The Difference Between
Me And You Is: I'm
Not You.
This Time.
You Can - I Can't.
Perfectly Balanced!
The Difference Between
It And Not It...
***Draw A Buncha' Maps***
***Dogs And Ponies In A Show***
***Steal A BOAT!!!***
-----please pipe down----
IS NOT IT!!!!
----nothing isn't----
IS Undefined.
---too simple---
Yet.
(Slippery.)
Let Go.
-Gray Squirrel
09-13-2026
Voice in my head,
I hear you when I'm sleeping and when walking,
but why must you do all this talking?
Do you really think it's right
to keep me up through the gloomy night?
And anyway, who the heck are you
to talk to me the way you do?
Are you a figment of my unconscious mind,
speaking to me so harshly and so unkind?
If you're the voices of my father or my mother,
I'd just as soon you pipe down or smother -
or perhaps, you, who have, me, harassed,
are voices from history, long past.
You speak to me in verbal hieroglyphs -
King Tut told you to tell me "jump off a cliff"?
I'm not impressed by your childish parlor stunts -
you know it's not polite to all speak at once -
like a bunch of inmates, fueling a riot.
Hear ME, voices - give me peace and quiet.
"What's wrong with me?", I sighed.
"Gee, I don't know", I replied.
"Wait, Dave, I think I've got it -
our personality is split!"
"That's the dumbest thing I've heard, of course."
"Pipe down and consider the source."
I Nearly Pinned
It Down, The
Core Of My
Stupidity, Had It
In My Grasp...
I Didn't Use No
Grease, But It
Squeaked Away...
With Humility's
Grace... Sounds
Good, But Almost
Had It, And It’s
Vanished.
It Was Hard To Catch...
Oh Well, Doesn’t
Matter Now.
My Bad.
Thumbs Down.
No Giggling.
Pipe Down.
Not You.
-Gray Squirrel
06-19-2026
The woman next door yells Help me!
She swears like a sailor
Is she insane or that's her game ?
She’s a bloody wailer
Inside my room,”pipe down” I yell
In hall I say, “quiet”
In her room, she yells “Go to Hell”
This hap’s a bloody riot
She screams follies, I get no peace
Full of gall what a whore.
I wish her scornful ways would cease
Her style cruel that’s for sure.
She complains about the food here
The food here I can’t stand
She gripes about service yah hear
Two points she gets ok.
If she does want better treatment
Please do not use trash talk
The staff will so take care of you
Folks who pass her won’t gawk.
My Mother liked to whistle
Which made my Father bristle
Although Mum whistled well
Dad thought it unladylike for a gel
To whistle, abyssal
We have a cure! The youngest, cutest, most female of female scientists yelled.
The other ones rolled their eyes and made fun of her.
She was a woman after all and short.
Short people cannot be taken seriously.
I do! I do! She screamed and yelled. Step up! Let me inoculate you!
Get the rats! An old one screamed. Inject them. They are going to die anyway.
Loud snickering. Everyone else. They hated their token woman.
The boss told her to pipe down and act more lady-like.
At the end of the day she had inoculated herself
And the rats and the goldfish.
They were the only ones in the lab
Who survived the CV19 that day.
Oh, My favorite song, 'Light my Fire!'
Yeah! My favorite too. Takes me higher
I just hope they play the long version, you know
I don't know. it's too long and too slow
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, ok?
Uh-huh. Let's pipe down and enter the 'Door-way'
April 28, 2019
Entry: 'Writers on the Storm' contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
The ladies all have a giggle
At girls with boobies that jiggle
But when they look down
They all tend to frown
At men with serpents that wiggle!
The shot
I shot the messenger, I got him good
One shot and it was done
And after that I slowly turned
And reloaded my gun
And then I took another shot
And this one stung me good
It burnt my throat and stomach too
For it was without food
But still I needed one more shot
And I took it from afar
It turned out blurry, crooked too
This while I drove the car
And when they scolded me for this
I shot right from the hip
It didn’t matter much to me
Guess I was on a trip
I was obnoxious, yes I know
Pipe down, and judge me not!
I had the chance to make a change
And well, I took my shot
So if you have a problem with
The way I tend to shoot
Don’t stress about it, let it be
The target is my foot.
Wendy Nipas
The Perennial Exile.
Alone,
a foreign body,
eliciting condescending smiles,
the exile walks on.
Though gracious intentions are spoken,
well-meaning band-aids applied,
the exile walks on.
Alone,
never shaking off the fear,
the cold, damp trepidation,
the exile walks on.
A scab on the body,
ignored as benign,
tolerated by its host,
the exile walks on.
Alone,
knowing the danger,
imminent and grave,
the exile walks on.
Alone, outside,
malleable, acceptable,
truths rarely spoken.
Fit in, shut up, pipe down,
swallow the whispers,
chew on the smirks,
the exile knows its place.
Decades pass,
an accent is adopted,
papers are signed,
still,
the exile walks alone.
Weary now, beaten-down,
by careless kindness,
and stifling generosity,
the perennial exile,
remains.
there's a little girl
she's only 14
lost with nowhere to go
met an older guy
told her he loved her
got her pregnant
then he left...
had to find a job
to keep up with his habit
he couldn't put the crack pipe down
destroyed every relationship
because he's always high
and could never come down....
the bottom of the glass
there's a little bit left
but then he's all out
a drunk and a slob
fried from his job
and he doesn't seem to care
as long as he has his daily fix
without it, he doesn't dare...
white lines of lost human souls
white lines of an overpowering addiction
white lines in every way sold
and till death
human spirit soars
high in an intoxicated state
never coming down
without previous knowledge of the past
they're lands them in a padded room
try to warn them
but they wont believe
disappear
honest thought, ill conceived
for many these addicted souls
help came to late
and now all they see is white lines....
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