I’m too busy to write a new poem.
Too busy to write the next line.
Too busy for meter and rhythm.
Too busy to think of a rhyme.
Too busy, but I just can’t help it.
Too busy to write something new.
Too busy, but that doesn’t matter.
I’m too busy, but what can I do?
Category Archives: Poetry
POLICY ANNOUNCEMENT
This is the Central Scrutinizer.
As per our new policy it has been decided that the word Love, in its verb form, is to be removed from use in all languages. This is to take effect immediately, internationally.
This is due in large part to continued shallow and meaningless usage, bordering on empty hyperbole.
Love may continue to be discussed as a subject, and as a concept, however you will no longer be able to say “I love you”, only show it.
This policy decision will be reviewed on an annual basis.
Go forth and show, not say.
TCS
Your Kisses
Your kisses like candy are sweet.
They melt me like sunshine melts sleet.
I’ll be ready to go.
If you kiss me slow.
From my navel then go down my street.
Written for Poetry Picnic’s Kiss theme week.
Poetic Enlargement
Is writing rhymes
For you, a chore?
Is it too much for ya?
Be soft and weak
And cowed, no more.
Get some poetic Viagra!
Satisfy the poet crowd.
Give it to them
Long and loud.
Give them joy and
Make them proud.
Be poetically endowed!
Stop complaining about my complaining!
I like to complain, although it’s a strain,
On your overly optimistic ears,
Like a Tourette’s tic I find it’s cathartic,
It has kept me out of prison for years,
Don’t understand? Well my seeming command,
Of my actions is not all it appears,
Your complaining about my complaining,
Besides causing hypocritical jeers,
Takes me to the edge, and this much I pledge,
If I do crack you‘ll soon know it my dears,
When I complain it’s to keep myself sane,
To stop my system from jamming its gears,
Accept when I rant, and maybe I shan’t,
Tear a strip off of your collective rears!
Usain Bolt
Oh Mr.Bolt, you silly dolt,
When out there on the courses,
Were you not taught as a young colt,
You’ve got to hold your horses?
No Milk Situation
The very indication,
Of a no milk situation,
Is a source of office crisis.
Always causing great distress.
Oh, whatever shall we do?
This surely can’t be true.
Have we no relief or remedy,
For this lack of milk emergency?
Well, you could go to the store,
Forthwith and buy some more.
And solve this milky lack.
Or just learn to drink it black.
Thank You
I spent years relishing my desire to fly,
Always keeping the sky above me,
Open just in case,
You reshaped my metaphor,
Showed me more,
Took me to a place,
Where I could understand that learning to land,
Was also key,
That I couldn’t be free,
Without completion and following through,
And I thank You.
Your Shadow
Let me be your shadow when the night falls,
Creeping through your subconscious as it calls,
From its deepest place and its dark desire,
I can reach that spark, I can build a fire,
Softly enveloping each part of you,
Revealing things that not even you knew,
Unraveling each of your mysteries,
Your animal self, your Divinities,
Unleashing The You, you knew could be there,
The You locked inside The You when you dare,
Brick by brick we can both tear down your walls,
Let me be your shadow when the night falls.
The Fruit
There it hangs, sexily,
On that stupid tree.
The Tree of Knowledge,
Or something…
The Fruit. Forbidden.
So He says.
See how it shines,
In the light of Eden!
Radiating, throbbing,
Pulsating, succulence.
How it calls to me.
Beckons and lures.
Tantalizes.
It wants to be,
Inside me!
Oh, the pain….
The AGONY!
Of wanting it.
Almost unbearable.
It’s RIGHT THERE!!!
And I so so so so want it!
Forbidden.
Yeah, right.
(I wrote this piece for poetry picnic. This week’s theme is Adam and Eve.)
Random Misanthrope 