Those Who Can’t Find, Seek

I’ve been a yogi, volunteered to be,
A true humanitarian,
I’ve worshipped at alters, and my faith never faltered,
As a vegan or vegetarian.

I’ve been a punk, and I’ve been monk,
Then a Jew who thought it a mitzvah,
Put the Christ in Christmas, then Jehovah’s Witness,
And even a Hare Krishna.

I hopped on a plane, and traveled to Spain,
And then to Italy,
But all of my travels, had me quite unraveled,
For clearly what I sought was me.

So into the desert, I walked to avert,
My sheer desperation,
Hoping the sand and the sun, would make me feel as one,
A step closer to self actualization.

And as I walked on, I saw a vagabond,
And though he appeared a bit tragic,
Somehow I did know, deep down in my soul,
That he was somewhat magic.

That it seemed he, would bestow upon me,
A gift of time and man,
And so I’d see, he’d unlock the key,
To who I really am.

And so in speech, I did beseech,
“I believe sir you are great,
And will bestow eternally, wisdom upon me,
Tell me, what’s my fate?”

“I’ve traveled far and near, just to hear,
The wisdom of a man,
On my journey, of eternity
To tell me who I am.”

His eyes searched mine, and I did find
Him make a true assessment,
As to what he found, as he looked around,
Of life and what it all meant.

And as he looked, on tenterhooks,
I awaited what he might say,
And lo and behold, he said “You’re an asshole,”
And then he walked away.

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The Queen of The Strongly Worded Emails

If the pen is mightier than the sword,
Well then bring it on,
Cause when she’s at a keyboard,
She’s like an atomic bomb.

She don’t care if she hurts their feelings,
She don’t care if they think it’s mean,
Cause when it comes to strongly worded emails,
Bow down to the queen.

Teachers, parents, businesses,
Can close the door with 20 locks,
It ain’t gonna protect them,
From what waits in their inbox.

They might have thought they were her buddies,
They might have thought she was their friend,
But she’s the Queen of Strongly Worded Emails,
And she’s hitting send.

Their heart plummets to the ground,
They start to sweat and stress,
When they see that message highlighted,
From her email address.

She’s callin’ them names and usin’ words,
I bet they never even knew,
And if they read between the lines,
She’s vaguely threatening to sue.

So all those bitches,
Can bow down and see,
She’s the silver tongued devil,
Of the 21st century.

And nobody can be meaner,
And nobody can be ruder,
So they best watch their words,
Or she’ll bust out on the computer.

And when they see those emails coming,
They know it is the end,
Cause she’s the Queen of The Strongly Worded Emails,
And she’s hitting send.

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The Schizophrenic Tendencies of A Rock N’ Roll Super Mom

Sitting in the office, the need to unleash,
The inner working of the beast,
When my work appropriate dress,
Is lost for fishnets and spandex.

Or perhaps at a child’s birthday party,
When I dance on the bar and bust out the Bacardi,
Waiting for my child at school as I wreak havoc,
Insisting all mothers air guitar as I sing Black Sabbath.
Or perhaps sitting bored at a meeting,
I’ll jump up and scream, “I can’t hear you Cleveland!!”

All these thoughts barely contained,
As I apologetically explain,
That I used to play in a  rock n’ roll band,
And never expect them to understand.

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/worlds-colliding/

You Can Take The Girl Out Of Brooklyn…

People now I have to warn ya’,
If moving from New York to California,
It might not just be the way you talk,
That gives the natives culture shock.

Perhaps more spread out than lofty,
Wait a little longer for your cawfee,
Be sure to watch the sarcastic tongue,
And control the impatience to get things done.

Work on the ingrained avoidance of people’s eyes,
When passing on streets try to say ‘Hi’,
But when all this forced politeness,
Paired with unbearable niceness,
All does reach a fever pitch,
And you get the undeniable urge to bitch,
Watch the shocked faces of the natives looking,
At the girl that was taken out of Brooklyn.

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/worlds-colliding/

The Grimmest Of Grimm

There are so many fairy tales,
In which the hero will prevail,
Because in each story the villain does give,
A loophole so that the hero will live.

An escape from death, a true love’s kiss,
A riddle to solve to save them from this,
A path provided to help them escape,
What surely would otherwise be their fate.

But If I was the villain, then without fail,
I’d see to every small detail,
And make sure each story would end in disaster,
And to hell with the happily ever after.

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Why Do Fools Fall In Love?

Surely I did once love a boy,

Who thought me no more than a toy,

Or perhaps a passing whim,

He broke my heart so shame on him.

And then one day he did return,

And swore his lesson he did learn,

To take him back I did agree,

He broke my heart so shame on me.

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Nobody Told Me I Would Have To Cook Too!

Looking for a little snack?
Perhaps a late night munchy?
Don’t look to me for spaghetti,
Unless you want it crunchy.

Even mac and cheese a dish,
That from me goes astray,
As my family runs for dinner,
But often the other way.

Frozen entrees are my friend,
They just never get old,
But even in these no guarantees,
The centers won’t be cold.

I scout out bargain bins and discount racks,
To supplement my family’s diet,
And once prepared we find out,
Why no one wants to try it.

I don’t discern much at grocery stores,
Look in my cart and you will see.
I’ll buy it if it’s cheap and easy,
(Just like me!!)

Which probably explains my husband,
And why for me his heart did plummet,
For somehow I won his affections,
But it wasn’t through his stomach!

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(LB)

The Dying Art Of Living

In warm months I sit in a summery haze,
And harken back to the good old days,
When helmets and sunblock not in use,
Did not meet with accusations of child abuse.

And we spoke freely without worrying about connotations,
Of possible discriminations,
And people not on the verge of being homicidal,
All for the lack of thought to recycle.

We didn’t have to worry about being thought a sinner,
For serving our children frozen dinners,
And food served a purpose to tantalize,
Not ruined by critics who analyze.

And while our years may have increased in quantity,
Perhaps it makes up for what it’s lost in quality,
But if you don’t mind, I’ll be going back a bit,
To the years when no one gave a shit.

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/a-lost-art/

Suffering the Suffragette (The Dying Art of Chivalry)

She said she doesn’t need a man,
To give her validation,
And told him Tori Amos,
Was her biggest inspiration.

She then condemned the opposite sex,
For seeing her for physical features,
And made it perfectly clear,
She thought them inferior creatures.

She threw out terms like slut shaming,
And reviled sexist hating,
And made is clear these were rules to which he should adhere,
Should they continue dating.

When she was done he didn’t know,
Whether to  leave or to applaud,
But she was hot, so with feminism,
He would get onboard.

And immediately began thinking himself,
A liberated fella,
But when they reached the door,
He encountered his first dilemma.

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/a-lost-art/

John Is Dead (Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder)

We knew a guy named John,
Guess we sort of lost touch,
You see the thing was,
We never really liked him much.

We didn’t go to his birthdays,
Or the cookout in his backyard,
And when it was Christmastime,
We didn’t even send a card.

So imagine how we felt,
When we got the news the other day,
Under unexpected circumstances,
John had passed away.

So we thought we’d give old Johnnie,
The send off he deserves,
And we all put on our best suits,
And went out to the service.

And when anybody asked me,
My relationship to John I would defend,
And tell all those people,
That I was his best friend.

And I thought of all the times we shared,
And a tear came to my eye,
And it became pretty clear,
That I kind of missed the guy.

And listening to the eulogy,
It suddenly dawned upon me,
Just how deeply saddened I was,
By the loss of dear Johnnie.

After the service we all went to the bar,
And we got good and plastered,
And cried and wept and talked about how much,
We truly loved that bastard!

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