Carrying The Torch

While I decide what to do with the ashes of what has now become my blog, please enjoy some pieces from my new writing project. I’ve been covering local, independent rock artists for an online magazine called Geeks of Doom. You can read my first article here. In the meantime, I will be using this blog to feature The CheeseBergen’s music, more Geeks Of Doom pieces and any moments of poetic brilliancy that might come to me.



The Metaphysical Journey of The Rock n’ Roll Supermom

Hello friends of the blogging world! The Rock n’ Roll Supermom has been doing some calendar consulting and I realize that I’m coming up on my 3 year blogiversary and you know what that means… I look nothing like my profile picture anymore. It also means I am getting pretty burned out on blogging so I’m taking a break. I may publish if a moment of brilliancy hits, but I’m actually going to try not to. I need to refuel. I will still be reading your blogs but maybe not to the point that I had been.

From June 7-14 I will be going on a spiritual pilgrimage to the holy city of New York. There I will be undergoing a metaphysical rejuvenation which will consist of shopping therapy, the ingestion of sacrificial chocolates and pizza, and deep healing sessions with Subway Station Stan. It is during this time that I will be away from the blogging world completely, so you probably shouldn’t even bother publishing anything during this time (mark your calendars). When I come back from this soul searching journey, I may be blogging less or experimenting with different formats and genres which may or may not include a collection of zen writings in limerick form.

On a more serious note, I have not been back to NY since pre-911 so if anyone has any recommendations as far as non-touristy things to do, and relatively inexpensive places to eat and (thrift) shop, I’d love to hear. I’ll be staying in Harlem and plan to spend a lot of time in the East Village and some visiting the boroughs. I don’t think many of you are from the area but if you are and would like to meet up, let me know.


A more recent pic.

The Muses Are At It Again

All my nine muses sat so sweet
A pretty row there at my feet
And to those dear girls I did say
“What should we write about today?”

Calliope said “To please aesthetics
Let’s make this no less than epic”
To which Clio said “Oh please
Those no one has the time to read
Though you would find me most euphoric
If we chose a theme historic”

Erato yawned said “Boring, boring
Who’s up for a little whoring
We know sex sells, so why bicker
I’ve a wetness in my knickers”

“All you think about is sex!
Let’s consult a religious text
I feel a need for veneration
Do your best to leave out Satan
For your mortal soul I’ll pray”
So Polyhymnia had her say

Then Melpomene said “Enough girls
With all the sadness in the world
Let’s write one so they’ll end up crying
I’m thinking say, some puppies dying”

“How could we write ’bout such things
I’d so much rather dance and sing”
“Oh Terpischore let’s make it plain
You dance just like Seinfeld’s Elaine

Oh doesn’t everybody see
We’ll likely go with comedy”
Said Thalia sporting a smug grin
Urania whined “You always win”

Thalia said “Your whining pains us
How ’bout some jokes about Uranus!”
“And some music?” Euterpe crooned
And Clio said “You’re out of tune!”

Then such a sight, I live and breath
As Euterpe pulled at Clio’s weave
The claws were out most horrifying
Fake nails, underwear went flying

Thalia made a ninja move
Then punched Erato in the boob
So from the room I made a sprint
As someone screamed “Oh no you didn’t!”

But don’t you know this awful fighting
Happens often when I’m writing
Every time there is a doubt
Of what I want to write about

So your reading experience might make more sense, here is a brief summary of The Muses:

Calliope – epic poetry

Clio- history
Erato – eroticism
Euterpe – music
Polyhymnia – religion, hymns
Melpomene – tragedy
Terpischore- dancing and singing
Thalia -comedy
Urania – astrology and astronomy
Thanks to Aquileana at La Audacia de Aqulies for the information and inspiration.

A Blessing In Disguise

The author would write feverishly
Behind doors tightly shut
Until a tragic accident
A fatal paper cut

Which nicked a major artery
And silenced thoughts and pen
And such a shame this happened
Between volumes 9 and 10

Which disappointed readers so
For those who did take tally
Would know that 10 would culminate
In the series finale

So his family thought real hard
‘Bout his final request
To have the series brought unto
An end upon his death

But greed did fill their thoughts and jailbait
Wife easily swayed
The minds of kin who never really
Liked him anyway

And so it was the pen bestowed
In hands of Cousin Kevin
Who finished chapter 10 and then
Went on to write 11.

Who thought it best the mom die by
Spontaneous combustion
And had grandma fall victim to
An alien abduction

And made a Frankenstein robot
A silent deadly killer
Which could be fine if this was not
A suspense mystery thriller

And in attempts to lure fans of
Romantic comedy
The two main characters hook up
In chapters two and three

And sales did dwindle drastically
And contracts they were dropped
And bad reviews flowed rampantly
All publications stopped

The author he rolled over in
His grave, looked on in grief
But if he just could breath a sigh
It’d be one of relief

For he did doubt his tired lines
Would fool his truest reader
The truth was he’d had no clue how
To end the damn thing either.

This post is dedicated to Randstein. We can only hope he makes it out of his series alive.


What’s A Girl To Do?

I really wish this guy would leave
He’s talking way too loud
Soon I’m thinking that I might
Just go and kick him out

I’m getting sick of hearing him
And looking at his face
He walks around with attitude
You’d think he owns the place

I’m working on a masterpiece
But all I get’s frustration
He keeps asking me questions and
It ruins concentration

A furrowed brow a curled up lip
A glow’ring evil glint
Oblivious it seems that he
Just doesn’t get the hint

And what more am I gonna do
It seems I’m at a loss
In instances like these what is it
you say to your boss?


The Omnipotent Author

Welcome my dear characters
I’m coming out for play
Let’s see what odd scenarios
I’ll get you in today

Ms. Lattimer I am afraid
You have become a bore
Perpetually a cheerful soul
Who works at the drug store

Let’s do something different now
To give your life some zip
Maybe you can have a hot
Affair with Mr. Smith

Oh come now Mrs. Smith there is
No need for all this bumming
Don’t pretend as if you didn’t
Foresee this one coming

And as for Lucy Terrapin
We all think she’s a bitch
What say we have that wretched soul
Go and slit her wrists

Although we know she is the one
The readers love to hate
She’ll probably recover and
Be back in chapter 8

And as for dear old Tabitha
Let’s make an ugly scene
I’m awfully tired of her coming
Out all squeaky clean

Let’s send her with that loser Mark
Into a life of sin
Where she eventually becomes
Hooked on heroin

And finally hits an all time low
And ends up all alone
Robbing Lattimer’s drug store
Desperate for methadone

Too dark a plot there Mrs. Smith?
You say you have your doubts?
You know I put you in this world
And I can take you out!

But if you did live in my world
Not long and you would see
My dark portrayal just serves to
Reflect reality

Cause life is unpredictable
And often it is hard
That’s why I like to sit behind
This keyboard and play God.


Cheap Plastic Pens

One day my words will dry up,
Like a cheap plastic pen,
Will I proceed to attempt,
To write as I do then?

And will you still find my words,
Marginally pretty,
Comment or give it a like,
Simply out of pity?

Perhaps just as a habit,
I’ll write until I drop,
And no one will be kind enough,
To say it’s time to stop.

Maybe hoping to recreate,
Genius of days before,
Or craving human contact,
Or maybe I’m just bored.

Cranking out a hackneyed thought,
A hamster on a wheel,
And could it really be so far,
From how Mick Jagger feels.


Meter Reader

My creative juices, (6)
Are utterly useless, (6)
Dried up by a reader, (6)
Criticizing my meter. (7)

And yet I must say, (5)
If I had my way, (5)
I’d call it all bull, (5)
that each syllable. (5)

Should count up exactly, (6)
So matter of factly, (6)
Makes me uninventive, (6)
And anal retentive. (6)



Of Facebook friends I don’t have many,
Sometimes surprised that I have any,
Should I somehow feel put off,
When communication stops?

Their absence of likes makes me wonder,
If somehow I made a blunder,
Or maybe worse yet if,
I could be compared to Taylor Swift.

When revelation lifts me from the fog,
I fear they must have read my blog.


And So The Caged Bird Sings

His lyrics and his music,
All repeats of the same,
And after so many years,
Even he admits it’s lame.

But still before the cheering fans,
He lifts up his guitar,
And plays the same notes nightly,
That make him want to barf.

The last album was dismal,
The one before was worse,
His fleeting inspiration,
Stands before him like a curse.

The simplistic rhythms,
The melodramatic rhymes,
Of being vexed with the sonic hex,
Of playing Freebird one more time.