Poetry
I hate poems. I find them pompous, flowery, dripping with emotion, and utterly unreadable. That’s why I find it strange that I’ve written about four poems in my life (I don’t count the haikus I’ve written, haiku is the far east equivalent of a limerick, yeah that’s right Asians, I said it!) Here is one I wrote on a whim when I was at my desk in 1996. I immediately sent it to Natalai, a former co-worker chick I liked. That’s the only reason I still have it to this day. The poem is as follows:
Playing games with my religion. . .
my concept of God and Truth
Peace is my greeting, but they say
that we sanction violence
I disagree and gently with words I prod them to see
my Vision, my understanding
of God
And if, after my eloquent, intellectual elucidation
they yet disagree
I will strap on a city block’s worth of explosives
and blast them to Kingdom Come
Thank you vurry much!
Other poems I’ve previously posted
I stand upon a hill and gaze about this place.
I have what people want. I have the key.
People come seeking me by name and face.
They are searching for truth
So I give them a piece of the key.
Time goes by through summer, wind, snow, and rain.
After a while, too much of the key gets out.
From now on there are maniacs about.
Wow. Why don’t you pussies cry more? Seriously.
See, that’s why I don’t like poetry right there. You can’t hustle poetry in a bar for beer money. If anything you get slapped with an open hand.
there’s no fu*&ing tube!
i can’t beleive i’ve been duped!
ooooh that fu*&ing cunt.
Oooooh, late. That reminds me of Yolanda Jackson’s 11 month pregnancy. Math wasn’t her strong suit, or knowing when she got pregnant either.