What’s Love Gotta Do With It?

You don’t love me, she said
It’s all in your head
I really do Hon, now let’s go to bed.
And talking of head
Let’s make love instead.



Death Knows No Bias

Death knows no bias, so big and small
No matter who, death takes them all
From the business man in fancy suit
To the homeless hobo, face dark with soot
Eeny Meeny Miny Mo
If it’s you, then you must go.


Thanks ‘Daddy’

When you left I cried,

I was young.

Part of me died,

It was wrong.

But it made me strong.

You promised to come back

For mom and for us

Did you lose track?

Was it too much fuss?

Or you just lost focus? 

Now I’m a man

With kids of my own

On my feet I stand

Strong, fully grown.

The unwanted stone.

No grudge do I hold

No anger ,no hate

If the truth be told

I thank you for my fate

No longer I wait.

I Thank you Dad For making me grow

What you did was bad

Just so you know

But no tears still flow.

I made a vow

To not be like you

I succeeded somehow

God saw me through

I thanked him for you.  


For my Dad who taught me so much just by his absence.                  

I once had sex

One of my faves…

xpressions of my mind

I once had sex with a nun.
It wasn’t a whole heap of fun.
I wanted doggie,
She, missionary
At the end she said ‘Bless you son!”

I once had sex with a ghost
The one I remember the most.
For still in my dreams
I can hear her loud screams
Eerie and creepy of course.

I once had sex with an actress
Right on her big comfy mattress.
Man it was good
And I loved Hollywood
Even did it in her Oscar night dress.

I once had sex with an athlete
She asked me to worship her feet
She was much too fast
I just couldn’t last
It felt just like a track meet.

I once had sex with a blogger
LOL, the poor bugger.
It was such a mess
For we met on WordPress
My dear wife wanted to mug her.

I would never have sex with a…

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My Wife Can

Nice tribute to a wife

Musings Of A Daddy

Some women can cook but not all can cook great,
My wife can.
Some women can cook great but not be good wives
My wife can
Many can be great wives but can’t be good mothers
My wife can
Lots of great cooks, wives and mothers can’t be carpenters
My wife can.
How about mason and gardener?
My wife can.
Lover? Friend and exemplary employee?
My wife can.
Some people can do just about anything
And you guessed it,
My wife can.

To my wife, the most put together human being that I know.  You never cease to amaze me.

Catering a wedding Catering a wedding

Carpenter Carpenter

IMG_0192 She can be a landscaper

P1120498 And still be a mommy

2013-06-30 12.23.192013-01-06 09.33.272013-06-09 09.20.592013-06-02 14.43.57

And a Marathon Mom! And a Marathon Mom!

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My Wife The Witch

I dreamt that my wife was a witch

A what?

A witch, you thought I said bitch?

On her broom she sat

Wearing her witch hat

While I fumbled with the damn light switch.


And then she cackled at me

Did what?

Cackled, as in laugh crazily

Then she scratched at her toes

with her long pointy nose

And had the nerve to still smile at me.


I reached up over the bed

Why for?

The light switch, it was close to my head

But I just couldn’t reach

And I heard her screech

A sound that filled me with dread.


So close I could smell her foul breath

Oh really?

Yes,  I was ready for death

But as she pounced

I used every ounce

Of my strength and woke up in sweat.


So was your wife really a witch?

Say what?

A witch, you thought I said bitch?

Of course not, you dummy!

She was in bed right beside  me

Do your ears have some sort of glitch?



Writer:  ME.  April. 22nd 2014



I Sometimes See Dead People

I sometimes see dead people

Oh yes I really do!

And if you look intently

You would see them too.


I see them at my work place

The malls and everywhere

They lurk in Government buildings

I see them when I go there.


Sometimes they try to trick you

And mess with your head

By pretending to be alive

While actually they are dead.


My sister and my cousin too

Are dead as door posts

I pretend I do not know

But I am on to them of course.


Yes,  I see dead people

I would never lie to you

And if you don’t believe me

You probably are dead too.



Author: ME












Poor Old Me

Is that a wrinkled skin I see?

Is that reflection really me?

What happened to my perfect teeth?

What’s that? Oh no crows feet!

I can barely make it up my stairs

(Pardon me, don’t mind my tears)

I used to be so young and spry

Now my bones are old and dried

And I know what’s coming next

One day I’ll say goodbye to sex.

My poor penis would take a dive

No libido no sex drive.

Oh well let the truth be told

I am indeed just getting old.


The writer. April 18th 2014





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What’s In A Rhyme?

I over analyze nursery rhymes

like a detective at the scene of crimes

I sometimes wonder why Jack and Jill

Really went up that grassy hill

I hope it wasn’t against her will

And trust that she was on the pill.


Humpty Dumpty climbed up a wall

He asked for it, I meant the fall.

He got scrambled and that’s no joke

But was he organic? Did he have a yoke?


Why didn’t  Old Mother Hubbard

Keep an inventory of her cupboard?

Then the crazy old bag would have known

That inside it she would find no bone

No reason to look, Mother Hubbard Dear,

Your F***ing cupboard is really bare!


Now who rocks a baby in a tree top?

If you do, then you should stop

You know what else I really think?

Maybe it’s time you see a shrink.


The gossipy old woman who swallowed a fly

Should have kept her mouth shut and she wouldn’t have died.

She had a big mouth, what else can I say?

I cannot put it any other way.


I also feel bad for little Jack Horner

Spending Christmas alone in a corner

He told himself he was a good boy

Then why a pie and not a toy?


What the hell is a hickory dock?

And what does is have to do with a clock?

Ok, ok, I’m really done,

Analyzing rhymes is not much fun.


Written by the writer April 15th 2014








Missing Words

One of my favorite blogs. Had to reblog.

xpressions of my mind

Did you hear about that WordPress blogger
Who got decked one day by a jogger?
It was in central park
Not yet quite dark
The runner didn’t see the poor bugger.

His thoughts went flying in the air
Sentences and words everywhere.
Someone lent him a hand
And when he could stand
You should have heard the poor man swear.

He cried, “Son of a bitch! What the fu**!
Of all the darn stinking luck!
What could be worse?
My ideas all lost.
And that damn jogger don’t give a fu##!”

His readers and followers were sad.
But some fellow bloggers were glad.
But it wasn’t a joke
The poor ole bloke
Blogging was all that he had.

He never regained his prowess,
Though he tried and gave it his best.
Then one day he died
From bloggers suicide.
It’s sad but at least he found rest.

RIP Writers Block



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