President of Poetica

Poetica2After years of struggle and sacrifice, he finally stood at the podium about to give his inaugural address. He and several speech writers had slaved for days, carefully considering every word. He wasn’t expected to need help writing, of course; the country of Poetica held an ability to craft pretty sentences as the most important skill there was. He had been elected almost entirely because of his silver tongue.

He ruffled his papers, ready to speak, and let his eyes wander over the crowd, they fell on a woman in the front row wearing a low cut top: his only weakness! Had she and her boobs been planted by his political enemies? He wondered. She winked at him and he looked away quickly, his mouth feeling like it had been stuffed full of sand.
The new president opened his mouth to address his country of artists and poets and said, “hibop-nar giggleet doober…” then, his heart stopping in embarrassment, he died.

As was customary in the country of Poetica, his tombstone was adorned with only his name and his last words.


Ignorance is Bliss

Harry peered into the heavens with his 8 inch Celestron. It wasn’t the biggest telescope that he had ever used. Having gotten his Masters degree in astronomy, he had used a few “real” telescopes. These telescopes, though, were used to do actual science, rather than just stare off into the distance, as he liked to do with his telescope, which he had named Simon. He had liked taking spectra using the big telescopes to learn things about the stars, he had adored being able to examine the makeup of such distant objects and predict their ages and ultimate fates. Searching for truth had filled one need in him, but there was another need that it didn’t fill. This second need was the one that had driven him to astronomy in the first place, back before he knew what astronomy was really about. It was the need to just search and wonder.

Harry would take Simon out into the backcountry in his backpack whenever he could and spend hours just looking. During the summer months, when the community college that he worked at was closed, he got out a lot more than the rest of the year, but even in the thick of the semester, he always made the time to get away for at least one weekend every couple of months.

Had anyone ever said to Harry that it was better off to relish his ignorance, he would, having the heart of a teacher and the soul of a scientist, have taken it as the deepest insult imaginable and disagreed with every fiber of his being. Harry by no means thought that he knew everything, but he had never intentionally kept himself in the dark, and was of the strict mindset that knowledge, whatever its form, was a good thing; something to work for, earn, and enjoy. He could never “relish” ignorance.

He might have been surprised, then, to find out that on that particular evening, while standing with Simon on a rocky peak, it was his ignorance of the cantaloupe sized meteor barreling towards his head at terminal velocity that had let his last moments be blissful. The last thing he did was grin, marveling at the fact that the seeing was so good that, even with Simon’s little mirror, he could see the dark dust lane on the Sombrero Galaxy, only a little irked by whatever it was behind him causing all that light.

Lego Home

Lego HomeThere once was a man that lived in a house that he made out of Legos. He liked the house. There wasn’t a single block that had been placed without thought and deliberation, so every inch of the house was exactly as he wanted it.

When the house was done, though, he was sad because all of his Legos had gone into building his home and now there were none left to play with.

The Lumpy Duckling


There once was a duckling that was different from the others.
He had a lump on his chest, unlike all his brothers.
The other ducklings would tease him and be really mean.
They would treat him like dirt: something unclean.
When the others were mean, he would cower with fear,
wishing they’d all grow lumps or that his would disappear.
The fates, it seems, can be rather vicious
because what follows is an account of how he got both his wishes.
You see, the lump was a sack filled with alien spawn
that needed a place to grow and flesh to feed on.
When they were done growing, they burst forth from the darkness,
leaving the poor duckling as a blood drenched carcass.
The aliens caught the other ducklings and buried in deep,
and, one by one, the ducks fell asleep.
When they awoke, as you may well have guessed,
each one of the ducklings had a new lump on its chest.

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