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John Stapleton Poem
Facebook is a weird virtual place
Where people say things they’d dare not say to your face
I’ve seen wives as young as seven
And Facebook husbands as young as eleven
There are what I call Facebook ghosts
Who stay offline and leave their wall dormant the most
Contrary to that are those morons who change their profile pic everday
And others who blow up my homepage with stuff as lame as gay
This includes everyone stupid prom, homecoming, and halloween pics
But they are all annoying like a school full of pricks
Wait… those are the ones blowing up my Facebook wall
Sometimes I have to keep refreshing the homepage to avoid the ugly pics in a whole
Poking people is interesting – it’s virtual flirting
But a guy better not poke me he’ll find himself hurting
Cuz that’s not just weird, it’s queer
Go get a hangover from chugging a beer
Oh, and one more thing, the annoying people on chat
Always asking me the same stupid questions like ‘where you be at?’
So I force myself to calm down and give the same answer
Yes, Facebook is one strange freelancer
Copyright © John Stapleton | Year Posted 2011
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John Stapleton Poem
Can art exist without sentiment?
Can it debut without a concept behind it?
Can it breathe into a soul without it?
Can it truly be art when its meaning is not or shrouded?
First things first – what is art?
It’s experience and skill is its counterpart
Yet more simply, it’s something thought as beautiful
But beauty of itself is merely dull
Something dull, needless to mention, is devoid of a soul
Therefore we must consider the writer and the written as a whole
The artist and the art, the molder, and the clay falling apart
The potter and his soul that led him to buy the material from the mart
So the creator has a soul that exercises will
Otherwise nothing would be created – all would remain still
Only those with souls create things that thrill
The eyes of spectators, even though art has no soul but is real
Copyright © John Stapleton | Year Posted 2012
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John Stapleton Poem
When I gave you my heart
All you did was tear it apart
Making me hurt is not an art
The aftertaste you left is tart
I wish I could forget you and restart
There’s a hole in my heart fron this dart
That stupid cupid poisoned me with so I could find my sweetheart
Never trust a grown man in a diaper that’s not smart
But I learned from this and now I have a headstart
Knowing not to trust somebody and put them first on my social chart
Because I was loyal yet you failed to do your part
When I pursued you all you did was depart
You would rather be at the mart
Like a mammal in heat looking for another hart
To fool around with, wound, and outsmart
Thanks for the scars. Now I have something for others to impart
Copyright © John Stapleton | Year Posted 2011
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