The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘Du Jour of the Week’

De Jour of the Week (7/15/10)

An Ode to the Stain on My Shirt

Oh, mighty stain!
I do wonder from whence you came!
Rarely do I eat curry
And I hope I’m wrong, but you appear a bit furry
That bloody nose must’ve drip, drip, dropped
My pulled pork missed my mouth and instead plopped

Oh, mighty stain!
You cause wonder, and disdain
The heat causes me to sweat just so
And chocolate melts and drips, you know
I should’ve avoided sliding in the grass
My clumsy hands spilled that wine from its glass

Oh, mighty stain!
What magical wash-proof forces do you contain?
Biting a juice box can cause it to spill
Old pens are neat, but beware a drippy quill
Meatballs go on top of spaghetti, which apparently goes on top of me
If your hands have dirt, wipe them on your shirt to be germ-free

Oh, mighty stain!
You scoff at the likes of Tide, All and Gain
Whoops – I spilled coffee on this admiring refrain.

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De Jour of the Week (7/5/10)

In middle school we were given ‘agendas’ or weekly schedule-keeper-thingies.  In the margins of these I’d write nonsense notes to friends, actual class notes/things about homework, and sometimes poems or short-short stories. This was a poem I wrote sometime around Christmas in 8th grade.

Twas the night before X-Mas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring.
Except dad’s spouse.
She was up for one thing
An’ it wasn’t one a Tim’s late night rings.

But dad didn’t wake up,
Nor did the pup.
Mom was out the door,
An’ on the creaky floor.

Still no one came bout’
So mom must notta been that lout.
Down the stairs she’d gone,
Hours before dawn.

She turned on the kitchen lights
So she’d have her seein’ rights.
She went to a cabinet,
To look for it.

Oh no! Eee gat! It’s all gone,
She’ll have to find out who ate it at dawn.
She returned upstairs,
Her eyes in evil glares.

In the bedroom, dad was awakened
An he had something home-bak-ed.
Mom lunged at him,
For the little tin.

But to mom’s dismay it was already eaten.
And for that, dad was thoroughly beaten.

What would be so tasty and great?
Underneath that little cabinet?
Only mom has such cravings,
That can also result in mad ravings.

Can you tell me what I speak of?
Naturally it’s CHOCOLATE of variety dove

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De Jour of the Week (6/20/10)

6/20/2010

I re-read this poem and it makes me sound very crotchet-y old man-like. That’s only partly true. Really it’s just fun to make fun of loud, trampy 13 year old kids.

Ode to the Mall Food Court

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’ve got nothing to do
I make a decision that I’ll soon rue
Yes, I’m on my way to the mall
To window shop and have a real ball.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You’re 13 years old for God’s sake,
So put some damn clothes on.

I arrive and holy cow look at that parking lot
I’m liable to rot before I find a spot
Aha!, a spot!, there, by the Sears
Please don’t walk in the middle of the street my-could-you-walk-any-slower dears.

The parking lot experience is now behind me
And I’m approaching the mall entrance quickly
What treasures will I find here today
And at what overpriced prices will I get to pay.

I’m in the body of the mall, looking for one of those maps
How long until Apple has a ‘You Are Here’ mall map apps?
The video game store is calling to me first
Then some Sbarro for pizza I always think will be better than it is, and a drink to quench my thirst.

“Excuse me,” the gaggle of ten year olds move aside
I feel awkwardly old and tall – yes, I’m an adult that likes the ‘Star Wars Legos’ game, don’t be snide.
With a new, used video game in my hands
I’m heading to the food court to let mall-food grease fill my glands.

Are those shorts, or are you wearing a wedgie?
Shouldn’t you have hit puberty before owning a shirt with the playboy bunny?
I’m in the food court, and I’m having trouble getting around
These teenagers are dressed like idiots, and they make so much sound.

Where are the parents, where is someone not on a cell!
Jeans that skinny can’t be serving your, you know, that well.
I’m in line for my pizza and I’m overhearing some ‘conversations’
The future is bright! It’s hopeful! … But I’ve got my reservations.

I survived the mall, which is saying something
And I’ll admit I’m judgmental and harsh – but not over nothing.
People, please, make your sons and daughters wear pants that fit –
And parents who dress like those kids – you look dumb as shit.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You’re 13 years old for God’s sake,
So put some damn clothes on.

Copyright 2010 Brad Stanley

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