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
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

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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
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

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
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

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
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

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
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

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!
Zombie
Apocalypse

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Message from a Boycotter

Message from a Boycotter
January 2, 2018

The more things change, the more they stay the same—
So much, in fact, that oftentimes, they drive me insane,
Like dwelling on the past and exploiting it for all its worth
For the selfish sake of filling one’s face and further gaining girth.
It’s already 2018, after all, and still some think
That milking yesteryear’s tragedies doesn’t at all stink,
Even though doing so has proven time and again to fail
To the point where those who’ve failed no longer bother to sail
The ever-so turbulent mainstream for years at a time,
And yet, others dare to dream that they can cross the brine
With the same disastrous vessels that the failures have failed to float,
And if that’s the case with you, then go ahead, you clueless goat!
Go ahead and set sail for ruin, you greedy sack of trash.
Let’s see how you hold together. I bet you’ll outright crash.
What makes you think you’re better than those who’ve preceded you,
Especially since you’ve clearly not learned from what they’ve been through—
The mistakes they’ve made, the toes they’ve trod upon, and so on?
Just like them, I predict, you’ll end up just like them: gone…
Gone from just this one last step of yours in your career,
And for it to end so suddenly is something others would fear,
Even after it has lasted as long as yours has
And being so illustrious, too…and all ‘because you just had
To bring it upon yourself to drill up the crippling past once more.
Oh, if only you had a clue of the ridicule in store
For you and everyone under you working on this project—
Ridicule that you deserve, though, for nine sane respect
Anyone and weak and ignorant or too lazy to think
Of anything new to show the masses that doesn’t stink.
That having been said, go ahead and embarrass yourself,
For when your work months later hits the clearance shelves
Of Wal-Marts nationwide, don’t you dare come crying to me,
Especially if, on the Internet, you chance to hear and see
Multiple negative reviews of your precious pride and joy
And rants on how you should retire once and for all, my boy.
America’s trying to move forward and leave the past in the past.
This constant fixation on it one way or another can’t last.
Remembrance is one thing, but obsession is another,
And people like you need to back off peddling the latter, brother.
Start treating us folks with dignity. Stop treating us like sheep.
Learn to respect us once and for all if you plan to keep
Your place in the entertainment world, for we’ve finally caught on—
Or at last we at last shall–to what you’re doing wrong,
And then where will you be once you’ve sacrificed your throne?
Hopefully out on the streets, forgotten and alone
With nobody to look after you or pad your pan with coin
When we used to feed you dollars by the dozen from a skinned cow’s loin.
At any cost your glory will finally bite the dust,
And fresh faces will take your place upon rising from the rust
That’s been rotting the iron infrastructure of the world,
And good media will once again be available to boys and girls.
It’s your call, Mr. Producer: Paradise or purgatory?
Do you want to retain your prestige or sacrifice your glory
In the name of speaking freely ‘bout what most don’t want to hear?
It’s the future of your reign, sir. Is all I’ve said clear?

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Poem of Hope for 2018

Poem of Hope for 2018
December 30, 2017

A new year is fast approaching, my friends.
Say goodbye to the year we’ve come to know.
Hopefully what crap we’ve been through will end.

Well, folks, a new year’s coming ‘round the bend.
What good will it bring? Only Heaven knows.
A new year is fast approaching, my friends.

To all who’ve shown support, my thanks I send.
May good fortune be wherever you go.
Hopefully what crap we’ve been through will end.

May somebody always be there to lend
You a helping hand, should you need it so.
A new year is fast approaching, my friends.

After all, it could be that we must fend
For ourselves, should the future bear us woe.
Hopefully what crap we’ve been through will end.

Cross your fingers, then, for when this year ends,
Its foul or fresh nature we shall soon know.
A new year is fast approaching, my friends.
Hopefully what crap we’ve been through will end.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: The Week Before Christmas

The Week Before Christmas
December 19, 2018

‘Tis the week before Christmas without snow on the ground.
I’ve looked all around, but nope—none I’ve found.
No chilly white fluff, just hard grey and brown
With tiny green spikes poking out all around.

To think, too, ‘tis December in Illinois,
Yet there’s no snow around to bring Christmas joy.
What a kick to the teeth for today’s boys and girls
Who’ll never know Christmas as it went in my world!

Back in those days, we’d have at least enough
Snow from which we made snowfolks, snow forts, and stuff;
Upon which we rode our sleds down this and that hill
And that we balled up and threw at each other ‘til

Our parents called for us to come on in from the cold
And have ourselves some soup with flavors rich and bold
And perhaps some hot chocolate as we hunkered down
‘Round the fireplace to listen to the joyous sounds

Of Christmas carols playing on the radio
As the lights all around us twinkled and glowed
With a subtle, supple glimmer that reminded us all
Of the time of year it was—not spring, summer, or fall,

But early winter, and Christmastime, too,
A time where kids could shake off the year’s blues
And enjoy life with friends and family,
Especially with so much to hear and see

As well as do for but a few weeks
‘Fore life elsewhen dares once again to sneak
Back upon us and reintroduce the mundane
‘Til another year passes, when we’d do it all again.

Granted, snow wasn’t the be-and-end-all
When it came to Christmastime great and small,
But it helped us get into a Christmassy mood—
A jolly, serene, and hopeful attitude—

And helped make the season feel all the better,
With or without the notoriously gaudy sweaters.
Heck, even a mere ten, fifteen years ago,
The Holidays felt more natural with snow.

Now, though, the ground’s barren of the chilly white fluff
As if Mother Nature Herself has had enough
Of keeping up with the seasons and stuff,
And by no means does it feel like any bluff.

‘Tis a crying shame, I will not lie,
For this Christmastime’s been passing me by
With a vengeance as I’ve been trying to sort out
So much else in my life that I can’t help but shout

Against the Fates for all I’ve been through,
And with no Christmas snow falling out of blue,
I’ve one less reason to have holiday cheer,
Making Christmas a non-thing for me this year,

Which hurts in that Christmas usually
Is a season that brings out the best in me
And helps me be the best person I can be
In one way or another, but now look at me:

I’m a crabby sad sack complaining about snow
Or the lack thereof it. What a way to go!
Surely there’s something better I can do
To set my mind straight again and see me through,

For truth be told, ladies, gents, boys, and girls,
“Green” Christmases aren’t the end of the world,
So long as one keeps strongly within one’s heart
The spirit of the season. That’s one way to start.

Sure, snow helps set the stage for the season,
But the absence of it alone is no reason
To not spend time with those you hold dear to you,
For only sharing can see you through—

Sharing the kindness, respect, and love
That Christ Himself, who now resides high above,
Had taught us all once upon a time
To have for all people during our time

And instill that same value in those we meet,
Regardless of season or where we chance to meet
Those to whom we pass on this life-long lesson
And share ‘round these times a holiday blessin’.

I guess on that note, then, I still have hope
In having a Merry Christmas even if the slopes
And valleys ‘round me aren’t smothered in white.
Knowing that, then, I can sleep at night

And focus what really matters ‘round this time:
Spending what I’ve left of this life of mine
With friends, family, and other loved ones dear
As per the tradition this time of year.

On that note, Christmas for me just might yet
Be saved, regardless of whether I forget
About how the snow might’ve made matters better,
For really, can I afford at all to be a fretter?

Therefore, snow, fall or not. Take your pick.
My Christmas will be fine, whether or not you’ll stick,
But a sincere thanks for the memories either way
Of when I was young and knew Christmas Day.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Back to the Drawing Board

Back to the Drawing Board
December 17, 2017

I thought I was finished. I thought that I was done,
But alas…it’s back to the drawing board for me,
For with this one project of mine, I’d jumped the gun,
As it’s still not the best of its kind it can be.
The plot’s all sloppy and all over the dang place;
The characters are blander than cold, stale gruel;
And even my grammar’s trash. Oh, what a disgrace!
How could I be so dang negligent and cruel?
Usually I know better than to leave things
In such a tasteless, amateurish disarray,
But lately, my day job ‘s call relentlessly sings,
And my dream’s been slipping further and more away.
Oh, well…’nough complaining! Time to get back to work
And make up for being such an unmindful jerk.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk