The Glass is Half Empty but God is Half Full

The glass is half empty but God is half full

I lost my retainer inside of a

Bowl of rice pudding from President Bush

Who sat on a thumb-tack and injured his

Tush, tush! He’s sleeping! Or maybe that’s “hush”

I can’t comb my hair 'cause I've lost my

Bruschetta is good, it’s tomatoes on bread

But if it is poisoned you’ll quickly be

Dead baby jokes are the cream of the crop

But when I perform them my mother says:

Stop and sbottom, bottoms and tops

Rain falls down in little

Dropsy is a bad disease

Always say thank you and always say

Peas are delicious and carrots are too

The hen says ‘ba-gawk’ while the cow says

Mood rings are funny, they show how you feel

Achilles was famous for having a

Heel of a good time when booze was around

Some items are lost and some items are

Founding fathers all wore wigs

The wolf went after three small

Pigsty! That’s what your room is!

I hope you studied! There's a

Quizzical wizard inside of my brain

My brain is quite small so the wizard’s

Insanely uncomfortable, what a poor chap!

Close your eyes, darling, and have a nice

Nappies are good when the baby has gas

The nappies are strapped on the baby’s small

Glass is half empty but God is half full

I lost my retainer inside of a

Bowling ball made for my dad who’s in jail

This poem is for you, Dad! It’s sent in the

Mail, or the female, which one has more power?

I picked all the petals off this lovely

Flower is used for the pie and the cake

What shall we do? Oh, there’s so much at

Stake is delicious, I love a dead cow

In Italia, instead of ‘goodbye’ we say

Ciao down! Dig in! Have a bite of this treat!

Let’s all eat together! This poem is

Completely absurd and my sweater is wool

The glass is half empty but God is half full
Of Himself, He's almighty, why not?
Horses can gallop and horses can
Trotsky was killed by a pick in the skull
The glass is half empty but God is half
Full-figured women are sexy as heck
As long as their head is on top of their
Neckties are fancy, tuxedos are grand
The Barenaked Ladies are my favorite
Banned are the books that depict sex and gore
And kids are so greedy, they always want
Morally we are inclined to believe
That when someone dies we should probably
Grievous and Butthead is quite a good show
I tried hard to watch it but Mother said
Nobody here has been doing their chores!
Hippies smoke ganja and soldiers fight
Warsaw's in Poland, and Poland has poles
Satan is busy collecting the
Soles of the shoes that have been overstocked
The man at the door rang the bell and he
Knocked up the girl of his dreams! And what dreamt he?
That the glass is half full and that God is half empty.

Cheap Noose

Cheap noose! Cheap noose!

Tied up in a noose-knot and ready for use!

It’s a very nice noose…note the strength of the rope!

It’s perfect for those who have given up hope!

It’s much cheaper than life, it’s just $4.99!

And those who have used it say….

It Is Neither Precious Nor Semi-Precious to Be Buried Alive in Jewels

I’m lost inside a pile of gems

I’m clawing through diamonds and quartz

I’m trapped in this heap of mineral stones

And sparkly rocks of all sorts.

I’m trying to leave to come find you

I’ve been digging for over two years

But whenever I break off an emerald

A sapphire or ruby appears.

I miss you, I love you, I need you

I’m trying to be by your side

But I fear that this glittery prison

Is impossibly dense, deep and wide.

I wonder if you’re also digging

Through amethysts, topaz and onyx

Or maybe your heap isn’t gemstones

But car parts or used electronics.

When I first found myself in this gem heap

I thought: Hidden treasure! What luck!

Turns out that it’s not really treasure

When it’s something in which you are stuck.

I hope that I find you, my dear one

And maybe one day we’ll be married

But if I am crushed first by diamonds

At least I'll be stylishly buried.

Oh Why Can't I Make a Good Cake?

Oh why can’t I make a good cake?

And why did the pickle jar break?

And why are there sexy French maids?

And why do some babies have AIDS?

And why is my underwear gone?

And why are there worms on the lawn?

And why is my brain in my skull?

And why does my belly feel full?

And why aren’t there dragons and elves?

And why are there guns on the shelves?

And why don't lobotomies work?

And why do some men go berserk?

And why is my head on my neck?

And why is this planet a speck?

And why do I frequently yawn?

And why are there dewdrops at dawn?

And why is the prince on his knees?

And why does our kitten have fleas?

And why is there soup on my tongue?

And why is my youth so un-young?

And what, in the end, is a ‘why’?

And why do we bother to try

To make reasons abound in the mind

When the mind is so wrinkly and blind?

Oh, MAN—how he constantly reaches

For answers as if they were peaches

As if there’s a Truth Peach to bite

To distinguish the wrong from the right!

Oh no, there’s no peach of this kind

We’re stuck with this lump of a mind

It’s made up of neuronal buzzes

There’s ‘whys,’ but not many ‘becauses’

There’s buckets galore of self-doubt

When we pour out the buckets we shout:

OH WHY, MR. UNIVERSE? WHY?

WHY BOTHER? WHY DO IT? WHY TRY?

And the question is always in vain

We can’t exit the trap of the brain

Perception’s the leash on our thoughts

So we think we’re connecting the dots

When really there aren’t dots, but blobs

Unconnectible blobs made of sobs

Unexplainable oceans of tears

Of wars, bombings, murders and fears

Where monsters—not answers—exist

Are you getting the terrible gist?

These nightmares are going to stay

And we can’t explain nightmares away

So why can’t I make a good cake?

Because PAIN, EVIL, LOSS and HEARTBREAK

Because MEN HAVE BEEN DROWNED IN A LAKE

Because PEOPLE ARE VAPID AND FAKE

Because MANKIND HAS SO MUCH AT STAKE
And also because I can’t bake.

The Whiskey Cow

You’re bored you say? You’re bored right now?

Well, then, I’ll milk the whiskey cow!

I'll simply grab my milking mitts

And go right out and squeeze her tits

Just ten to twenty hearty tugs

And we’ll have whiskey in our mugs

Then we’ll get drunk! Hip hip hooray!

How does it sound? What do you say?

You say you’d like to drink some booze

That did from whiskey-udders ooze?

Too bad! ‘Cause whiskey cows aren’t real!

So you’re just going to have to feel

That boredom. Go on! Let it in!

Be boreder than you’ve ever been

Let boredom soak you with its juice

‘Cause otherwise, well, what’s the use

Of being human? See, you must

Feel all the feelings, or you’ll rust

And boredom is a feeling, right?

So FEEL it, dummy, just sit tight

And be a human! K? Sound good?

You are not made of glass or wood

So just BE bored, be grateful, see?

Not for the bored, but for the BE

The feelings, well, they come and go

But you can always BE you know

And you don’t NEED a whiskey cow

When you are in the here and now

The present moment is at least

As good as boozy-uddered beasts!

Perhaps it’s better, ‘cause it’s free

At least that’s how it seems to me

A whiskey cow would cost a lot

And then there’s all the food you’ve got

To give it every single day

Like barley and alfalfa hay

And milking seems like quite a task

When you can simply get a flask

Of whiskey, from my whiskey hoard

Which you should do, because I’m bored.

A Silly Woman

A woman with a broken wrist

Insisted she did not exist

I said, “You damn well do, old hen!”

She said,  “Okay, well, prove it then!”

“I’m looking at you, I declare!

I see your fingers, nose and hair!

I hear your voice, I sense your heat!

Like me, you’re made of human meat!

You’re solid! Mortal! You have weight!

Your heart and organs palpitate!

You’re sentient, you have cognition!

Look! You moved! You have volition!

You’ve been 'round since your conception!

You know that! Proprioception!”

“Lies!!” she said. “That’s how things seem

But what if we’re in someone’s dream?”

This silly statement made me pissed

And so I broke her other wrist

“Ooch! Ow! That hurt!!!” I heard her squeal

“Calm down,” I said. “It wasn’t real.”

A Special Guy

“You know my friend Jake,” Julie said with a wink

“He’s unbearably rare, he’s distinctly distinct.

He’s…how can I say?...he’s unique, sui generis

Among planets he’s Earth, among cities he’s Paris

He’s eminent, striking, bizarre, distingué

He’s different from others in every which way

He’s special, he’s peerless, a keepsake, a prize

Not all can behold him, his light blinds their eyes

He’s the wolf in the story of little pigs three

‘Neath the princess’s bed, he’s the singular pea

He’s the treasure of pirates, a trophy, a gem

He’s not one of us, and he’s not one of them

He’s Godlike, he’s wondrous, he’s highly regarded

(Shh, is he gone? Here’s the truth: he’s retarded.)

A Trip to the Kitten Store

I went to the store, they had kittens galore

They had kittens and kittens and kittens and more

Kittens and even some kittens with spots

They had kittens, oh boy, lots of kittens, just lots!

They had kittens with eyes that were green, brown and blue

They had kittens in, out, near and up the wazoo!

They had kittens who spit, they had kittens who drool

They had snorkeling kittens inside of a pool!

They had kittens with tails as long as a rope

They had kittens who frothed after gobbling soap

They had kittens in hats that were striped, plaid, or gray

They even had kittens in silk lingerie!

They had kittens with eyes that popped out of their head

They had kittens who wrote, they had kittens who read

They had kittens with claws just as sharp as a blade

They had kittens who knew how to make marmalade

They had kittens who’d died, and become kitten ghosts

They had kittens whose breath smelled like cinnamon toast!

They had kittens with Gods, and some atheists too

They had had cats kitten-sized ‘cause the cats never grew!

They had kittens with wings, they had kittens with scales

They had kittens with jingling bells on their tails!

They had kittens that offered me cookies and tea

And kittens that dosed me with pure LSD
And kittens that locked me inside of a room

And told me my real name was Reggie Bamboom

They said, “You have one phone call, so make a good choice!”

I called up my girlfriend and said, “Listen, Joyce!

I found the best kitten store ever today!

They even have kittens in silk lingerie!”

Well, Joyce said, “You’re weird, Brad,” and hung up the phone

So I have no more phone calls, and I’m all alone

And now, about Joyce, I just don’t feel the same
I’m Reggie, not Brad! She’s forgotten my name :(

My Goblin Once Gobbled My Grandma

My goblin once gobbled my grandma

Right here on the living room floor

My parents said, “Take care of grandma.

We’ll be home in an hour or more.”

Well my goblin escaped from his basket

And attacked grandma’s very plump waist

He ate her except for her eyeballs

He must not have liked how they taste

So then I had just grandma’s eyeballs

All wobbly and weird, to be sure

And I dressed up my dirty old goblin

To look just a bit more like her

I made him take out his own eyeballs

And put grandma’s in, in their place

I added on lipstick and wrinkles

To re-create grandma’s dear face

Then I put him in one of her outfits

A particularly smelly old gown

And I gave him recordings of grandma

To play when my folks were around

Now my goblin agreed to this set-up

But he put one condition in place:

I have to keep feeding him grandmas

Or he won’t change his body or face

I said “Okay fine!” ‘cause that moment

My parents came home from their trip

They brought along Dad’s mom, Petunia

Who has a great mole on her lip

When my goblin caught sight of Petunia

I bet you can guess what he did

Now the rest of her lies in a coffin

With petunias engraved on the lid

And my goblin disguised as my grandma

Was carted right off to the jail

Then the cheeky chap phoned me and asked me

To send more grandma meat in the mail!

“You ate both my grandmas!” I told him

“A promise’s a promise,” he said

Then he growled, “You know I’m a goblin.

Break your promise, and son, you’ll be dead.”

Well, that gave me the heebies and jeebies

So I fled down to old Mexico

And I listen for old lady voices

Wherever I happen to go

‘Cause if I hear recordings of grandma

Saying, “Oh, that goes straight to my hips!”

It could be my jail-escaped goblin

With grandma blood still on his lips.

Techniques for the Management of Emotion Vessels

The bikes that I had in my brain

Were traveling out of their lane

For example, the bikes in Lane Fear

Would quite irritatingly veer

To the lane on the right called Irate

Or the lane full of potholes called Hate

And the bikes in the lane of Aggression

Would crash into the bikes in Obsession

And the bikes in Indulgence, of course

Would often end up in Remorse

While the bikes in lanes Nervous and Tense

Would often crash into the fence

So I hired a Brain Traffic Cop

To get all this madness to stop

The cop, though, was scared to go near

The anarchic and lawless Lane Fear

So he hid in a pothole in Hate

With his rude middle finger held straight

“You’re all terrible drivers!” he’d curse

And he made all the traffic get worse

So I paved over all the damn lanes

And thought I’d start over with trains

I figured with feelings on tracks

I’d prevent any road rage-y acts

But the trains crossed and crashed all the same

And really, I’m only to blame

Who else would have thought it was sane

To install a conductor-less train?

So I started all over with boats

And I don’t mean to boast or to gloat

But it’s really worked out rather great

‘Cause Fear and Aggression and Hate

Obsession, Indulgence, Irate

Floated worse than a big armored tank

And gradually, thankfully sank

While Humor, Contentment and Luck

All float just as well as a duck

So with water instead of concrete

My brain has become nice and neat

(Except the boats Nervous and Tense

Which still often crash into the fence.)

Five Clever Echidnas

Some fellows had some hearty sips

Of whiskey-spiked insecticide

Both poisons trickled through their lips

They cried a lot, and then they died.

And their fresh tears absurdly fell

Upon the ground where insects hide

Those insects, in their soggy hell

Ate tear-stained dirt, and promptly died.

Then five echidnas ate the ants

That had the poisoned dirt imbibed

But they wore anti-poison pants

Echidunot! So they survived.

The Greatest Salesman

Death came squawking like a parrot

Bearing loads of ghoulish limbs

Veiny eyes and rotten fingers

Sheets of soft, decaying skins.

“Buy from me, the one and only!

I am Death, the great Unfair!

I’ve got deals to blow your head off!

I’ve got sales extraordinaire!

Discounts on discarded eyelids!

Half off shriveled infant ears!

Buy two kidneys, get a third one!

Plus a vial of mourners’ tears!”

When I heard Sir Death come hawking

I went out to buy some things

Very cheap aborted babies

And a gift of beetle wings

 “Am I not the greatest salesman?”

Death had asked me with a grin

“Sir, you are! I can’t deny it!

How much is that rotten skin?”

“Just six pennies for an acre!”

Death replied as he unrolled

Yards and yards of shriveled pore-sheets

Only lightly stained with mold

“What a deal!” I cried. “Six pennies!”

“Give me twenty acres then!”

He handed me the skin

And gifted me a fountain pen

“Thank you, friend!” he told me

“Twas a pleasure meeting you!

And now I’ve got to go and kill

A man who lives in Timbuktu!”

Death mounted his fine horse

And galloped off into the dusk

He left behind the smell of rot

I noticed with disgust.

And I was left with all I’d purchased:

Murdered babies, rolls of skin

I took it home to my dear wife

And told her with a happy grin:

“Darling, look how cheap it is

To buy from Death!” I said out loud

And when I saw she too was dead
I wished that I had bought a shroud.

A Summer Vacation to Whirlyville

A summer vacation to Whirlyville

Where everyone’s whizzing around

You’re sure to get woozy in Whirlyville

It’s hard to keep track of the ground

The suns are all blurry in Whirlyville

Just how many suns do you need?

The world’s in a blender in Whirlyville

And the blender is set to high speed

No time for conversing in Whirlyville

The people don’t chit-chat—they squeal!

It’s hard to make small talk in Whirlyville

When your head’s spinning round like a wheel

And everything’s filthy in Whirlyville

Where everyone’s turning like tops

They’re all much too dizzy in Whirlyville

To operate broomsticks or mops

And all the food’s whirly in Whirlyville

Cotton candy swirled up pink and blue

But you might not want dinner in Whirlyville

Since your stomach’s in Whirlyville too

If you’ve never gone dancing in Whirlyville

It’s a great place to try pirouettes

You can charter a plane flight to Whirlyville

If you like spinning round in a jet

You’ll hear pleas for help here in Whirlyville

Like, “Somebody please stop the ride!”

But the mayor replies, “Here in Whirlyville

Whirls and whirling are all we provide.”

When you finally return home from Whirlyville

You’ll appreciate how stillness feels

There’s no food flying round; unlike Whirlyville

You can calmly sit down and eat meals

But six months or so spent out of Whirlyville

And the stillness will start to get old

Outside of the madness of Whirlyville

Folks usually do what they’re told

And the memory of whirls had in Whirlyville

Will unsettle your humdrum placation

So you’ll round up your kids and say, “Whirlyville!
Grab your hats, and let’s go on vacation.”