Polite Bank Robber

When I rob banks, the tellers panic with fright.

But I'm not a mean thief, I'm always polite.

When I demand money from the tellers, I always say please.

So far I'm a crook that the Police haven't been able to seize.

One bank teller was a man who wore a wig and a dress, he was a Transvestite.

The jerk severed my pinky finger when he grabbed my hand and gave it a bite.

I was way too polite to shoot him for it.

I grabbed my finger and as I drove to the hospital, I decided to floor it.

Right now I'm in Kansas and I'm robbing a bank in the town of Wichita.

The Cops just walked in, I'm finally going to be apprehended by the Law.

I'm so polite that I've never been able to be tough.

I'm crying like a baby as the Cops slap on the cuffs.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a fictional poem.

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Many years ago I bought a laptop.

It's so outdated, I call it a craptop.

I want to sell it but nobody wants it because it's eighteen years old.

I'm asking a quarter for it at my yard sale but it still hasn't been sold.

When I sold a rod and reel, I offered to throw in the laptop for free.

But the guy told me to shove it up my ass because it only has 2 Megabytes of Memory.

If it was a person, it would be old enough to get married, vote and smoke.

This prehistoric thing doesn't even have a CD-Rom Drive and that's no joke.

This thing is so frustrating, it takes twenty minutes for it to get on Ebay.

Nobody wants this damn thing, the garbage men won't even take it away!

If you want to buy my laptop, I'll sell it to you for a nickel.

I can tell that you don't want it either, I sure am a pickle.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a fictional poem.

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For Robin Williams

"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won"
         --Walt Whitman


Our ship's arrived,
And we came in
And fought in many
Ugly ways--
Somebody said
The beast within
Will never see
The light of day.


But here we are now--
Long time gone--
With sadness
Time our laugh
The crowd roared
With applause--
The captain wore
A double face.


The laughter died
And no more
They'll see
Their captain
Rise again--
They've seen black
Presidents, genocide,
But they are yet
To see a man.


      August 14, 2014


Speech can be a masterpiece of artistic creation,

Elegant calligraphy, decorated with the odd heart-flutter flourish,

Fingers working, dancing, pounding on ivory keys, 

The smoke from a handsome mouth drifting through mahogany halls

As though from a fired gun. Dust settling after an earthquake. 


I cast myself in my plays, 

Too immersed to retract from the action, 

Too selfish to watch another fertilise the seeds, 

Too inflated to see my words applauded to another, 

"That's the theatre!" "That's life!"


People care little for Mona herself, 

Only for her master, his talent unbound. 

We praise not sunflowers, but their gardener insane. 

Shakespeare was lucky, the devil of devices, 

But the new world has eyes, not ears. Not brains!


I cannot see the target but for dazzling light, 

Heat and heart working furiously to fuel those pretty-penned words, 

I'm dashing or thrashing, whichever is box-office smashing, 

The multi-skilled wonder man of paper-in-hand, 

I love the stage and I love my plays, 

In most, I play the devil.

Spirit Whale


From nothing there came to be a whale made of light at my open palm. The furthest tip of his great, glowing fin followed the shaky rising and falling of my forearm. I stood, poised in some absurd pose; my free hand dangling at level with my thigh. For a moment, thought eluded me.



He was disinterested in moving, though he whined all the same. A sound bellowed from him that was like a thousand trains braking simultaneously. It washed over me, and my hearing failed. My vision blurred but my legs retained their strength. I closed my eyes.



Releasing all the breath I had been holding back these last moments; I sighed and pulled my arm from the air. Before my first backward step touched down I was blasted by a sudden and massive gust of air. As I tumbled down, I caught brief sight of the whale's back end – his fin rising and falling with an unexpected and vibrant ferocity.



I twisted my body as best I could while airborne and landed with a jarring thud on the grass, rolling side-over-side before settling gracelessly in a fetal position at the base of the hill. Pain flared in my chest and upper back, and I waited for the air to return to my lungs. The ground shook and quaked beneath me. From over the crest of the hill I could see a wavering blue light, fading slowly with each passing moment. The whale gave its shrill cry, but its distance gave it a shimmering, almost ethereal quality.






I coughed, throat both dry and hoarse. No serious pain. I could walk, I was sure of it. So I tried.


I lifted my right arm and planted my hand on the ground, pressing into my knee and forcing my body upright. Each exertion brought additional aches, but none of them felt debilitating. Once at my feet, I began a slow, trudging march up the sloping hillside. Its peak overlooked a small canyon; thin at its middle but stretching for miles in both directions. The floor of this canyon was riddled with the bones of wayward men and wandering creatures.



On the other side of this treacherous rift in the land, there stood an altar to a legendary dark lord. Though said to only be a fairly tale, some believe the dark lord once existed, and that his spirit will still commune with worthy disciples. Some, like the nefarious priest Izak'Yami, even wished to summon the spirit and give him physical form, so that he may rule over the planet – and so that darkness may reign over light, forever. He was said to be crazy, and was cast out of his village for preaching the word of his blasphemous deity.



In front of the altar, Izak'Yami chanted with the whites of his eyes flaring from beneath his ceremonial hood. A ring of swirling gray clouds had formed over the chiseled obelisk as the haggard priest threw his hands towards the sky, uttering words unknown to humankind, save for Izak'Yami himself. Thunder rolled from the halo of storm clouds growing fatter and blacker over his head.



All seemed lost.



Each clumsy step I made shook my vision as I clambered towards the cliff's edge. I felt tired, hungry, empty; running on fumes and absentminded determination to see what would transpire across the canyon way. A silky, singsong voice unfolded in my head and spoke;


“Fear not, Ken. This is what I was meant to do. This is the only thing I can do.”



I felt tears sting my eyes, and I replied, my thoughts quickly spilling into frantic words;



“Spirit Whale, NO! You don't have to do this! We can find you something else! I know we can!” I cried out to him, feeling his presence shrinking away. I tried to increase my pace, but my body was giving in to exhaustion. If I pushed myself too hard, my legs might give out – leaving me stranded to helplessly look on as the world became ruled by shadows. Forever.



“There's nothing else, Ken – let's not kid each other. I've looked and looked; online, in person, even dialing random numbers from the yellow pages like some kind of stalker with short-term memory loss. I'm a Spirit Whale, Ken. I don't even have any hands.”



I felt the corners of my mouth draw down. I tried to sound concerned instead of annoyed;



“You didn't even contact the lady from that temp. office I told you about last month! She got me my job at the office, and you didn't even call her! YOU DIDN'T CALL HER, SPIRIT WHALE!”



I sobbed and snorted, at last coming level with the crest of the hill. Far into the distance I spotted a flickering blue light, gliding at high speed as its massive tail fin rose and fell in steady, glacial sweeps. I heard the echo of its cry bounding against the cliff sides that spanned between us.



Its husky and thunderous voice exploded into my thoughts;



“I DON'T HAVE ANY GOD DAMN HANDS, KEEEEEN. WHAT WOULD THEY NEED ME FOR AT AN OFFICE, KEEEEEEEEN? KEEEEEEEEEEEEEE....” The droning of the Spirit Whale's inner voice was like a loose propeller blade in my skull. I gritted my teeth and squinted against its simpering excuses as it rushed to meet the horizon, valiantly seeking to prevent eternal suffering for all of mankind. Forever.



A great and poisonous storm was gathering in the sky over the dark lord's altar. Even at my distance, I could see it growing and undulating and piling over top of itself. If Spirit Whale could not carry himself to the dark lord's altar in time, all would be lost.


All would be lost. Forever.



“Is that why, Spirit Whale? Is that why you NEVER did anything in return for all the time I let you stay in my tub? I STUCK UP FOR YOU! When Claire tried to get me to kick you out, I said 'Hell no!' I said it for you, Spirit Whale! I SAID IT FOR YOU!”



A column of white light erupted from the ground at the base of the altar.



Faintly, I could hear a frightening sound, steadily growing in volume. It grew to a terrifying clatter as the ground beneath me rumbled and pulsed violently. A shockwave of force passed over and through me, flattening my damaged body and pressing me into the shifting, gurgling dirt below. I felt the flesh on my cheeks ripple comically, as if I had been sat in front of a giant fan and strapped to a folding chair. My eyelids seemed to flutter with each wave of pressure.






I saw the sky in uproar over me. Colors ran through it like living segments of a rainbow, straying away from their formation. Lights of every perceivable color flared and dimmed spontaneously, while entire sections of the stratosphere erupted into intricate, swirling patterns that upon second glance were not actually patterns at all. There seemed to be a million new forms of life interacting with each other between earth and heaven, and now they danced as if celebrating their liberation from whatever had concealed them.



But I could not marvel, for my thoughts stayed with the Spirit Whale, as he made his noble bid for man's continued survival.






The ground ceased its shuddering. I my felt torso inflating with a hundred bruised and inflamed muscles. My face was wet with tears and smeared with uprooted dirt.



A strange warmth settled over me like an invisible blanket. I forced my eyes to open and saw the chaos unfolding just over my sprawled frame. The streaking colors bled and left swathes of themselves behind, the lights grew chaotic and searing in their brightness, and the mystifying shapes shattered apart, throwing pointed shards in all directions. I felt a sweeping sense of awe instill itself in me. My eyes grew wide, glossy, and unfocused.



Through my trance-like state, I heard Spirit Whale call out in his final moments;



“KEEEEEEEEN. ALL THIS TIME TOGETHER – ALL THE ADVENTURES WE WENT ON AS A DUO... I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LEARN TO UNDERSTAND, KEEEEEEEEEN...” The Spirit Whale cried forlornly. His inner voice was growing softer – it seemed to swirl inside of my consciousness, as if trying desperately to grab hold somewhere. I shook my head from left to right.



“What, Spirit Whale? What did you think I would understand!?”



I felt his presence in my mind weaken and dim; heard his hoarse inner breathing, and was given pause, wondering why he would need to br-






A bubble of light and warmth broke inside of me, flooding from my gut into my extremities. I let the last of my tears drip from the corners of my eyes. I sighed dejectedly, feeling stale dirt exit from my nostrils. With what remained of my strength, I cried out to my oldest companion and friend;






Through my fading vision I could see the sky becoming clear and returning to its typical, boring shade of blue. There were no clouds to block my ailing view of it.



Darkness had been quashed by the Spirit Whale, who cried out, as he faded into oblivion;







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Coy and Vance

We're Coy and Vance and we replaced Bo and Luke.

When people watched us on TV, it made them puke.

Many people changed the channel when our show was on.

The once high ratings of the show were gone.

We were basically clones of Luke and Bo.

People cheered when we left the show.

We were good at fighting crime and getting out of jams.

But many people didn't care, they didn't give a damn.

People hated us and I think that was pretty low.

I'll kick your ass if you didn't watch us on the show.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was inspired by The Dukes of Hazzard TV show.

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We're the Duke boys

We're Bo and Luke Duke and we fight crime.

When criminals tangle with us, they do hard time.

Uncle Jesse gets his fat carcass stuck every time he gets in the General Lee.

When we tell him that he's getting too fat, he puts us over his knee.


It's really embarrassing when grown men get spanked.

Our asses are still stinging because of Jesse's hand and he sure doesn't get thanked.

We have to run from Enos, Rosco and Cletus.

Most people shoot at us when they meet us.


We're good ol' country boys, we do nothing unlawful.

But the fuzz keeps chasing us anyway, isn't that awful?

Whenever Luke and I get arrested, Uncle Jesse has to use the mortage payment for bail.

Maybe we're not such good crime fighters because we can't even send Boss Hogg to jail.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was inspired by The Dukes of Hazzard TV show.

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I'm Rosco P. Coltrane

I'm the sheriff and my name is Rosco P. Coltrane.

People in Hazzard know that the P is for pea-brain.

I work for Commissioner Jefferson Davis Hogg.

He hates the Dukes and he also hates my dog.

I usually get a cut of the take from my fat brother-in-law.

I love his evil schemes and I love to pinch his flabby jaws.

Everybody knows that I'm a bumbling sheriff, I'm sure not a genius.

I can't catch the Duke Boys and neither can my dipstick deputy Enos.

After wrecking all of those patrol cars, I was pretty damn lucky to survive.

But my character came to an end anyway when the Dukes of Hazzard was cancelled in 1985.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was inspired by the Dukes of Hazzard TV show.

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Beauty Parlor

I own a beauty parlor but I always get things wrong.

Last week I left a lady under the dryer far too long.

She was under the dryer for hours and it fried her brain.

They put her in a funny farm because I drove her insane.

When I dyed a woman's hair, it turned green.

I soon met her family and they are mean.

They made me eat shaving cream and it made me vomit.

Then they grabbed my underwear and gave me a wedgie that was atomic.

They kicked my scrawny ass and broke my fingers so that I couldn't call the cops.

I think you'll agree that the time has come for me to sell my shop.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a fictional poem.

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