poems

an ode to…

 

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an ode to food poisoning
ode to the food poisoning, that wreaked havoc that reeks,
it summoned my insides, and then pinched my cheeks,
something I ate was surely volatile and gone bad,
kinda like me, but that began as a young lad,
this wind of change began late tuesday night,
I awoke with a start , as my end was in fright,
i ran to the bathroom, like a chicken in a coop,
and proceeded to make up a bowl of bean soup,
for the next twenty four hours, it did ebb and did flow,
my stomach, and it’s new friend, the toilet bowl,
not to sound crude, and really not trying to be crass,
but i’ve never been so afraid of what may or may not be gas,
it’s like having a gun with your hand on the trigger,
but which way the barrel points you need to figure,
you must choose wisely, and surely don’t guess,
for if you choose wrong, then you’ll be in a mess,
but it has subsided, aye, i can now say it’s passed,
to answer your question, the one that you had not asked,
my hazardous driving behind the wheel of the porcelain bus,
is but a memory of one man, in a one ring circus,
forgive me for being honest perhaps graphic without class,
but it was either an ode to a sick donkey, or my ill fated ass.
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ode to photo radar
ode to the camera, though I didn’t say cheese,
perhaps something more graphic,as i was displeased,
they took a photo, though i had no chance for smiles,
as it was based on my speed, and excess of miles,
they have my picture, perhaps now I’m a star?
they’ll want my autograph, when they stop my car,
what next? police fan sites, packed with pictures of me?
rivalled only by Britney in their popularity,
did they really want my photo? or just to get some money?
or was it the police candid camera, trying to be funny?
alas, now i’m a criminal, but if crime doesn’t pay,
then why do i have to? can i not run away?
if i go to court, insanity will be my plea,
that’s triggered of course, by flash photography,
radar and photo, merged together by computer,
dirty technology….i should’ve rode my scooter.
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an ode to my scooter
ode to my scooter, it’s better than a car,
on 2 bucks of gas i can really go far!
i can scoot around town, of my destiny i’m master,
i can scoot up to 60, and downhill even faster!
a seat built for 2 and passenger pegs for their feet,
i’ll pick up a scooter girl that’s cute, smart, and sweet,
we’ll scoot around town in search of ice cream,
and at night when it’s dark i’ll use my high beams,
gliding through the night streets, wind blowing through my hair,
hair that’s 1 inch long, and when i’m old it won’t be there,
but i’ll still be on my scooter, with my scooter girl in tow,
scooting here, there, and everywhere, ’cause scooters rule, don’t you know?
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an ode to today
ode to the first day, yes today i rode my scooter,
and soon i am at work in front of my computer,
i sailed the seven seas, i drove the open road,
even parked inconspicuously in hopes to not get towed,
this morning i felt good, i could even say felt nifty,
the smell of a fresh new day, at the speed of almost fifty,
to some i am a renegade, they say my bike and me are risky,
at least i’ve stopped the wheelies and the stop light shots of whisky,
they may not see my leather jacket, my tattoos or my chains,
but the respect and fear is evident especially when i change lanes,
i let them pass instead of tailgate, i send them on their trip,
i feel good to have done my good deed, despite the bird they flip.
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an ode to my secret panel
ode to my secret panel, it’s right near my feet,
on my scooter not me, and it’s really quite neat,
you open the panel and there’s a small space,
for keys, stickers, bubble gum, and a small can of mace,
but much more practical , the purpose that’s at the top,
is for carrying a super big gulp, filled real full of pop,
i just found the secret panel, oh what a discovery!
why hadn’t i spied it sooner? must be my AA recovery,
but now that i know of its existence and function,
i’ll surely bring pop to my next scooter luncheon.
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an ode to the meter maid
ode to the meter maid, because you “maid” my day,
left me a sweet note yesterday, one i have to pay,
rolled up piece of paper, tucked neatly in my scooter,
as i’m a block away, working quietly on my computer,
i parked with all the motorbikes in the place i usually do,
or pretty close to usual, you know, within a foot or two,
just outside of an invisible, consequence free zone,
i return to my bike after work , and see you’re asking for a loan,
you want thirty bucks, perhaps for cigarettes and maid lipstick,
and a brand new box of pens, to write tickets ‘cuz you’re sick,
i’m trying to not be bitter, though it sucks to get a ticket,
especially when your vehicle is slightly bigger than a cricket,
today i am but jaded, caught by my misdemeanors,
perhaps tomorrow i won’t think that all meter maids are weiners.
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an ode to the meter maid part deux
ode to the meter maids, i’ll give them a raise,
of thirty canadian dollars in the next thirty days,
they presented me with pain in the form of a ticket,
i’m making a big sign, and like my nose i will picket,
there’s a battle to be won, and a war i will wage,
the receipt of a parking ticket gives birth to blind rage,
hated by all, we must pay for some space,
what next, pay for our air? or the size of our face?
alas i am defeated and will soon pay my fine,
for fear of the law and doing hard time,
not fond of a prison or being thrown in the slammer,
with a 300 pound boyfriend, known only as “the hammer”.
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an ode to britney(ode to the meter maids part 4?)
Ode to Britney, “oops, she did it again”
well so did I, but with the help of a pen,
the dirty meter maid gave me yet another ticket,
and i’m at the point of telling them whereabouts to stick it,
the reason they’re called “maids” is because they’re cleaning out my wallet,
this is how i see it, so this is how i’m gonna call it,
another thirty bucks gone it’s just a crying shame,
the workers at the cashier’s office will soon know me by name,
They will be like “Cheers” and me the “Norm” that it did spawn,
tickets will be the beer, but i’ll have no tab to put them on,
the ticket said i’d parked too close to a pedestrian intersection,
they all say something different, but they’re all the same infection,
traffic violations, misdemeanors, petty crimes,
little “thank you” notes handwritten, and attached to hefty fines,
i’ve many words to tell them, yet i keep my mouth quite clean,
brush it twice a day, avoiding words that are obscene,
yet were they standing near, with the pen and pad they have but mastered,
i’d call them filthy monkeys and with paper mache have them plastered,
though it’s Canada and not mexico, and a Laser not Miata,
the neighbourhood kids would still have fun, with their freshly made pinata.
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an ode to my scooter – part 3
ode to my blue scooter, i am the king of the open road,
mechanical limitations aside, i’m sure i won’t be slowed,
i have an unpaid parking ticket, i’m a rebel without a case,
or a lawyer for that matter, so a judge i’ll have to face,
from a board game i can’t rhyme, i have a piece that’ll never fail,
it’s a card that is light blue, and it says “get out of jail”,
more importantly though is, a development of just recent,
i acquired a passenger helmet, and it’s shiny, white, and decent,
i’ll pick up my beautiful scooter girl, on the big wheeled scooter rocket,
we’ll blaze some trails at 50 clicks, so fast the cops can’t clock it,
no more tickets, traffic jams, just the setting sun ahead,
scooting until the moon has gone, and then it’s home to bed.
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an ode to Kelowna
ode to Kelowna, you left a deep scar,
i visited your city, and you towed away my car,
the nasty mean park lady, called up a few tow trucks,
they took away my car, and then a hundred bucks,
the park closes eleven, we return midnight,
my car is gone away, and the security lady’s polite,
“i tried to stop her, i saw that you’re not from here,
but my boss is a nasty lady, and she drinks a lot of beer”
“that’s ok” i say , and i talk to the nasty nazi boss,
she’s not terribly helpful, and she sort of looks like “hoss”,
“you should’ve seen the sign, that stated our closing hours,
despite it being small, and hidden by nearby flowers,
there’s taxis down the street, go in front of any bar,
they’ll take you to the company, where you can get your car”
“thanks for nothing” i didn’t say, instead just left quite silent,
is she the one that drives the postal workers to be violent?,
the taxi ride was long, to the other side of town,
and the driver told a tale , with a hint of a small frown,
he’d lived in calgary before, and vancouver prior too,
parents on either side as it seems they’d split in two,
one a.m. arrival at the large full towing compound,
other than the passing cars, there’s not a lot of sound,
soon the tow truck headlights illuminate the yard,
he gives me a hefty bill to pay, cutting like an icy shard,
soon driving in my car , the night is calm with some bad luck,
i really cannot help but think that Kelowna does just suck.
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an ode to another ticket
ode to another ticket i just got this morning,
sixty dollars to pay, though i’d hoped for a warning,
because i rode my scooter in the car pool lane,
these legal infractions are driving me insane,
thirty dollar parking ticket one month ago,
a hundred bucks last week for the car tow,
the officer was polite, “no demerit points” he said,
“oh, that’s good news, thanks so much” that’s not what i said,
bicycles have a place in the mighty car pool lane,
yet they pull over my scooter, for financial gain,
the policeman’s ball better be fancy this year,
with a statue in my honour, benefactor with a tear,
it’s so sad, i’m a target, dismayed, i can’t speak,
is it fair to prolifically ticket this geek?
though their time awaits, and my day will come,
when i drive past the police station and show them my bum.
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an ode to toast
toast, toast, oh should i boast,
you truly are the bread with the most,
a savoury favourite from coast to coast,
a delivery so worthy of canada post.
In my dreams you appear a silvery ghost,
all coated with jam and a slight golden roast,
this morning you saved me from becoming morose,
with your toasty goodness, a most excellent host.
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an ode to korn in g minor
as i board the mighty bus this fateful august morn,
the surrounding passengers eyes seem to warn,
they look so downtrodden, a little forlorn,
without so much hope, wishing not to been born,
and some filled with anger, malice and scorn.
i begin to question why, my emotions are torn,
then my senses awakened by a fragrant foghorn,
the lady beside me reeks of creamed corn.
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an ode to the last day of the weak
an ode to toast and the last day of the week
in terms of work anyways, is of what i speak
the end of these 3 days, of this poetry weak
under guise of a poet though my words not so sleek
the long weekend awaits, all patient and meek,
for me to draw, draw, like a true comic geek,
no rest for the wicked, it’s like hide and go seek,
i am the weak worm, and above looms the beak,
though it’s not quite so bad, i’m not quite up the creek,
today on the bus, the creamed corn did not reek,
and no one nearby, had the slightest gas leak…
though cry not for me as i draw at my table,
creating yet another dorkish type fable,
but read this and smile and enjoy, my dear friend,
and just get some sun and have a good long weekend.
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an ode to burritos
an ode to burritos, their taste is really quite pleasant,
the gift that keeps on giving, from yesterday till present,
i made them with burrito mix and some authentic fake not-meat,
sorta like mexican food, and quite surely will repeat,
different than the british with their tea and their crumpet,
this musical mexican dish can play the bad bum trumpet,
i’m like Miles Davis, as i play without convention,
my very skilled horn tooting should get a very honourable mention,
and yet my efforts go unnoticed, my co workers don’t commend,
only muttering something about plugging up my musical rear end.
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an ode to my toes
an ode to my toes, of which i have ten,
similar to my fingers, but on the other end,
they’re good for storing sock lint and dirt,
and when i walk into walls, aaagghh…they really hurt,
they’re mighty useful when i count to the big twenty
cuz i run out of fingers, so my toes help me plenty,
they’re small, and unmatched, the dexterity of my toes,
as they can pick up small objects and explore my full nose,
they’re like small pets that you don’t have to feed,
or poop or walk, or take outside to have peed,
they’re with you wherever your feet take a lookie,
just don’t be barefoot when stepping in dookie.
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an ode to more suffering
an ode to more suffering, and pain that is new,
yesterday i was tired, last night was kung fu,
before, i was sleepy, too many hours awake,
today is quite similar, but now i too ache,
the lids are still heavy, now limbs quite the same,
i’ll whine with my poem, gads, i’ve become oh so lame,
run into the ground by the art of wing chun,
can’t type, too sore, can’t wok and can’t run,
as this prose goes on, my rhymes, they diminish,
so i’ll save you some pain and call this the finish.
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an ode to salad rolls
an ode to salad rolls filled with rice vermicelli
they make me yell out “hey, get in my belly”
as i woke up this morn to find my fridge was quite vacant
i could feel in my gut, that my stomach was achin’
could it be once again one more sad cruel joke
that my breakfast consist of pretzels and coke?
choices are few when the machine is your vendor,
but today i am filled with salad roll splendour!
lucky for me that on the day of just yester
i completely forgot, and left rice rolls to fester,
for today the rewards are not my usual fate,
as they are seemingly priceless and so truly great!!!
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an ode to skateboarding skateboarding, skateboarding, it makes you quite smart,
i speak both of intellect and the pain it imparts,
running from security guards becomes a true art,
as it gets your “life of crime” off to a good start.
My parents were shocked when they learned i was a criminal,
but then more disappointed when they found out how minimal,
“son, if you’re going to do something, do the best you can handle,
like a cat burglar, embezzler, or cause political scandal,
skating’s not cool, you’ll get no criminal infamy,
have we taught you nothing? haven’t you learned from we?”
But 13 years later a skateboard i still ride ,
it’s hard to take advice when your parents are “Bonnie & Clyde”.
**************************************** an ode to an ode
ode to the snow, that gets in my shoes,
and to the crap, that becomes the “news”,
ode to the war, that looms a little too near,
and to the president, that plays on our fear,
ode to Miles Davis, cuz he played the blues,
though he is now gone, his rhythm continues,
ode to the keys, that i still do not hold,
perhaps when I’m wise, or at least when I’m old,
ode to the hearts, where there is still ache,
for the loved ones from us, life it did take,
ode to the pains, that befall us at random,
bearable if one, but easier in tandem,
ode to the vitamins, in my corn pops,
and the energy it supplies, to run from the cops,
ode to the dogs, that bark when you tease them,
and to the liquids, that solidify when you freeze them,
ode to the past, and the lessons we learn,
and the ones we did not, the future returns,
ode to my neighbours, that shovelled the walk,
they’ve since moved away, though that’s not a big shock,
ode to the end, for I had been meaning to finish,
this poem you’re reading, as it does diminish,
the end has been seen, and it’s time for the clothes,
the cops said to the streaker, and now i must close.
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an ode to procrastination
ode to procrastination, i say “i’ll do it a little bit later”
it’s the story of my life, i am the evil Darth Evader,
so many things that demand, always needing to be done,
there is oh so little time, and it seems i’m always on the run,
why do it today if it can be done as of late tomorrow,
it’s like going to the time bank and then asking time to borrow,
they give me time right now, and in the future i will pay,
like sleep deprivation because my bedtime i delay,
going to the doctor where they tell you it’s time to cough,
this is one of those things that i really like to put off,
the choice i face today is do i make it good or make it great,
the difference between the two is in making some things wait,
do the things of value and spend time with those i care,
so the dishes are still dirty tomorrow, if tomorrow’s even there.
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an ode to friday
it’s the end of the week, an ode to friday,
you think it’s yours , but it’s actually my day,
i bought it at 7-11 along with a soda,
now read the rest of this poem as if spoken by yoda,
do or do not, jedi, and on with this rhyme scheme,
why was he so short, and why was he lime green?
alas it’s no matter, though star wars doth linger,
i dedicate this one to my poem hater dr. jon finger,
everyday i form words, my poems i build ’em,
unlike dr.jon “rectum he darn near killed ’em”
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an ode to metal heads
an ode to the metalheads, oh yeah you know the ones,
love iron maiden and are ozzy’s illegitimate sons,
black sabbath t-shirts and bad mullets abound,
“man, if it ain’t metallica then it’s not even sound”,
crap rock, glam rock, manson, heavy metal and much more,
just make the shirt black with white sleeves and the graphics all gore,
they started out young on quiet riot, kiss and twisted sister,
fueling their metallurgy almost like forming a mean blister,
but now wanting to hide the roots of where their metal love had been born,
they simply disregard past bands in favour of that misspelled band korn.
-damian willcox copyright 2000
(note: the author does not in any way endorse heavy metal music…amen.)
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an ode to monday i hate you monday, you smell like dirt,
my brain is tired, my eyelids hurt,
you force me out of bed and send me to work,
i’m sure if you were a person, you’d be a big jerk,
your facade so transparent “monday’s so good and so new”
as i’m flushed down this weekly toilet like a big piece of poo,
all day i will suffer, subject to your ongoing wrath,
but just wait until friday we’ll see who has the last laugh,
when the week is again finished and i can sleep in ’til noon,
go to bed at 5 a.m. at the sinking of the moon,
watch cartoons all day and eat popcorn and soda,
just wait and i’ll show you the true meaning of quota,
i can annoy telemarketers, as my time is not squandered,
doing bad things like dishes or clothes that need be laundered,
bathing and shaving, i’m quite sure these can wait,
no upcoming inauguration, special event, or hot date,
i can play video games, rent movies, or sit down and draw,
or run around in the front yard yelling “i am the law”,
until the neighbours complaints force my behaviour to cease,
i explain why i’m wearing boxer shorts and a cape to the police.
**************************************** an ode to breakfast
ode to my breakfast, it consists of pretzels and coke,
if the vending machine is the egg, then this is the yolk,
eat breakfast at home? today the effort i just cannot make,
it’s like trying to clean up the lawn full of leaves with no rake,
to bed far too late and then waking up way too early,
i’m hungry and sleepy, anti social and surly,
early morning conversation from me? alas there’ll be none,
not nun as in convent, but none as in “not even one”,
when your brain’s powered by caffeine it’s hard to be clever,
or even articulate, about stuff and uh, you know, whatever,
alas from all this we can at least draw a conclusion,
no sleep plus my breakfast brings on nutritional delusion,
no sugar plums dancing or other types of illusion,
just thoughts of sleeping at home in seclusion.
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an ode to grocery shopping
food, food, you brighten my mood,
you’re more than just something that needs to be chewed,
you can be fresh or pickled or sauteed and stewed,
if you were a person i’d say “you rule, dude”.
your fruits and vegetables are best in the nude ,
(i mean them not me, so don’t be so lewd).
you’re like an old friend, i don’t mean to be crude,
but you visit me once, then twice when you’re pooed.
you wonder the reason for this rhyme of delight?
because of course i got groceries last night!!!
while outside the rain continued to pour
i marched inside the grand superstore,
filled up my cart with good things to eat,
went home, then fell asleep cuz i was beat.
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an ode to vacation
ode to my trip, i’m leaving this town,
i’m packing my smile, not taking my frown,
going by plane to a land that’s far east,
where a new day’s beginning, when our day has ceased,
air sickness bags are there for those who fear flying,
i used a ladies purse once and she wouldn’t stop crying,
flying the vast skies, to the other side of the planet,
it’s much faster than digging , or on foot if you ran it,
i won’t eat the pig’s brain, or the snake or pig’s blood,
or swim in the inlets filled with raw sewage and mud,
it’s the land of squatting toilets where you crouch and then poo,
just don’t crouch too low or it’ll land on your shoe,
hot stuff on a pizza, sayonara, see ya soon,
i’m there for lunar new year,and it’ll be a full moon,
not the kind the plumber’s have, but way up in the night sky,
standing out from everything, kinda like me, the only white guy,
i’ll see some good friends, have a nice visit and drink tea,
and get in trouble for speaking the mandarin for “I have to pee”,
followed by “sorry, i’m a stupid foreigner, i know not what i say,
please give me your wallet, your money or your life…and please, have a nice day”
I hope everything is well with all of you this time that i’m away,
you’ll enjoy the little break from me, as i’ll enjoy my stay,
despite the spreading rumours, they have in fact just lied,
i will return unmarried , without a mail order bride.
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an ode to mononucleosis
ode to a sickness from kissing a girl,
it’s name is mono and can make you hurl,
though the vomitous point i didn’t quite reach,
it can’t be removed by a medicinal leech,
perhaps it’s from the kid that spat in my drink,
or licking the counter around the bathroom sink,
could it be from eating “found” chewing gum,
or bobbing for apples from a communal drum,
using recycled toothbrushes, licking cigarette butts,
eating others’ leftovers, smooching the neighbour’s mutts,
regardless of its origin the worst has gone away,
i’m on the mend, and getting better every day,
it’s a slow uphill battle, i still am quite weak,
i still like video games, comics and being a geek,
but my day will come when my strength will return,
my energy will be strong and my throat will not burn,
though i felt i needed to avenge my poor soul,
someone must pay for my health mono hath stole,
Surely, I’ll have some remorse, regret and conflict,
for being contagious at 7-11 and all those straws that I licked.
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an ode to insomnia
ode to insomnia, or the lack of good sleep,
not due to coffee, or the counting of sheep,
it’s a prison of sorts, of always being awake,
with no chance for parole, and no file in your cake,
no rest for the wicked, no caffeine and no pepsi,
your efforts to sleep, and your envy of narcolepsy,
the hours drift by, as you stare at the clock,
it’s sinister face, and numbers that mock,
you do the math, based on when you will awaken,
how much sleep is lost as each minute is taken,
you pray for sleep, even a moment of slumber,
but your mind still subtracts, number by number,
the hours pass by, as you stare at the ceiling,
you wake up lethargic, your legs have no feeling,
you pass the night hoping to sleep after reading;
but your eyes just stay open and feel like they’re bleeding,
the morning comes quickly and punishes you dearly,
your vision is blurry, and you can’t speak too clearly,
you feel so crummy, worse than a piece of old toast,
the highlight of your morning? walking into a lamp post.
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an ode to coffee
ode to you, coffee, o great bringer of life,
if it were legally acceptable, i’d make you my wife,
you energize my nervous system, you invigorate my soul,
you bring spastic happiness, for this is your role,
you’re dark like the night, yet your heart is so pure,
you stimulate the sick, and drowsiness you cure,
you fill up my cup, with caffeine, love and steam,
and so i empty it, we make the perfect team,
your flavour I savour, your beans I commend,
your brew is so perfect, a heaven sent blend,
my eyes grow wide, as my bladder grows full,
a sleepy submissive, now a spirited bull,
though in time it doth fade, once again just demure,
my former state, unshaken, pre-caffeinated lure,
yet my eyes do grow weary, I cannot look up,
lethargy takes over, alas….until my next cup.
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an ode to swimming
ode to swimming, many lengths in a pool,
now that i can swim, not like back in school,
when they said “tread water” i ended up drinking,
three quarts of chlorine, and then quickly sinking,
for many years after, the pool i did fear,
i’d do almost anything just to steer clear,
but later my fear, i fought and did spurn,
returned to the pool, determined to learn,
I splashed about aimlessly attempting the front crawl,
the lifeguard pointed out the “how to” chart on the wall,
i practiced and learned from fellow swimmers giving tips,
and soon began making regular pool going trips,
even living in china i swam more than i expected,
but the dirty pool water made my ear get infected,
but even to this day, i will still continue to swim,
because it’s good for the ankle, and elbow, and limb,
it’s taken me some effort and there’s one important key,
just don’t drink the water because kids like to pee.
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an ode to girls
ode to girls, today i do utter
my sisters are girls and so is my mother,
not much like guys, they have makeup and manners,
are more organized and make better planners,
though some girls are mean and can be very cruel,
some are quite nice and know scooters are cool,
my grandma’s a girl and so is her neighbour,
they’ve had a few kids and a whole lot of labour,
sugar and spice and everything sweet,
girls are like monkeys because they have little feet,
i’m sure i’ll pay dearly for that joke made in fun,
don’t take it seriously as the poem’s almost done,
from the day i was born i’ve been a pain in the keester,
yet my mom still loves me and will visit at easter,
my sister used to say that she had spit in my juice,
but she’s about three times as crazy as dr. seuss,
another girl is the old lady that’s crossing the street,
and when she gets on the bus you should give her your seat.
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an ode to tea
tea, tea, oh how can you be
such a wonderful thing that’s been given to me
your dried leaves in water, unravel, expand
unleashing tea-ish flavour upon my demand,
filled with caffeine, and a loving intention,
in grade 7 a stink bomb got me a detention,
grown in a tree , covered with aphids and dirt
pre rinsing your leaves can definitely not hurt,
Gong Fu tea in China, in Japan they add rice,
in the warehouse the leaves might be pooped on by mice,
yet i savour the flavour, the aroma, the blend,
write stupid rhymes, and then to you send,
my message today of tea, here’s the crux
please don’t believe those who say that it sucks,
for they’re wolves in sheep’s clothing and will steal 5 bucks;
in return give you coffee ‘cuz they own starbucks.
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an ode to coffee slurpees
chocolate, caffeine, sugar, i love you coffee slurpee,
you have no carbonation so you never make me burpy,
you pick me up when i fall down from bad sleep deprivation,
you stimulate, articulate, you give liquid motivation,
when toothpicks cannot hold my heavy eyelids open,
i go in search to find you, or this is what i’m hopin’,
you have fully drawn me in, with hook and line and sinker,
cuz if coffee was a ship then i would surely sink her,
but you trick me with the slurpee, and it seems i cannot stop,
for once again i’m foiled and end up in a dirty coffee shop,
surrounded by these hipsters and pricy coffee that seems quite fancy,
this decor, these “after coffee mints”, its making me quite ancey,
so i get my drink and hit the bricks, quite happy to be on my way,
though i’m saddened by the thought that i’ll be back another day.
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an ode to coffee slurpees part deux
i wanna write a rhyme about a ” mocha frappaccino”,
the flintstones had a dog , as i recall his name was dino,
here’s the thing that makes me sick, and so i have to wheeze,
it’s bad enough they charge 5 bucks, they then speak starbuckese,
” venti grande blah blah blah something something ccino”,
i want to say “aw shut up, and please lay off the vino”
“chocolate coffee slurpee” and without the weirdo fancy lingo
make it a friggin huje, the beatles’ drums were played by Ringo,
are they trying to be hip , or confuse you with their mumbo,
or simply blame you for mistakes cuz”you must say venti and not jumbo”.
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an ode to kool-tea
this morning i’m very happy, i do have quite the smirk,
and it’s all because of something that i’ve brought to work,
no it’s not contagious, and it isn’t narcolepsy,
it’s not a super big gulp filled with coke and sprite and pepsi,
it’s a modern genetic mutation the first one of its kind,
this laboratory creation akin to frankenstein,
the joining of two forces whose might no one has seen,
hey you know what really sucks?..well,people that are mean,
it’s a mix of iced tea/ kool aid that is new and loved by me,
run and go to safeway and buy some kool-aid brand kool-tea ™.
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an ode to cranberries
ode to cranberries, the ocean spray drink,
it wakes me up violently and helps me to think,
it’s bright red and bottled, and a whole lot of sour,
and it gives me my super crantastic power,
now i defy gravity and have no need for slumber,
on the side of the bottle i see a toll free phone number,
i give them a call and they ask “comment or question?”
“neither”, i reply, “as i have a suggestion,”
“why not market this beverage as something better than coffee,
it wakes you up ‘sans’ caffeine, and isn’t the colour of toffee,
It kick starts your day with the boot of cranberry,
made from real fruit, and quite free of dairy”
“thanks for your interest in our ocean spray drink,
but perhaps you should take this up with your shrink,
don’t get me wrong we appreciate your call,
we record your response and that is not all,
we’ll send you a surprise that comes in the mail,
might be a letter bomb, and it surely won’t fail,
so try our whole line, we sometimes use bug juice for hue,
have a nice day, and for your dumb comment we ‘thank you’.”
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an ode to being grumpy
i’m tired, tired ode to being grumpy
if i have a coffee it’ll only make me jumpy,
add some milk to that and i’m sure it would be lumpy,
feeling way more pain than that egg that they called humpty.
woke up feeling irritable, sleepy and just plain sore,
using my poetic platform to whine a little more,
an apple a day is what you say? i feel like the rotten core,
because on certain days like this, “morning people” i abhor.
ok, it’s not really or even actually quite that bad
but i needed a new topic, easier than Leningrad,
i can’t rhyme communism or even manifesto,
so instead the topic’s grumpy and i really tried my besto.
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an ode to being a nerd
nerdy, wordy, ode to being a geek,
not terribly cool or even slightly chic,
a few years ago perhaps i could have been cured,
but it’s too late for me now i’ll forever be a nerd,
it started quite simply as i entered into grade 4,
my first pair of glasses, and my first taste of the floor,
given wedgies and swirlies by those who “don’t play well with others”,
beaten up by a few girls and made fun of by their mothers,
over the years the bullies have really helped me to run quicker,
only to be slowed down because my glasses keep getting thicker,
as time has progressed i’ve continued my sad regression,
playing video games for fun and drawing comics for expression,
i’ve become the nerd epitome complete with plastic pocket protector,
if canada was communist they’d surely force me to be a defector,
as though my child like mentality sensed the need to get more weak,
now i’m writing poems, next stop chess club for this geek,
austin powers portrayed as cool with his often quoted “groovy’s”
sad but true, beautiful girls only like nerds when they’re in the movies.
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an ode to eau
an ode to “canards”, the french word for “ducks”
quack quack quack quack, ugh…this poem sucks.
so alas i write of something more quaint;
something less lame, for hearts that aren’t faint;
a subject quite serious, and close to us all;
of which i speak, is half a foot tall;
it’s a powerful pastry, that makes me quite smart;
the mighty, the tasty,the wondrous pop tart!
the problem i face is one with whom i work;
he has a few pop tarts, but is kind of a jerk;
my request for the pastry has now been deployed;
yet still he says no, and i’m getting annoyed;
not because i am refused a tasty pop tart;
but due to the fact that in my office he doth fart.
he’s gaseous and filthy and just quite plain wrong,
he won’t stop talking….aaaaggghh, it’s billy wong!!!!!!
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an ode to wwf
ode to the quite strange world wrestling federation,
it all seems so real if you have a good imagination,
creepy grown men in make-up and tights,
saying “whatcha gonna do” and looking for fights,
it’s a soap opera for guys filled with second rate actors,
“hey, it’s my first job since prison” could be one of the factors,
steroids, tattoos, a catchy phrase, and mean lookin’,
who cares who’s in the kitchen and whatever “The Rock’s cookin'”
At its best, it’s the epitome of hot dang hillbilly fun,
at its worst, senseless violence “lulamae, get me my gun!!”
they dress up in costumes, throw temper tantrums, and scream,
kind of like when you steal candy from an 8 year old on halloween.
(..and no, i haven’t done that….i’m guessing..)
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an ode to the first day of winter
ode to stinky snow and crappy cold weather of winter
if poetic skill were a tree, then this poem would be a splinter,
this is my second shot today as my first try really sucked,
it didn’t work out at all, some might even say it was in a state of disrepair,
but i digress, and onto the topic before it gets much colder,
this weather gives me icy stares and one frosty mean cold shoulder,
it gives me the shakes and chills far worse than any i can remember,
i don’t understand, how can it snow? it is only september,
sure i know it’s canada, and “no, an igloo is not my home,
i don’t ride around via dog sled or use fish bones for a comb”
ok that last one might be the flintstones, but i’m sure you get the gist,
it just seems so wrong to snow right now, the summer sun now sorely missed,
so now i have to prepare for the cold , my mukluks and snowsuit i must put on,
drinking hot chocolate will surely help me when i write my name on the neighbours lawn.
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an ode to a toad
toad, toad, an ode to a toad,
he’s green like grass but doesn’t need to be mowed,
like an animal program, but without any code,
he doesn’t feed on the seed or need to be sowed,
if you fill a truck with him you’d have quite a load,
though the weight of the cargo might make the truck bowed.
Bugs, flies and lilypads surround his abode,
and he’s sure be in trouble if ever it snowed,
he’s somewhat lethargic, his actions are slowed,
except when “fresh frog legs” are violently crowed,
then he’s fast as frog lightning in hyper speed mode,
it tight curls his hair and makes it afroed,
but the memorable feature to which he is owed,
is the size of the mess he makes on the road,
if you’ve ever played frogger then surely you knowed.
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an ode to the odes
an ode to my poems they are filled with clairvoyance
though some might think they are merely annoyance
this weekend do i play bass?, and practice my fretwork,
or simply tune in and watch the psychic friends network,
they’ll say they knew i’d call because they see the future,
and advise me to wear acid wash cuz it’ll soon be haute couture,
alas i cannot for i must travel to vancouver,
are those funny blinds venetian or louvre?
issues of d.b. comics set out on my table,
with me at the helm like a modern day clark gable,
ok not really i’m more like clark kent,
a little bit geeky, twisted and bent,
yet nonetheless i must spread dorkboy’s existence,
like a burning plague or growing pestilence,
but vancouver i’m sure would be much for the better,
to have known dorkboy rather than rain which makes it just wetter.
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an ode to the flu
ode to the flu shot, that went in my left shoulder
maybe this year i’m wiser, or at least a bit older,
tis my first flu shot, in all my years of ill strife,
so why did i succumb, for the first time in my life,
was it my interest and pursuit of ongoing health,
or hopes to meet a cute nurse girl with plenty of wealth,
i can’t reveal this enigma, this mystery without reason
or perhaps i didn’t want a phlegm filled Christmas season.
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an ode to december
ode to december and this festive cold season,
if you’re lucky you’ll get by without coughing or sneezing,
beware the nasty cold and the brutal winter flu,
as it’s the most personal present that can be given to you,
but for this influenza don’t be driven to mourn,
cuz away in a manger a baby was born,
it’s Christmas time a time for celebration,
a time for nasty fruitcake, egg nog, and relations,
a time to spend with loved ones, being happy to be alive,
just don’t make the mistake that i made in grade 5,
instead of quality time spent raising glasses to toast,
i was nursing a bleeding tongue that i’d frozen to a lamp post.
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an ode to christmas
ode to christmas, and the oncoming new year,
the fat guy on the roof and his team of reindeer,
presents down the chimney and pellets on the snow,
laxative and reindeers uh oh, look out below,
a fond Christmas wish to my friends and kin folk,
have a wonderful holiday even if it’s been bought out by Coke,
get back to the basics, it’s not about presents and trends,
it’s about spending time with a few close cherished friends,
i hope everyone has a terrific and fun filled holiday season,
for once i’m writing a poem not on a whim but for a reason,
In highschool science we tested acidity with litmus,
Wishing you all the best and have a very merry Christmas!!!
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an ode to the new year it’s out with the old and into the new year,
it’s not so familiar, it’s another brand new fear,
12 months of time to make our mark once again,
learning from the past, where we look back on when,
we’ve tried and we’ve failed, but this year we’ll redouble,
all of our efforts again, and blast away the vast rubble,
moving mountains aside, blasting holes with our lasers,
ok that part’s not true, but we can still shave with our razors,
this poem’s for my friends, words come from my heart with a thud,
well not really as my heart can’t speak, only spit out some blood,
ok that’s sort of gross, but really i do have good intent,
though the holidays are past, and the time has been spent,
I want to wish you all a Happy New Year, may the best come to you,
take the joys of last year with you, and flush away all the poo,
may you find 2 surprises in your cereal box, and few bills in the mail,
good luck my dear friends, and like my mom says “Stay outta jail!!”
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ode to halloween, and the mighty great pumpkin,
do i dress like spider-man or a lost country bumpkin?
i could be austin powers and act really randy,
that would be pretty groovy if it helped get me candy,
chocolate and things with a sugary coating,
cavities and tooth decay is what i’m promoting,
9 out of 10 dentists really won’t like me after this,
without any teeth even mom won’t give me a kiss,
but it’s all oh so worth it, cuz i can eat candy till i’m sick,
running naked through the neighbourhood on a sugar high kick,
till i pass out from exhaustion my face down in the gutter,
gummi bears in my nose, i’m covered with cocoa butter,
so i’ll slip through the fingers of the ones called “the law”,
they’d give tickets for mischief, and indecency if they saw,
yours truly dressed up with a quite stunning array,
of milk duds and fig leaves for my costume today.
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an ode to the day after
ode to the day after, the day after the fun
we pillaged and looted, without needing a gun
costumes and pillowcases filled with candy galore
ate too much candy and now my stomach is sore,
sugar makes you invincible, and clever and strong,
when it wears off you realize that you were so wrong,
it rots your teeth makes you hyper and then sick,
but if you have just enough it can make you run pretty quick,
we went as kung fu guy, spider-man, and jonny canuck,
and ran into a drunk redneck fresh off his pickup truck,
“don’t steal my kid’s candy in the alley” warned the man,
mullet , mesh ball cap, and a half empty beer can,
we were greeted with smiles and the odd “you kids are pretty old”
“not as old as you” was our reply worth pure gold,
later in the evening collecting candy from each lot,
we passed kids without candy in the alley smoking pot,
things have changed a bit since i was an ewok in grade four,
we only feared heroin laced candy and razor blades in the apple core.
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an ode to the martinis
back with a vengeance, to the scene of the rhyme,
my poems are like time they get better with wine,
or is that vice versa?you know, the other way around?
i’m a raider of the lost art, of prose without sound,
not really indiana jones , but more like “short round”,
alas today my ode’s to the scores of bond girls,
with irregular names, a few guns and some pearls,
i’m shaken not stirred, the bond girls always new,
from movie to movie, though the same is always Q,
2 girls per bond movie, one dies one does not,
both quite attractive and regardless of plot,
they both fall for Bond, it seems almost skittish,
that he could be both, chick magnet and british.
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an ode to mr. creepy
ode to mr creepy, they say he’s a gas,
more like he has it, cuz he speaks with his ass,
he is my co-worker,and his crime is quite heinous,
he stops in my office, and narrates with his anus,
we call him mr creepy, but his real name is steve,
he’ll do creepy things, and then fart and then leave,
he sweet talks the coat racks, in hopes of a date,
one that’s more sturdy and he doesn’t need to inflate,
he draws dirty pictures, and tells a dirty tale,
he rides his little pony, his destination…jail .
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an ode to sleep deprivation
the pain i am in , i almost could weep
intense human suffering from lack of good sleep
to sow my comic seeds and have nothing to reap,
never trust someone who’s car is a jeep.
they say to err is human , to draw is divine,
especially when the twisted thoughts are all mine,
in the form of a story of dorkboy-ish type fun,
aw crap i’m too tired…this poem is done.
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an ode to dentists
this message wasn’t brought to you by the seventh day adventists,
rather it comes to you from me and my ode to all the dentists,
i’ve never been to panama, because of fears i will explain,
i have this phobia of canals , for i hear they cause great pain,
’twas this morning i saw my dentist, and i left there with elation,
a minor pain should soon resolve, sans surgery or medication,
i’ve been molarly lucky most times, by chance or perhaps by fluke,
at least i haven’t followed dad’s footsteps, for on the dentist he did puke.
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