It’s clear like a beat by a drummer:
I’m totally wasting my summer.
I know that it’s true,
But there’s naught I can do —
Sheesh. Clarity’s really a bummer.
There once was a man from Savannah
Who loved a good sub from Havana —
He ate one each day,
Then, when he tried to weigh,
The scale said — “Oh, roughly — Montana”.
If I think at once of all I’ve
To do, then I’ll never arrive:
It takes some denial
To get through my pile
And come out the backside alive
This conjures an image intestinal;
Perhaps, then, to work is just destinal —
The weekend, it’s true,
Is just more to go through;
At least, “going through” is directional —
(“Weekend Limericks” – 10-9-2015)
There once was a man from Atlanta
Who said to me, “this is nirvana.”
I’d say all time
Those two words shouldn’t rhyme,
But he thought that I was banana.
(“A Man from Atlanta” – 7-5-2017)
A worker in matters liturgical
Was trying to do something surgical:
He cut off his hand
In a manner unplanned,
Then had to wear one metallurgical
(“Clerics Shouldn’t Do Surgery” – 7-5-2017)
There once was a man from Montgomery
Who tired of all of the flummery;
And so he kept blogs
On his life made of logs —
That’s pretty much it. Just a summary.
(“Blog Cabin” – 2-12-2016)
I used to write tons of these when I was like, twelve. I should find them.
Reading this again, maybe I shouldn’t find them.
A man finds this woman magnetic,
Says his admiration’s aesthetic,
So he tells his wife
Who says, “Ugh. Get a life.
You men – all of you – are pathetic.”
(“Aesthetic” – 4-3-2016)