Drawing a Blank

I’m not sure what goes here today.
I don’t know what I want to say.
So, I sit and watch the clock.
Trying to cure my writer’s block.

I could attempt some more haiku.
There should be something more to do.
This should be a meaningful account,
Not just a specific syllable count.

So, I will sit and watch the screen.
My imagination has been wiped clean.
Eventually, a concept will arrive.
As disco taught, I will survive.

Old School

This is old school writing.
It is how I learned to write.
It is probably not for the
“younger generation.”

I write my thoughts.
Sometimes they rhyme.
People read my thoughts.
Sometimes they complain.

Nowadays, this should not
Just be words in stanzas.
There should be a video.
It would have me reading.

I would read the poem.
This way, you can just listen.
While you listen,
You can see me.

Nobody wants that.
Maybe just the words
Scrolling on the screen.
A lyric poem.

Watching it takes longer
Than just reading it.
Plus, before the video,
You can see an ad or two.

Also, the rest of the page
Should have stories about
My life, my wife, my dogs.
Anything that inspired me.

I am sorry, but I am old.
You do not have to film words.
You do not have to read to me.
I can read it by myself.


I hate my job.
I hate my wife.
I hate my dogs.
I hate my life.

I need something
To set me free.
I need good drugs.
I need … coffee.

Coffee saved my life today.
Caffeine in a paper cup.
Cream and sugar.
My spirits raised up.

My job is great.
My wife is tanned.
My dogs are fun.
My life is grand.

2020 Vision

On the first day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me.
A bad case of COVID-19.

On the other days of Christmas,
We were self-quarantined,
And I didn’t get squat.
I hate 2020.

I stayed at home.
I lost my job.
I drank alone.

It sucked at first.
It sucked galore.
It sucked all summer,
Then, it sucked some more.

Just two weeks,
Then just two months,
Then “By the Fall”,
Now, this blows chunks.

It has to be better.
2021 can’t be this bad.
Eat your black-eyed peas.
Let’s not be sad.

Bug Killer

This is not a poem as much as self-therapy, from watching the great white hunter track down and kill a poor, defenseless housefly.

My wife saw a fly in the house.
She knocked his wings off.
Now, he is a walk.

(I love that joke!)

It was time to relax a bit.
I was lying in my bed one night,
I was trying to go to sleep.
A buzzing gave me quite a fright.

I looked up at the ceiling.
A fly circled around my head.
I really don’t like flies.
But my wife wants him dead.

I try to say “Live and let live.”
My wife says “Live and let die.”
She has her trusty swatter.
My wife will kill this little fly.

She started swinging wildly.
The dog dove under the bed.
They don’t like her swatter.
I pulled the covers over my head.

Next stanza is in Phil Rizzuto’s voice.
Swing! .. and a miss!
Swing! .. and a miss!
Wow! That one’s outta here!

A fly never flies in a straight line.
Unless, propelled by swatter.
In that case, it’s a fast, straight line.
Leading it to the slaughter.

My wife killed a little fly.
I wish that it would fall.
If it hangs on until morning,
I will scrape it off the wall.

NaPoWriMo 2020

A month of poems has gone away.
I think I only missed one day.
I never wrote about my spouse.
Hell, I barely ever left my house.

Please don’t shed another tear.
I’ll be back again next year.
Deadlines make me write each day.
Even when quality goes astray.

Stay six feet apart,
Keep your hands clean.
I want to do this again,
While not in quarantine.


I almost forgot.
I need a poem.
Just like my hair
Now needs a comb.

That was questionable.
I’m in a hurry.
It’s a poem a day,
I have to scurry.

This was horrible.
Tomorrow will be good.
At least we can hope.
Let’s all knock on wood.