The Room

His schedule is synchronized,
With cycles of the moon,
A piano that forever plays,
The Addams family tune.

Pale girls adorn his banisters,
At length they hang around,
Wearing their high stiletto heels,
And vintage velvet gowns.

He tells everyone his best friend’s,
A poet down the way,
The only one who understands,
Every last word he says.

They made up a secret language,
Deep in their conveying,
Although if asked they will admit,
They know not what they’re saying.

And his residence of choice is,
All he ever wanted,
To live in a creepy mansion,
Well known to be haunted.

Kept at a chilly 65,
This curmudgeonly host,
Does his best to keep guests out,
And accommodate the ghosts.

But there is one room in the house,
No one knows the function,
Could it be some sort of dojo?
Or maybe it’s a dungeon!

Some swear that it’s a slaughterhouse,
And he’s a cannibal,
Who sucks out corpse’s blood for youth,
And other animals.

Or maybe a shrine to himself,
To blissfully revel,
Or maybe where he’ll sacrifice,
Young girls to the devil.

But if some evil does lurk there,
He’ll make no exception,
And whether for his privacy,
Or for your protection.

But I think that’s its just a ruse,
Surely we’ll discover,
Him in there hugging teddy bears,
And Skyping with his mother.


Intruder Alert

Barbie lies decapitated,
With plastic staring eyes,
Alice takes a great leap down,
The rabbit hole and dies.

Aurora grabs the Batmobile,
Mulan in Barbie’s jet,
Rubber burns on Los Santos streets,
A drag race to the death.

Belle and Jasmine are on a mission,
To uncover government lies,
Beneath their million petticoats,
They’re really ninja spies.

Elsa schemes world domination,
Someone has to stop her,
So then G.I. Joe arrives,
In his helicopter.

Then the Big Princess appears,
Clearly full of woe,
She fights off the villain screaming,
“This isn’t how it goes!”

He shrugs and slinks off in defeat,
She calls on Agent Mother,
Who says, “Well that is what you get,
When you play with your brother.”


Shoes of Aquarius

The year was 1969,
The Age of Aquarius,
She teetered on my platform heels,
With a gate precarious.

But time gave way to family,
So she would deposit,
Me in the deep recesses,
Of her walk in closet.

And one day while sorting out, She,
Gave a rueful smile,
Thinking it highly unlikely,
I’d return to style.

And so into the dark confines,
Of a donation drop,
I ended up gracing the shelves,
Of a local thrift shop.

Where the young girls would laugh at me,
And mock me and deplore,
And say “Oh God these look just like,
Some thing my mother wore.”

And after years spent on those shelves,
I ate the bitter pill,
Of being deemed unsellable,
And transferred to good will.

Where I stared at dingy walls, The,
Army of salvation,
Which without doubt marked the height,
Of my humiliation.

The laughter would continue,
And I would do my time,
With no one to dare to spring me,
For $1.99.

Until one day a girl came in,
And so did drop her jaw,
With a look not of derision,
But more like that of awe.

Exclaiming her excitement, She,
Could not believe her luck,
To have me in her clutches,
For a couple of bucks.

And treated me as a piece,
Of the utmost refinement,
And to the next thrift store I went,
But now on consignment.

They put me on a pedestal,
And just like days of yore,
I was treated as the finest,
Item in the store.

Until that fateful day came by,
And I was blown over,
As who did walk into the shop,
But my dear first owner!

Who looked me over wondering,
Although she did not know,
Whether I could be that same pair,
That she wore years ago.

But either way she insisted,
And tried to make an offer,
Resolute was she to bring me,
On home to her daughter.

Alas no deal was made that day,
So ended the exchange,
My vintage status valued me,
Well out of her price range.

This poem is dedicated to my sole sister and fellow blogger Joanne Sisco at


Cover Band Man

Step down old man, step down, step down,
Cause there’s a fresh face here in town,
He’s cool, he’s hot, he’s now, he’s new,
He does your schtick better than you.

He tours the world he’s got it made,
I hear he’s even getting laid,
By a whole group of hot, young chicks,
Who come while looking at your pics.

They wonder if you’re still alive,
He’s running through your life’s archive,
It doesn’t take long to discover,
That the music this guy covers,
Clearly wins popular vote,
As the best stuff you ever wrote.

And now it is so clear to see,
You’re not the man you used to be,
You can’t compete, you’ll only loose,
A cover band man fills your shoes.

Who will never know the hindrances,
Drama or creative differences,
Or have everyone sing the tune,
Of crap you wrote in your bedroom.

But play the verses to the letter,
Just like you and sometimes better,
And you wish you had only knew,
How fun it could be to be you.

Inspired by on online conversation I had with Mark Bialczak,


A Poem ‘Bout You

I thought I’d write a poem ’bout you,
And how you hurt me so,
I’d bear my heart right on my sleeve,
For all the world to know.

And just so I could conjure up,
All of that hurt and rage,
I thought I would just take a peek,
At your Facebook page.

And as I started scrolling through,
It all hit me again,
The lies and the indignity…
My God your friends with Jen?!

I haven’t talked to her in years!
I see she’s friends with Larry,
Oh my, he’s lost a ton of weight,
Did you know Dan got married?

Looks like Steph got a nose job and,
Tina got a new look,
And David just had a baby,
And Steve is a fry cook.

Which reminds me of that diner,
Did you see the reviews?
I should go look up their web site,
To check out the menu.

There’s some links on their web page which,
Had me further derailed,
Did you know that Macy’s was,
Having a two day sale?

I thought I’d write a poem ’bout you,
How you played with my head,
I thought I’d write a poem ’bout you,
Think I’ll go shopping instead.


Crawling Through The Wreckage

Christmas is over,
New Years is done,
A bleak cold landscape,
As we shoulder on.

Temperatures plummet,
On skies that are grey,
We attempt to look forward,
To Valentine’s Day.

My inspiration,
Is brought to a halt,
As yellow and black snow,
Is melted by salt.

But as we look forward,
Let’s not rehash,
A holiday better off,
Left in the past.

Or just out of laziness,
End up that guy,
Who still has decorations,
Left up in July.

Please no Christmas carols,
I tire of stanzas,
Reveling in good cheer,
And Rudolph and Santa.

Throw out your trees,
Pine needle dispersal,
Store seasonal sweaters,
Update those commercials.

With each passing day,
The new season gets closer,
So in the meantime,
Be glad that it’s over.