“Call Me Hun One More Time…”

Destroyer of worlds and nations kneel

at my feet as I melt through steel.

Armies commanded know the deal,

none shall survive the warrior’s zeal.

Call me Atilla the mighty Hun’s ideal,

lord of the East whom the West conceal.

Feasts and spoils all brought to heel,

all that we need we kill or steal.

Belief in a god myself is surreal,

imagine my surprise from such an ordeal.

Much anger I have when they reveal,

the cashier’s words, “Enjoy your meal.”



“Splendid, Sordid, Snorkeler”

Vicious love for something sexual,

speak of the devil it’s pure intellectual!

Joined at the junction of intimate function,

massaged with a kiss will never malfunction.

Open the mail and lick the stamps,

the taste that gives the tongue the cramps.

Clockwise spins and grins called sins,

but in the end it’s both who wins,

a visit from the splendid, sordid snorkeler.


“Your Haircut Sucks”

Dear lord what have you done to yourself?

With a face like that I’d think you’d know

better than to let a blind Maltese monk

bring forth the scissors of San Giljan.

You’re not even Christian though

your name suggests contrary to the wise.

So why is it now that you’ve been circumcised?

And what’s with the hair on your chin?

Don’t tell me if you think I should know.

Just leave it for guessing and that’ll do,

the truth is too much for this conversation.

But I’ll get over it and move on with my life.

For now I’ll go blind but I have to remind,

your haircut sucks for all of mankind.


“Melting Ice Cubes in a Glass”

Such a stupid title for a poem,

I know you’ve been thinking it.

What could possibly be said

about melting ice cubes in a glass?

Well shut up and listen and

maybe you’ll soon discover

the secret wonder of such

a wonderless phenomenon.

Water floating in water and

water is made when the

solid meets the liquid and

interbreeds chaos between them.

So simple and boring but

snoring is not an option

when you plop five icebergs into

a fresh pour of the devil’s pop.

Hear that fizz fizz fizz and

soon after you’ll realize to

never write a poem about

melting ice cubes in a glass.