrestling as much as we do, chickadee…
So long as it’s well-mapped out, that is, like everything else on TV
And the talents who’ve earned our respect get the prestige they deserve
And the bookers stick to their guns and don’t dare try to swerve
Us by being cute and giving us something we never asked for.
Otherwise, we’ll stand up then, take our leave, and walk out the door.
We also won’t put up with, either, any more screaming, snot-nosed fools
Condemning ourselves for investing in that once which used to be cool
And, yes, is worked like any other form of drama known to humanity.
Spare us with your condescension, though, critics, and just let us be.
After all, do we bash you for liking, say, reality TV
With all its pretension and contrived nature cast upon you and me?
Do we slam you for wasting your hard-earned dough on X-rated crap
That exploits the women in it and makes you drool like trees leak sap?
No! I don’t think so. Please, then, know your role and shut your mouths
‘Fore my size thirteen kicks each of you square in the dirty white south.
You’re being nothing less than immature, irritating, and asinine
When you keep bringing in that tired old argument pain-in-the-neck of mine,
So get it out of here, for I at least am done hearing it from your kind.
Stick to your interests from now on while I kindly stick to mine, see?
I won’t stop loving pro wrestling ‘cause of your insecurities.
Take the hint, then, and find another way to get your precious kicks,
For I’ll hear no more of your argument, as it might as well hit the bricks.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: When Is the World Gonna Grow Up?

Dear Readers:

Usually, I try to wait until Saturday or Sunday to post my regular Poem of the Week. This time around, though, I couldn’t resist but post this particular composition today on account of my growing frustration with the state of the union, both on a large scale (i.e., liberals versus conservatives) and a small one (e.g., the “Fandom Menace” and various anti-FM Star Wars fans). Granted, I’ve no doubt that I’m just as guilty of adding fuel to this fire that has been burning in America’s belly throughout this trainwreck of a decade, and if I have, I apologize wholeheartedly and will do everything in my power to not succumb to such temptation from here on out. Rather than moan, groan, and carry on about my feelings in the rest of this forward, however, I’ll just shut up and let my poem speak for itself. Please feel free to pass it around to everyone you know and love, too, and repost it wherever you can so that the message spreads itself across the World Wide Web like wildfire. Sure, that’s me hoping against hope, but I seriously can’t be the only one who thinks this way or who wants the message of this piece to permeate the American—or, for that matter, the world’s—collective consciousness. All preaching aside, then, please enjoy!

Dustin M. Weber


When Is the World Gonna Grow Up?
April 3, 2019

When is the world gonna grow up? When will this nonsense stop?
When will all the fighting we’ve been doing with each other finally drop?
We’ve been at each other’s throats for so long that hatred’s all we know,
And all the venom that’s brewed between us has embittered us so.
I’ve forgotten how it all started, but I also fear how it’ll end
If we all don’t take the steps necessary to kill this nonsense, friend:
All the accusations we’ve slapped each other with over personal beliefs;
All the name-calling and other insults we’ve cut each other with so deep;
All the petty, obnoxious screaming matches we could’ve easily sidestepped;
All the lines we’ve drawn between us that have left us socially bereft;
All the ways we’ve torn ourselves and each other apart left, center, and right
Out of overreacting to each other’s differences each day and night.
It’s not just an Internet thing, either, although truth be told,
Many is the clash that happens there with personalities bold
All too easily misunderstanding each other’s words, spoken and typed,
Taking each other’s words out of context, emotions skewing things left and right.
Sadly, trolls also exist, lurking ‘neath pseudonyms and causing grief
For others for naught but their own sick, puerile entertainment, chief,
And I wish I could say that banding together to put these punks in their place
Would be the solution, but alas…such would cause but further disgrace
And thicken the tension between us, thus fueling the bastards’ fun
And making them stronger. Besides, ‘tis the mods who should make ‘em run
Back to the bridge from which they crawled beneath to harass the civilized,
Who in turn have been feuding with each other, forming bands on either side
Of the stress boiling between them over that which has driven them apart:
Religion, politics, pop culture fandom, or other values of the heart,
And on account of their disparities have branded the other side vile
With unabashed loathing and condescension, amongst various other bile.
It’s not just a month-and-gone thing, either, for actual, full-blown wars
Between nations’ armies have lasted shorter than these feuds between scores
Of people who despise each other over one key difference between them,
And if only they’d stop quarreling and meet at a peace table of sorts, then
Perhaps they can discuss the situation rationally with each other,
Come to an agreement, and hug it out like the sisters and brothers
They ultimately are, and from there, each remaining feud that exists
Can be resolved similarly, and from there, we can all spread the gist
Of solving problems through cooperation rather than slamming each other
Over distinctions, either great or small, like children sans fathers or mothers
To keep us in line with our opinions and agendas, which we’ve spouted
At each other every which way we can, only in the end to be outed.
I thus say again…when is the world gonna grow up? Tell me, please!
I’m so sick of all these squabbles bringing us all to our knees,
And if we don’t learn to work together, things will soon get only worse,
So let’s wake up, everyone, and squash these beefs before they squash us first.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Lonely Little Troll

Lonely Little Troll
March 7, 2019

Lonely little troll lurking beneath your bridge,
Hits-and-runs you perform, escaping without a smidge
Of remorse in your heart for the people you have hurt…
One day you’re going to get yours, you sorry little squirt!

You twist truths ‘round your finger, spew insults left and right
With no mind for truth or logic—a true parasite day or night.
You think you’re cute and funny and love to act so tough.
You never have any idea of when enough will be enough.

What motivates you anyway to behave the way you do?
Are you lonely? Are you bored? Come on! What’s wrong with you?
Are you just that thick and immature? Have you no greater ambition?
Are you just incapable of doing any good of your own volition?

I don’t understand how anyone can take pleasure in causing pain,
For oftentimes, there’s too much to lose and very little to gain
In such asinine endeavors, which will catch up in the end
To the perpetrator and ultimately school him, friend.

After all, there’s no tolerance in society for trolls
For how they flaunt their insecurities takes its toll
On those who suffer their actions and want to put them in their place,
Hence forcing them to grow up, lest they further wish to disgrace

Themselves among the masses with their bad attitudes,
Rotten like moldy tomatoes, so dimwitted, loud, and rude,
Always changing the rules when it comes to an argument
With no effort in fitting in with polite society spent.

So much energy placed in one trade for which few folks, if any,
Have any use for, for in the end, it costs more of a pretty penny
Than it’s ultimately worth, hence it’s back beneath the bridge
The trolls go, not growing at all by even a smidge,

Forever lost and alone like the scum they truly are,
Lest they wise up, rise up, and accept their moral scars
And earn their way into society to at last become
Something better than what they are now, which is still scum.

It may be too late for some, but others still have a chance,
Should they only change their thought patterns, dust off their pants,
And take the right steps forward towards a more fertile ridge,
Never again to linger beneath any rickety old bridge.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Bonus Poem of the Week: An Apology to the Wife Who Will Never Be Mine

An Apology to the Wife Who Will Never Be Mine
March 3, 2019

I’m sorry for being a hothead, ill-tempered and immature,
For not conducting myself the way I should have.
I’m sorry for being reckless, wasteful, and far from demure
With the behaviors I’ve shown we agree were bad.

I should’ve kept my head on straight from my cradle up ‘til now,
Never straying from the one true path I knew.
Alas, I was a fool all wrapped up in myself—and how!—
And because of that, I now never will know you.

I’ll never know what it feels to hold you in my arms at night
Or passionately gaze into your soft eyes.
I’ll never know prom night or our wedding or how to flee this plight
I’ve now put myself in ‘til the day I die.

After all, I’ve heard how love can heal in the darkest of times,
But back then, with myself always first on my mind,
I doubt I would’ve returned said affection back to you, bride of mine,
And would’ve sent you storming off, leaving dust behind—

Dust that would’ve blown in my face, clogged up my nose and mouth
And made me sneeze in well-deserved agony,
For I would’ve had myself alone to blame for things going south
And cheating myself out of whatever laid before me.

That in mind, could it be that I’m actually better off this way,
Or should I’ve ultimately one elsewhere
With my life to make the most of it and ensure a better day?
I’ve questioned this to the point where I just don’t care.

Perhaps in another life, then, you and I will indeed be one,
Once I’ve cleaned up my act and made myself a better man.
Then again, that’s only if second lifetimes exist at all, hon,
And should they not, I’ll still do all I can

To improve as a human being, with or without you by my side,
And if this lifetime’s the only one I’m to live,
Then so be it, for in the name of love long lost, I shan’t hide
From that which has stunted the love I was meant to give.

There’s no point in living in the past, then, for it has passed, alas,
And towards the future is the only way I can go,
So farewell, wife who could’ve been, you lovely, faceless lass.
‘Tis time I waded out of this pool of woe.


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: Escaping the Grind

Escaping the Grind
October 27, 2018

Wake up, freshen up, get dressed,
Burn your breakfast, and you’re already stressed.
Get to work, lots of trash to deal with—
So many tasks through which you’re to sift.
Work hard though you may, it all keeps
Piling up in your face ‘til you’re in deep.
Now you’re up the creek without an oar to help
You navigate through the rocks, current, and kelp,
But you screw in your heels all the same and set
Your mind on getting things done at last yet.
Even so, part of you can’t help but think
‘Bout your situation and how much it stinks
And how things could be better than they are now.
You’ve just got to make things better somehow.
Well, guess what: It takes plenty of heart, friend,
To see to it that your situation ends
To take the initiative you need
And stand strong, no matter where the road leads,
For many will be the door that shuts tight
‘Fore you ‘fore you’re at last shown the green light,
For those whose help you need won’t always understand
Your life mission, lest you convince them to lend a hand,
Which means having brains, too, to know what to ask
To better understand your undertaken task
And to know where to go and what to do to see
That you finally achieve that possibility,
For success rarely comes in a straight line,
And I doubt it will for those dreams of thine,
But should you have all your ducks in a row,
Who knows just where and how far you’ll go?
Finally, you need backbone to stay true
To the path you swear will see you through,
Never straying from it for a second ‘til
You finally pull yourself out of your swill,
For much before you will be a distraction
That’ll keep you from attaining the satisfaction
You’ve been seeking for a while, so stay strong
If you want to know success ‘fore far long.
Keep these three elements in mind,
And you’ll no doubt leave your troubles behind,
Even if it takes you years to get it right.
Whatever you do, though, never lose sight
Of the goal you wish to attain one day.
Otherwise, you’ll only know living one way:
Through the drudgery you currently know all too well,
Breaking your back ‘til your nerves dangerously swell.
It’s all up to you how you want to live.
Just remember: You get what you give,
So be smart and strong and get things done
If you ever want to see your battle won.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com