When I arose one day, I could barely walk.
Had to drink my coffee before I could talk.
Before I was done, the bathroom would call,
I held the grab bar, but still managed to fall.
The shower beckoned me, so I went on in.
I slipped on the soap, and bruised my shin.
Later I was hungry, so in the kitchen I go.
I screamed a bit loudly, when I stubbed my toe.
My dog started barking, and looking quite mean.
He then bit my leg, it was a real bloody scene.
I made it to the fridge, and looked inside,
There was nothing to eat, so I sat down and cried.
I ordered a large pizza, and thought "oh well".
But when it arrived, it was burnt as hell.
I tried to take a walk, but my feet were still sore,
Instead of feeling good, it was becoming a chore.
I made it back home, after slipping in the mud,
That's it, I thought, this day's a real dud.
I thought tomorrow will be good, like it's always been,
I laid my head on my pillow, then the ceiling caved in.
Goodnight!
Oh, Nothing! You sly, elusive spud,
You’re the star of this poem (though technically dud).
You haunt empty fridges, blank quizzes, and minds,
The gap where my keys hide and my weekend plans wind.
You’re the punchline of vacuums, the muse of bare shelves,
The reason I’m talking to lamps by myself.
You’re the “E” in my bank account, crisp and austere,
The punch I forgot in my joke over here.
Some say you’re profound—philosophers swoon,
But let’s be real: you’re a nap’s favorite tune.
You’re the silence between a bad pun and “Huh?”,
The plot of a mime’s TED Talk—oh, brother, enough!
You wear pajamas daily, yet still blend right in,
A champion of naps, but you never quite win.
You’re the cloudless blue sky with no bird, plane, or flair,
The “U up?” text sent to a cactus. Bold. Rare.
So here’s to you, Nothing, you cheeky old void,
The world’s quietest meme, forever deployed.
Though poets may weep for your depth, I insist:
You’re the *something* I missed… wait. Dang. Plot twist!
---
P.S. If you liked this poem, pay me in air.
(It’s fitting, since Nothing and I split despair.)
Earth
The only planet
Not named after a Greek God or Goddess
Is it too late for a re-naming?
Or do others care?
Being an air sign,
Earth seems rather dull to me
A dud of a name
I wish Mercury had not already been taken
Behold the Good that is already there,
But! Give one’s nod,
In Thanking G-d the “Sharer!”
Because ‘tis truly odd,
To receive care,
Despite being a “Dud”,
Even naked & bare,
Without a merit “Mother Lode”,
“Thanks!” is song, a soulful “Aire”,
Keeping us “Solid!”,
If “Thanks!” be rare,
We take for granted, grow “Stolid”,
Breathe callous air,
Paying debts is a lid,
Which opens fare,
Ticket to Hearts 14 karat gold,
“Thanks!” Non-coexistent with despair,
Nor arrogance, nor a selfish “Id”,
Gratitude rain blossoms “Life Fertile!”
How could a corpse like me ask for more
Than this faucet from the showroom floor
It may look a dud
But it cleans off blood
And came dirt cheap from the Zombie Store
avid goldbricker
never takes initiative
a dud on the job
has to be given a list
hourly some days
never completes it either
he’s a lazy lay-about
Donald, the dud of a dude has dudgeon, Denise told me.
dungeon? I asked
she shook her head ‘no”
Dudgeon
I looked it up
Dudgeon
Ill humor
That said a lot
probably means
we will never be friends
because I have dusted the negative Neds
off of my sandals
and it feels terrific
to be free of all that naysaying
and negativity
Preferring darkness, to forage and hunt, night they choose
Relatively world’s smallest owl, yelping is their unique call
Eyes highlighted, gray bill, brown birds that feign death to bluff
They are listed enangered, they migrate, mob their predators too
To rear, parents work hard, hunt-feed-defend to put up best show
Young fledged at ten weeks, nearly eliminated by humans they cry fowl
My head is in a spin,
My obsession just to win,
I'm driven and I'm mad
All I smell is gushing blood.
I feel I'm in a surreal game
That shooting sort - so very lame,
Where targets pop-up all around,
Nothing ever out of bounds.
What's good for them is great for me,
I'll deftly flatten all I see,
From rabid lawyers to media hacks,
I relish all their wild attacks.
For unbridled as they are
They alone propel me far,
Every moment of every day
From their lips my name they say.
Isn't that just simply grand,
As for every blow they land
Folks just rally to my side
Ferral wokes unable to abide.
I'm a fighter - all see that,
Unlike Joe that doddering dud.
Yes I'm tired - who wouldn't be,
But now the end I clearly see.
With the White House in my grasp,
I doubt I'll even need to ask,
They'll plead with me to take the keys
Given Biden's on his knees.
So while my enemies do the dance,
The time is near for me to prance.
They'll squeal and holler with all their might,
With me cheerleading at the sight.
I'll seal this race and do it quick
By any means and every trick.
Count me out at your great peril,
Not great odds even for the Devil.
albanese thought it good?
He'd have a go.' In hollywood.!
A replacement Elmer Fudd was needed
He'd be famous rich as Croeses.!
But things didn't go; just as they should..
He tried to voice a deeper tone
More gravitas.. Was that swift Flown!
He failed in mission; accomplished nil.'
He then retreated, senses blown.'
Now he's (albo dud), of world renown.!
So ram in your elbows Aussies
Get rid of the clown.!
silhouette of winding gnarly trees, a scary sight
outline that bodes familiarity on Halloween night
the frightening path enticing me, stirring my blood.
my pounding heart is a thud, I feel like a faker, a dud.
I always brag that I am afraid of nothing, right?
but here I am, facing this demented terrifying sight.
the clairaudient part of me can hear ghouls and a grim.
I turn and run from the vampires and dragons I feel within.
being an empath can have its own problems, I know.
I could even picture rat snakes way down below.
this path which appeared on Halloween night
does not feel right, does not feel right.
some other children disappeared that night in sixty-two.
I have a feeling they took that path, wouldn’t you?
whisked away to some kind of hell if you ask me.
my psychic eye kept me safe, I was alive in sixty-three.
He's pomposity personified, never defied.
His vanity is all-in, his shameful glory spied
As he stands before an audience, gawking upon
An emperor smug, unaware he has no clothes on.
He is unclothed, uncouth, unhinged, a folly dud fake.
He thinks he's something, but he's not, with nonsense at stake
The cracks in his facade are there so easily seen.
The bluster, bravado are all those of a has-been.
He's clearly a fraud, an empty shell, a hollow gourd.
He's so pompous he's first to draw, last to sheath, his sword.
He bloats on every word, he boasts and brags, about him!
He craves the gaze of eyes that dote on his every whim.
But deep down, he feeds off the shallow praise of strangers,
For those who know him well, know too well of the dangers
That occur when ego is stuffed with pomposity
To make an enormous atrocious monstrosity.
What’s gone wrong with Granddad’s dong, it used to be so long
Once the length of Granddad’s dong made Gran burst into song
His dong would go throughout the night, to Grandma’s sheer delight
And Grandad’s dong and Grandma’s song would brighten up each night
But now when Grandma wants a dong, my granddad grasps his mallet
It’s very old and feels like it’s made from a wooden pallet
He grasps it with both hands and Grandma yells, “Just swing that sucker!
Remind me how you swung it round in your best bib and tucker.”
So Granddad grips it in both hands and swings for all he’s worth
He hopes to get a lengthy dong and not just Grandma’s mirth
Granddad couldn’t tolerate another dong that’s dud
And so he whacks his mallet hard, which makes a dull, flat, thud
But Grandma said, “I see what’s been occurring with your dong,
And why of late your dong has been a little less than long.
A dull dong cant reverberate, a dull dong can’t play long,
It’s no good up against the wall; you should have hung that gong!”
Again, he broke when the gate bell was still clanging,
then took off so fast... to the reins I was left hanging.
He's wearing a goofy smile that says, "I'm so proud,"
but he's forgotten just one thing... for crying out loud!
I have to be in the saddle when crossing the finish line!
That's a concept totally lost on this headstrong equine.
Flashing Ghost has always been as stubborn as a mule
but I keep taking the mount, so that makes me a fool.
Oh yeah, he's determined to always break out on top,
But when he outbreaks me, I can't yell at him, "Stop!"
I would end up crumpled on the track, lying in the grass,
or diving head-first up the crack of this white horse's ass.
Ghost should be retired from racing and used as a stud.
He'd be more valuable, but as a racehorse, he's a dud.
He flies out of the gate but is a jockey's worst nightmare.
I swear, I won't ride him again, even on a double dare!
An Esau lifts the carnal
And mocks the spiritual
Though he possessed the birthright
He pursued the physical
An Esau values his ways
"Satisfy the appetite"
Despise God's promised future
A dangerous stew to bite
An Esau rejects God's ways
His birthright he sold for stew
The cunning hunter is snared
A misstep he can't undo
An Esau forfeits blessing
God's promise deemed a dud
Prey to his own appetite
Addiction duped this stud
An Esau learns his fate late
He seeks now to recover
The blessing he once despised
Was captured by his brother
An Esau has space to repent
But it's not unrestricted
The Spirit strives for a time
To rescue the convicted
An Esau cannot repent
Even if he wanted to
Though he seeks with many tears
The Holy Spirit withdrew
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