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This one was written for my sister's wedding in
June 2005 (I was the maid of honor, Pete is her
husband). This is also a good example of, by
giving me many details, how personal your poem
can be.

I see you as the child you were -
so playful, with that curly hair
saving bugs from spider webs
and hanging ponies everywhere.

Your father's daughter through and through,
you always were so gentle, kind
(thank goodness you got more of that
than our dear mom's neurotic side.)

In safety of the family room,
we staged our famous singing shows
and dance routines, although they drove
our parents crazy, I suppose.

No longer child, you've grown, and now
you sit in whitest wedding dress
and everyone around can see
the two of you are truly blessed.

So Pete, perfect that smile and nod,
put up with her when she's a grouch -
I'd hate to come and visit you
to find you sleeping on the couch.

Love shines from deep within your eyes
and even though this sounds cliché,
I still can see that child, although
you start a new life here today.

I wish your love to always be
your ray of sunshine through the rain,
the bond that gives you strength and helps
to every happiness sustain.

You come together now as one
united in your promise dear
to love and honor, cherishing
the vows that brought and keep you here.

So raise a toast to wedded bliss
and pray this sweetest love shall last,
for if you ever get divorced,
our mom and dad will kick your...

This one was written in honor of the prank my
father (Mark) pulled on my sister's husband
(Pete). My parents suggested the last line, so I
included it. I think it speaks for itself. This is an
example of a limerick with multiple verses.

Ode to a Shrimp Tail

The menu, he scanned hungrily
his eyes just as wide as can be.
He said "Oh yes please"
to fries covered in cheese -
his happiness they'd guarantee.

Pete wanted a nice healthy snack,
but Mark had just planned an attack:
he knew that this man
ate as fast as one can,
so a shrimp tail he hid in the stack.

The taters, Pete didn't apprise,
did not even lower his eyes.
He reached for the plate
and careless, he ate
the shrimp tail that lurked 'mong the fries!

It's especially funny, you see,
'cause Pete won't eat food from the sea!
He really was pissed
but the jokes will persist
as he's part of this family.

So Pete, we're not sorry for it -
in fact, we will surely admit
it's funny to know
that you're living in woe,
dreaming of shrimp tails in your...

I wrote this one in June 2006 at the request of my
mother. My sister keeps a book in her house with
the details (and I mean DETAILS) of all her home
purchases. As is the norm in my family, we have
to make fun of everything and everyone, so she
asked me to compose a tribute to the book.

The Anal Spouse

Suburban street in quiet town;
therein, a little house -
within its walls so neatly kept
resides the anal spouse.

On surface, she does seem so sweet
and often so carefree
but in the book we find the truth -
obsessive to a T.

This book contains each small detail
of everything she owns -
the garden flowers, curtain styles,
and where she bought her phones.

She notates all the colors that
she used to paint her walls,
and where she bought each picture frame
that lines her careful halls.

I wouldn't be surprised at all
if in that book I found
the dates that every blade of grass
was planted in the ground.

A sickness this must surely be,
for I can't understand
how you can live a peaceful life
with every detail planned

and documented, kept on file
in case the future brings
necessity of looking back
and knowing all these things.

Anxiety has taken hold
of her too-busy mind,
it's no surprise - she's gone and left
her sanity behind.

Oh sister mine, we worry so
for this, your obvious fate:
to always so retentive be!
We hope we're not too late

to intervene and let you know
there still is hope for you -
abandon this ungodly book,
bid anal life adieu.

I wrote this one in March of 2006. A professor of mine
once told me that life isn't about choices, it's about
decisions. It isn't often in life that we are given only
two options and asked to simply choose. I wrote this
in contemplating that idea. This is an example of a
Shakespearean Sonnet.

Negating duality

Were there but two, perhaps then I could choose,
the first and second having equal chance;
for one to win, the other surely lose,
could free me from the truth of circumstance.
Reality is choices multiplied -
no black or white, but ever-shifting grey;
select a shade when all are amplified
and set the most appealing on display.
If truth be told, we are but wandering
through mazes where the turns are never clean
to left or right, but leave us pondering
each small degree and option in between.
I did not choose you, love, but I decide
to stay, to fight, to know I truly tried.

I wrote this one in June of 2006. I was sick of reading
the same poems over and over on amateur poetry
websites, so I wrote this to express my hatred of
cliché. This is an example of an Italian Sonnet.

Shakespeare's Nightmare

Poor William turns and moans within his grave:
Within a phrase, one simple turn can bind
the most creative stirrings of the mind
and poet to cliché becomes a slave.
Exist but in uniqueness and repent
for rhyming verse you penned with "love" and "dove"
and last week's sonnet found "push comes to shove" -
the future of our language I lament...

But surely, there must be another choice
than bland insertions placed but for the rhyme
which, with their frequency, are meaningless.
"Tis poet death to speak with borrowed voice -
transcend the obvious to reach sublime,
allow poor William his most peaceful rest.

This one is for anyone in the vicinity of upstate New
York who has ever had the displeasure of hearing the
Marine Land commercials. My mother and I got fed up
one day and decided to rewrite the lyrics. This was my
version, based on the original version of the song.
(Never heard the song? Consider yourself lucky. If
you so desire, you can hear it at www.
marinelandcanada.com/video. Masochist.)

In Niagara Falls, an ad agency
is responsible for what has happened to me
'cause I pull out my hair
throw myself down the stair
whenever I hear this darn ad.

It's on from May 'til late, late fall,
we can't escape - it surrounds us all!
Fifteen times every night -
now that's just not polite!
Somebody stop this darn ad.

I can't believe this stupid song
has been on the air for so damn long!
For the sake of us all,
save us from padded walls,
won't somebody change this darn ad?

Tap into your creativity
and spare us our certain insanity!
There must be another way
aside from moving to Uruguay
to not have to hear this darn ad.

Whatever jerkoff wrote this tune
deserves to be shot to the gosh darn moon,
and he'll have to pay
when they lock me away...
everyone hates this darn ad.

I can't take my family for the day
for fear this wretched song will play.
Cut my ears off with a knife -
it will be a better life
'cause then I won't hear this darn ad!