As I Stopped By the Blogosphere on a Snowy Night: A Poem for A Child

Come and take my hand, my dear
As I lead you through the blogosphere!

The path, as such, is ill-tread
With twists and turns that you will dread.

First, a word on what you must beware
As you take these fledgling steps with care.

There's gossip trash of the lowest grade
Where reputations are lost - and alas! - are made.

There's political musings by nincompoops
Where inane, circular logic simply hula hoops.

And be careful of the comments of the rabble
which degenerate all too quickly into a Tower of Babel.

And don't be seduced by rampant crassness and vulgarity
Innocence and imagination are much more dear to me.

Oh, you must step lightly, my little child
For through that portal is a great wild.

But - lo! - there are some things for which we can rejoice
That rare, compelling, and sensible voice.

The bond which, if you're lucky, you might find
With distant people of a similar mind.

Or even those of different tastes
But who are civilized members of our human race.

Who from shores both distant and near
Speak gently and deserve your ear.

But it will be cold, so wear your cardigan
And check each day with guardtheguardian!

Graybeard: A Poem

Oh gray whisker upon my face
Uninvited guest! Hirsute disgrace!

If you numbered but one, I could live with thee
But you promiscuous sluts, you now number infinity!

What man said that a gray beard was distinguished?!
Why, I think that man ought to be extinguished!

Gray hairs! Each one of you I offer a stern reproaching!
Is there anything I can do to stem their encroaching?

Don't I have a bottle of hair dye?
From Halloween long ago? No! Oh, fie!

But shh, from my desk is that the cry of the harpy?
Under papers and books - Yes! - a brown sharpie!

Unsheathed, I admire its glistening tip
And tenderly touch the nib to my upper lip

A gentle stroke and white has gone much darker!
Truly, dear friends, this is a magic marker!

Upon my visage I apply trusty implement
filling grey spots on chin, cheek, dimple, neck.

It works like a charm, but oh, what is this?
Oh the color, the color, why it's slightly amiss!

My beard is more auburn, more reddish than brown
And now these dark blemishes produce a sad frown.

There's but one thing to do, and I'm not afraid
The rest of my hair this color brown must be made.

So I must color my beard, eyebrows, each eyelash
Even the hair on my head, and retouch my mustache.

This takes some time, but I'm not done yet
The hairs on my arm must get this treatment.

And even my legs I color hair by hair
I'm a stickler for detail and it doesn't stop there!

Why my pale white chest, with only a wispy straggler
Is now a dense brown forest worthy of Marvin Haggler.

Done, I look at myself with new hair and beard
And can't help but think that I look very weird.

But there's no time, I must be at work in a half hour!
And oh no! I haven't yet taken my shower!

Does marker run? Is this indelible ink?
I've not time to test, no time to think!

I hop straight into the shower's warm rain
And glance down to see...brown water in the drain!

The color runs off me with great alacrity
All that work for nothing, frankly it bothers me.

But there's a lesson in this, I note with tone wry
You can't stop time - at least not without hair dye.

My Laptop: A Poem

Fuck you, you fucking fuck!
Why don't you fucking work!?
What the fucking fuck!?
You're a fucking jerk,
You're a fucking piece of shit!
You need to work now!
You fucking nitwit!
Fuck, fuck you, you fucking fuck.
You fucking piece of shit!

Blue Blazer: A Poem

Oh blue blazer, tried and true
How I long to slip into you!

First the left arm, then the right
I could do this seductive dance all night.

Your buttons gold, lined on my sleeve -
But one is missing! Oh how I grieve!

Ah, there you are! Upon my floor!
Errant knave, be gone no more!

From off the wood, the offender I pluck
And exclaim, "I've got you now, my little chuck!"

"You thought you could flee, you thought you could hide!
Oh dark day, Oh fateful pride!"

"Stay there upon the ledge, don't you dare leave!
As I my sewing kit I go to retrieve."

I return armed with my weapons of choice:
A needle sharp, thread, and a sober voice.

"Oh you thought you could go, you thought you'd be free!
Well, my golden pretty, you're back with me."

"And now it is time to set you straight
So that with your siblings you number eight."

"Four on one sleeve, and four on its twin
Dissent, my treasure, is a capitol sin!"

And I'm gentle but firm as the thread I do weave
And set my button back upon my sleeve.

He's sad at first, oh I can tell
But he'll soon forget that dizzying spell

when freedom was but a step away.
He's on my sleeve, and on my sleeve he'll stay.

Oh my sweet blue blazer, tried and true
I do long to slip into you.

THE END