Peter Pandemic

Peter Pandemic
Falls from the sky

The sky has pink eye
For the millionth time

Birds cough on bees
Sneezing in trees

The moon tells the sun
Please wear a mask

The sun says no
For the millionth time

Birds sneeze on bees
Coughing in trees

The sun in sweatpants
Moons the sky

Peter Pandemic
You guessed it

Has pink eye
For the millionth time

Rock & Roll Psalm

I don’t write poems I write rock & roll songs
Long-short short-long rock & roll songs
I don’t write poems I write rock & roll songs
Long-short short-long rock & roll psalms

I don’t write poems I write rock & roll songs
Long-short short-long rock & roll songs
A poem’s no fun you can’t sing along
Poems are dumb the lines are too long

I don’t write poems I write rock & roll songs
Dylan the poet writes rock & roll songs
Shakespeare was cool don’t get me wrong
This isn’t a poem it’s a rock & roll psalm

Right Now

Right now is Batman tying up Robin? Is Joaquin Phoenix
doing stand-up comedy? Is Elmer Fudd, a notorious
neat freak, hunting dust bunnies? Where’s Ralph Waldo
Emerson right now? Is Walt Whitman shaving his beard?

How many Willows are weeping?
How many Adams are splitting bananas?
How many Jacks are changing flat tires right now?
Of those Jacks, how many know a jazz man?
Of those Jacks—who are changing flat tires
right now and know a jazz man—
how many only date girls named Jill?

Is Forrest Gump saving Private Ryan? Is Tom Hanks
telling Matt Damon World War II wasn’t his fault?
Is Ben Affleck still a prick? No need to answer that,
Batman. Of course Ben Affleck is still a prick.
Now let Robin go. He can’t feel his beak.

Remove Me From Your List

Spam. It stinks. Spam in my inbox. Spam on my blog.
WordPress. So depressed. Google stressed. Hackers.
Slackers. Bad foreign actors. Grumpy Cat phishing
schemes on big screen live streams. Cease and desist.
Unsubscribe me. Count me out. Remove me from your list.

Is this spam? No, it’s a note from Jeff Bezos.
Was my delivery guy nice? Like the postman, did he ring
twice? Package damaged? Bummer. Jeff can fix it.
Here, enter my Social Security number. Use both hands.
Not just the last four digits. Jeff, don’t share the size
of my underwear. Refrain from making fun of my Hanes.
Unsubscribe me. Count me out. Remove me from your list.

Spam. Snail mail. Escargot. That’s precious cargo.
How much is this gonna cost me, bro? Hey Snowden,
I’m no chump. Don’t document my dumps. Don’t slam
my poetry. Don’t mock my odes. Leave my epic haiku
sonnets alone. While you’re at it, untap my phone.
Unsubscribe me. Count me out. Remove me from your list.

Spam. It bytes. Clickbait and switch. Trojan horses
on porno sites. My eye pad WikiLeaks. Text a giant
techno geek. Some whiz kid in Belarus stole my name.
Has he no shame? He must be bored. Being me, I mean.
Unsubscribe me. Count me out. Remove me from your list.
The real me, I mean. Eating tacos in Chicago.
He’s never been to Springfield, let alone Minsk.

The People I Love

Lately I feel the need to tell
the people I love how much I love them.
The people I love need to know
I love them when they feel alone.

Lately when I feel alone I picture
the faces of the people I love,
beautiful faces not unlike my own.
I see my reflection in the eyes
of the people I love to remember
I’m not alone.

Lately I hear the people I love
speaking to me in my own voice.
They beg me to repeat their names
to remember they’re not alone.
Everyone has a voice, let’s not forget,
and a name, and every word we speak
contains traces of all the letters
in every name we call our own.
I love the names of the people I love.
I repeat them to myself to remember
I’m not alone.

Lately I wonder if the people I love know
how much I love them, how often
they save my life and help me survive.
I want to repeat, all at once,
all the names of the people I love.
I want the people I love to remember
we’re not alone.

What I Do For A Living

I make mountains out of molehills.

I help hoarders find Jesus.

I’m a tree surgeon looking to branch out.

I’m a Charlie Brown impersonator. Call me Chuck.

I’m a good grief counselor. I charge five cents.

I encourage mimes to speak their minds.

I make magicians disappear.

I tell jokes on TV. I keep it clean. I swear.

I’m a bad plumber but a great lover. My wife is always wet.

I’m a hoarse whisperer.

I count census workers and import exporters.

I sell luxury clown cars.

I greet Walmart customers in my Target uniform and say welcome to Kohl’s.

I’m an unforeseen event planner.

I cry Wolf Blitzer and shout fake news.

I’m a poet. The pay sucks. I sing the blues.

An Ocean Lost At Sea

When life was a breeze
My mind flowed like an ocean
Of rivers and streams
Each thought in my head
Reflecting like a blue moonbeam
On the surface of a lucid dream

Until in a burst of madness
The rivers in my mind
Split at the streams
And I prayed in vain for the sky
To fall and crush my dreams

Now my mind drifts
Like an ocean lost at sea
And every night I dream
The moon is drowning
Peacefully in my sleep