ass · poetry · prayer

Inspirational Ass Prayer

I just wanted to take a moment out today to ask if you are reading this


Feel comfy if you are? I bet you do. Probably taking that comfy ass for granted, aren’t ya? I can’t blame ya.

I am sitting on my ass writing this here post.

I’ve been up a few times today, doing typical boring Saturday crap. Laundry, cleaning cat boxes, emptying and loading the dishwasher, I even did a thigh and lower core workout and I lifted weights.

Also, please take a moment to congratulate me:

I successfully ordered and will later pick up our weekly groceries via curbside pickup! I texted my adorable niece who does this work at my store and I believe she will be doing this for me. I am so grateful. I always liked buying my own groceries every single Thursday. We have dietary restrictions–no dairy can we enjoy–so I have to always read labels because did you know dairy is in all kinds of things? Shit you’d never expect? Anyway, I’m considering this a victory. Pretty soon with chemo coursing through my body, I guess my immune system is going to take it’s first shot at not being perfect. Won’t that be fun. Small price to pay, I guess. Hard to accept anyway. I never really get sick.


Back to my ass.

My ass has always been not normal, like most everybody else. I’ll spare you the details, but it’s never just been incognito. To be honest, it kinda sucks.

So I sit on it and it freaks me out because I know I have something in there now. And I’m going to have to get it out. And it’s not going to be a walk in the park, either. In fact, it’s probably gonna suck. Small price to pay, once again. Rather, make that large price to pay. Do it anyway is going to be a must.

I dream of a day down the line this year where my ass might no longer bother me. Is that a sad dream or what.

So, if you are reading this and you’re sitting on your ass pain-free, utter a small prayer of thankfulness. Let me lead you if you don’t mind:

Ass upon which I sit,
orifice from where I shit
large or small, squishy or bony
You are a comfort and my homey
thank you for cushioning me
when I need rest
That I rarely need to acknowledge you
is simply the best
And ass, let’s lift up Susan’s rear
and others whose are the same
Seal the deal, let them heal
We pray this in Booty’s name.


poetry · winter · writing

A little something I wrote today

I wrote a little poem today for the last day of Winter.

I’m always disturbed by most people’s lack of tolerance for Winter. It actually irritates me. I mean, so–you’d rather wish months of your life away because you can’t handle darkness, cold and snow?

That’s just weird

I love Winter.

Anyway–here’s my poem.


Winter is the kid

who’d bring a gun to school.

Everybody hates him.

They make him feel like a tool.

They use him up for Christmas Day

and then they spit him out.

He has no one else to turn to

so he has time to think about

How everyone says they hate him

Every Single Day

That everything about him

is boring cold shitty and gray

That they wish he’d just be gone

And never seen again.

They hate him hate him hate him-

He has not one single friend

So after today he will be gone

You should be thankful, too-

Because if Winter was a kid

He’d bring a gun to school.

birthday · Halloween · Mom · poetry

Happy Birthday

Today would have been my mother’s 81st birthday.

Here’s a little poem I wrote yesterday to share on my Facebook page.


My mama’s birthday was Halloween.

I always thought that was the coolest thing.

That she shared her day

With mysteries unseen

In the spirit world

and on this plane.

Ghosts and goblins,

sprites and marauders

Silly little grandchildren

and silly loving daughters

It’s not been the same

Since she has been gone

But is she really?

I could be wrong.

One thing I know

remains the same

I whisper “Happy Birthday, Mom”

On Halloween Day.

ma graduation

birthday · Led Zeppelin · poetry · Robert Plant

Birthday Poetry for Bob

You know, I’ve tried
But I just can’t
Imagine a world
Without Robert Plant.

Silky hair
Of golden blonde
Lion-headed singer
From across the pond.

Strutting hips
Chest unadorned
Tight-assed jeans
No underpants worn.

Older man now
He’s mellowed out
You can find him jamming
with Alison Krause.

As we wind on down the road
And leaves fall all around
The voice is undeniably
How Golden Gods sound.

So here’s to many more years
May you continue to enchant
Everyone raise your goblets high
Happy Birthday, Robert Plant.

Robert Plant in the 1970s (20)