November 14, 2012
Another week of poems done
Another week to go
Hell, fifty to go, in fact
Might change up some poem formats
Reading my ramblings must surely get boring after awhile
I’m serious, and don’t call me Shirley
November 15, 2012
I see you on the TV
I see you on the Internet
Youtube videos, Dailymotion, and everything under the sun
But I can’t help seeing more, I can’t change my mind
Madison Rayne aka Ashley Nichole Simmons, you are too, TOO fine.
A great wrestler, with a great voice and a great body,
And just a great human being who deserves the whole fucking universe.
That’s still not enough.
It’ll never be enough, for a woman like that; Full of life and wonder,
And working in a cool profession, unafraid to take charge and to live life
To the fullest.
This is a simple ode to you, Ashley Nichole Simmons aka Madison Rayne : a simple Miamian who would love to meet you,
Say hi, wish you luck, and then be on my way.
Ashley Nichole Simmons, I love your name.
I probably fucked up the ode structure or format, but so be it.
Life goes on, and the universe revolves around the Killer Queen herself,
November 16, 2012 (You and I)
Lady Gaga is my idol, no doubt; she is idle, ideal, and everything you could hope for.
Long hair, short hair, no hair, or wigs; shorts, spandex, government hooker, and more wigs.
To think that I hated you and didn’t want to learn; I should have waited, to see and confirm.
Now things are different; I bought tickets to your show, I love you, you, who are truly exquisite.
Stefani Germanotta, you make me crazy; a woman full of confidence, and definitely not lazy.
You work hard and play hard and you do what you have to do to be the Queen of Pop
And how else could things be done, my Queen, how else can you make it to the Top?
No other way, can’t wait to see you in March; ArtPop, Born this Way, You and I, and what not.
Baby, you deserve the world and everything in between; I guess I’m a little monster now
For better or for worse. It’s been a turnaround, no doubt, and for you I must now bow
To. I love you like few things in this odd world: I bet love is common for you, hurled
At you. Who doesn’t love Lady Gaga? When I think about you, I go absolutely Gaga.
November 17, 2012
Do you like this?
I sure don’t
Do I care?
Eh not so much
Hey guys I’m artsy fartsy
I can string together words
Fool you once
Shame on you
Fool you twice
Well shame on you some more
It’s been a long day
Of being sick
I like this kind of poem
It gets straight to the point
And the point is this:
How many more times
Must I talk about Scarlett Johansson
Or Gillian Anderson
Or Trish Stratus
Or fucking Lady Gaga
Before they take a look at me
And consider their options?
Eh I’ve got time
Don’t you think so?
November 18, 2012
Going to the book fair sick
Is like swimming with hungry sharks on a sleepy day
With no rest and no food and a sore heart
And a back that just aches and aches and feels like it’s been punched
All in all, it’s not the greatest of feelings.
But I did like buying some John D. MacDonald books.
Travis McGee, I miss you.
Books and books and life goes on
And my throat is sore and my soul is snoozing
While people keep talking and talking
Never shutting up and letting me rest
Doesn’t anyone like to rest anymore?
I sure as hell like to.
Muhammad Ali is my idol
Rumble Young Man Rumble.
November 19, 2012
The stars are graying out.
And the stars ignore you.
News coverage to remind you.
Curvy woman on the bed
Who cares about meteor showers?
Sex crazed lives
Curvy stars and other such marks.
Dream of stars and of heavy nights
And of erratic eroticism
Life showers on.
Time goes to shit.