Monthly Archives: April 2012

The Power to Choose (30/30 #12 NaPoWriMo)

I’ve never been a fan of re-writes
Never been one to conduct my editing inside the walls of a clinic
This is the script God gave me
A real-life Choose Your Own Adventure 
Once chosen
There is no going back to the beginning
No skipping ahead to ensure the outcome is favorable 
This is the path that lies before me
One full of infinite possibilities 
It’s unfortunate that as humans our minds can’t grasp the concept 
It’s so much more convenient when things are black and white
Call me colorblind
For it seems I only see varying shades of grey
I don’t know where this road leads
If it’s full of pot-holes
Or if a pot of gold awaits at the end of the rainbow
Only time will tell if I chose the correct path 
Suffice it to say
I’m still praying for a happy ending


Two Pet Haikus (30/30 #’s 10 & 11 NaPoWriMo)

Why do cats insist
that all doors remain open?
To have the option

If I were a dog
I’d eat everything except
my dog food as well

When the Levee Breaks (30/30 #9 NaPoWriMo)

This morning I filed for disability
It pains me to say
I suffer from a chronic condition
I’ve been self-diagnosed
With verbal dysentery
More commonly known as
Prolific diarrhea of the mouth
I can’t turn it off
Not even a mouthful of Kaopectate
Could shut me up
If one opens mouth enough times
One will eventually say something stupid
Habitual filet of sole lingering on tongue
I try to remind myself I have two ears
And one mouth
So I may listen twice as much as I speak
But based on that logic
I ought to have three d….. nevermind
I’m getting off track
Point being…
I did it again




The Isolation Booth (30/30 #8 NaPoWriMo)

Suddenly opaque
My breath obscures
Fingers pressed firmly against the glass
Their trace appears and vanishes just as quickly
Gazing comatose
I know they see me
Looking outward among the cubicles
Extreme dysfunction

I travel down a corridor
And yet the glass follows
Taunting me
I arrive upon a row of windowed offices
Beacons of light beckoning
Surely this must be where wisdom lies
I enter only to be disheartened
Finding nothing but hollow vessels
Extreme dysfunction

I set forth in search of the wheel
Having left no stone unturned
I concede it must not exist
I commence to it’s construction
A passerby questions
Why I am in the business of reinvention
I ask that they direct me to the prototype
They appear bewildered by the request

I pound my fist against the glass
Each gasp sucked into a vacuum
Oxygen depleting
I am forced to accept
The futility of my struggle
I shout but the world is deaf to my cries
The shell kisses my skull
Splatter-painting the glass a crimson hue

Dear Monday (30/30 #7 NaPoWriMo)

Dear Monday,

F*** You
You were already an a**hole to begin with
But it’s become clear that you have no remorse
Serial offender
Always popping up when you’re not wanted
In-laws in town for the holidays
Take hints better than you
A U.S. solider in Haiti
Would say you’ve over-stayed your welcome
I tried to tell myself you were the devil
Just so you could convince me you didn’t exist
You make Gilbert Gottfried seem palatable
To put it mildly
It would take the engineer who designed the Shop-Vac
To fully describe the capacity with which you suck
Edwards Scissorhands and Freddie Kreuger
Taking turns finger-painting on chalk boards
While singing off-key renditions
Of Bette Midler’s “Wind Beneath My Wings”
Would be a pleasant alternative to you
There really is no punch-line here
You’re just a prick
Go kill yourself

P.S. Tuesday thinks you’re a little b****

A Haiku (30/30 # 6 NaPoWriMo)

I really hate flies
Perhaps that’s why I’m angry
Stupid f—ing flies

A New Definition (30/30 #5 NaPoWriMo)

I’d like to believe I’m no longer a slave to anger
My polygraph pulse tells me that’s not the case
After all, anger is the herpes of human emotions
Laying dormant beneath the surface
Only to rear it’s ugly head
It can be treated, but there is no cure
And I go from 0-60 with a swiftness
That would make me the envy of engineers
If you listen closely
You can hear the motion of my machinery
There’s no need to throw gasoline on the fire
When alcohol burns with equal fury
So I avoid liquor like the plague
Oh, I might take a shot on occasion
If you should see this, run
It will always end badly
If the liquor is brown, dial 911

You would think an angry person
Would know why they’re angry
And you would be wrong
I’ve asked myself a thousand times
I might as well have been asking
“Why’s the sky blue?”
I allowed it to define me
Please forgive me, I’m not Catholic
So this poem is my confession
I’ve thrown blows and broken bones
Don’t get it twisted
They were my own
Walls and doors can sometimes be unforgiving
You would think
The inability to pick up a guitar
Would be six month lesson
To a lifetime musician
And it’s true
I do think twice these days
But every now and then
It’s the third time that’s the charm
Progress is measured in diminishing bruises

My knuckles have escaped unscathed for awhile now
The blessing of a surrogate fatherhood
Has forced me to learn patience
I would have never guessed
My guardian angel
Would be six years old
And half Puerto Rican
But when it comes to some faces
Anger wilts in their presence
My motto was once
“Patience is a virtue
But it ain’t one of mine”
I want to believe
One day it will define me

Internal Revisionism (30/30 #4 NaPoWriMo)

It’s easy for me to forget things which I’ve never experienced
It’s easy for me to sweep 400 years
Under a rug of privilege
As if they never happened
Simply because they didn’t happen in my lifetime
Realistically they are about as relevant to me
As three-cornered hats and corn-cob pipes
Imagine trying to explain the concept of a pay phone
To an eight year-old with a Skype account
And you see my dilemma
It’s easy for me to see the world with kaleidoscope eyes
Looking out the windows of my rainbow residence
It’s easy for me to forget what others don’t see
It’s easy for me to forget
That interracial-relations and a bi-racial child
Won’t stamp my passport with perspective
It’s easy for me to absolve myself of responsibility
It’s easy for me to evict hatred from my heart
When it never came to pick up the keys
It’s easy for me to forget
That there are those who still remember
And when the moving pictures on my wall
Try their best to jog my memory
With grainy images of burning crosses
And signs of above water-fountains
It’s far too easy for me to change the channel
It’s easy for me to forget how hard it is to let go
How hard it is to wash resentment from your hands
When it’s been branded into your flesh
It’s easy for me to find harmony inside my bubble

Knowing is Half the Battle (30/30 # 3 NaPoWriMo)

Procrastination eats me like a virus
Swallowing inspiration with porn-star-efficiency
Consuming potential victims
The way a mantis devours her mate
Head first
Permanently stunting the growth of ideas
Before they’d sentenced into seedling stanzas
This blank sheet of paper is a wasteland
“There is no time like the present”
I tell my pen on a daily basis
And yet every day she gets the call
I’m working late at the office
I haven’t touched her in months
I’m too busy having an affair with apathy

If only I worked at being a writer
Like I work at getting a nut
Or catching a buzz
I might live the dream
Be able to do what I love for a living
But you can’t deposit good intentions
And although words come to me like oxygen
I treat them like a fine aged wine
Saving them for special occasions
Apparently even the sudden death of my mother
Didn’t give me a sense of urgency
And so I wait
Standing at a post-apocalyptic bus stop
Waiting on the #9
Hey, look
I think that’s it up around the bend

The Optimist, The Pessimist and The Idealist (30/30 #2 NaPoWriMo)

“Would you like to donate a dollar to help feed starving children?” the cashier asked the woman at the register.

“Not today.  What difference is my measly dollar going to make anyway?”

“Every little bit helps.  Don’t you think that’s a bit pessimistic?” the cashier inquired.

“I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist.  Heck, what guarantee do I have that the funds will even reach…”

Suddenly, she was interrupted by the feel of cold steel pressed against her temple.

“Put your wallet in the bag” a muffled voice breathed from behind.

“I…I…I…” the woman stammered.

The intruder noticed the woman trembling as she fumbled clumsily through her purse.

“Oh, don’t worry.  This isn’t a stickup.  Mr. Steele here is my campaign manager.  Your contribution is strongly encouraged.”