A Few Limericks

 I know that the word, 'Limerick' is usually associated with short little rhymes about sex or large male body parts, but I came up with a few to amuse my children. So these are a few family friendly (according to my values at least) limericks that I made up:

There one was a man named Barry Berrymore

Who fell off a cliff and was very sore

He took a turn for the worse

Wound up in a hearse

Now they must bury Barry Berrymore.

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There once was a juggler named Lout

A club juggling wizard, no doubt

The only issue was,

Whenever he does

The bowling alley has to kick him out.

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There once was a man named Wong

Whose beard was three meters long

But whenever he skis

His beard would freeze

And that icicle drags him along.

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There once was a man named Wesley

Who looked just like Elvis Presley

The only problem being,

He really hated, "The King"

So now he, er...she, goes by Leslie.

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A Poem Parody of Under The Boardwalk

Another Boardwalk (Sung to "Under the Boardwalk)

My favorite ride's broken down and there's dead fish all over the beach,

Tickets cost so much, my wallet may as well be outta reach.

Another boardwalk, is where I should be,

I wouldn't come back to this place, even for free.

Another boardwalk

Games are all rigged.

Another boardwalk

Surrounded by screaming kids.

Another boardwalk

People doing some drugs.

Another boardwalk

My food's covered in bugs.

Another boardwalk....boardwalk.

Oh the bums tug my pants asking me for some of my change,

And like cockroaches, the hoodlums come here to gangbang.

Another boardwalk, is where I should be,

Everything 'bout this place gives me the creeps.

Another boardwalk

Games are all rigged.

Another boardwalk

Surrounded by screaming kids.

Another boardwalk

People doing some drugs.

Another boardwalk

My food's covered in bugs.

Another boardwalk....boardwalk.

Another boardwalk, maybe Hong Kong?

This place is nothing like it was in that great song.

A Poem Called, "Zerotette"

"Zerotette" By Derrick G. Wood

I started a band,

but the drummer was a bummer.

So I kicked him out!

In that same band,

the flutist was the rudest.

So I kicked him out!

That very same band,

had the meanest pianist.

So I kicked her out!

And in that same band,

The cellist was so jealous.

So I kicked her out!

What's with this band?!

The bassist was a racist.

So I kicked him out!

Now looking around this studio,

I feel so angry, I let out a shout,

Then, ashamed of my short temper,

I decide to kick me out.

A Once Rural Sunset (With Poem)

As a child, I would stare out West

And watch the Sun descend,

As an adult, I stare the same way

Only now I must pretend.

A Poem Called The Year I Forgot Why Sports Are Interesting

2018,

The year I forgot why sports are interesting.

I’ve felt it fade, slowly degrade, over the last couple years.

But now it’s gone.

No interest at all.

Depleted, a well of dust.

Why did I care so much?

Why did I wear other peoples’ names on my back?

Why did their accomplishments make me smile?

Why did their failures make me wince, weep?

What’s interesting about seeing someone hit a ball?

Throw a ball,

Catch a ball?

Honestly, I can’t recall,

and I feel so foolish for how deeply it once mattered. 

I have my life.

My own hits and misses to be concerned with.

If I strike out, I feel it: Sorrow.

So I know I’m still a human,

but I feel so far away from that foundation I was raised on.

I’ve forgotten where the Shortstop should shift,

When to throw a change-up,

or even what that pitch entails.

I can’t quite clearly visualize the infield fly rule like i used to…

and I don’t mourn the absence of that knowledge.

I only wonder why it ever mattered at all.

2018,

The year I forgot why sports are interesting.

A Poem Called, "I'd Be A Terrible Surgeon"

I'd Be A Terrible Surgeon 

Poetry by Derrick G. Wood 

9/19/17

I'd be a terrible surgeon

I really, really would.

It's not all the learning

Because I really think I could.

I'd be a terrible surgeon

I really do believe

It's not my bedside manner

For I never do aggrieve.

I'd be a terrible surgeon

There's not a bit of doubt

It's not shaky hands

They are steady throughout

I'd be a terrible surgeon

I'd really be a dud

because, you see, I'd hit the floor
the first time I saw blood.

A Poem Called, "Keys"

This is a poem I wrote about my little son playing piano:

The correct notes played,
     the little mistakes.
               Straight back
Hands raised
-Striking.

Filling our house with rag,
now it’s classical,
now it’s jazz.
Now it’s something he made up.

All the players
the world has seen,
With these same notes,
These same keys,
And he makes something up -
       something brand new,
heretofore unheard.

An ocean finding a new way to wave.
An apple falling like never before.

It’s all black and white rectangles to me.
But to him,
this eight year old boy,
it makes sense.

-Derrick G. Wood
August 2017

A Poem Called The Grey, Grey Beach

 The Grey, Grey Beach >>> Nov 6th, 2015.

There’s a place where I meet you, 

A place I am not sure can exist.

I go there slightly post-slumber,

Under skies of muted myst.

A grey beach stretching to infinity

The pale waves are static, soundless.

Birds overhead, slightly slow motion

Though their flightpath seems quite boundless

Only a thin line of light

separates the sky from the sea

Like a barely open eye,

the horizon squints at me.

You appear as a distant dot

The only real color in this land,

Flowing so softly, as if submerged

but advancing on the sand

We're pulled to one another

Like black holes in the twilight

Anticipation sedates me further

then everything goes white

I wrap my arms around you

but you are only chilled air,

Then down upon me, a soft breeze,

I imagine it is your hair.

A kiss like a whispering statue

standing in a vacant sanctuary,

Down to the ground, moans fill up

this once barren estuary

Hands I see no hint of

warm my unclad flesh throughout,

Coming together near this sea

Leaving no fear of drought.

Collapsing supine and panting

Slowly fading from all the grey,

Eyes re-opening slowly

Finding loneliness on the bay.

Grey fades,

Darkness rises, 

Body falls,

Body lands…

Back in bed, tangled in sheets

The sound of the city grates my ears,

The cars, 

    the sirens, 

        the screaming, 

                the barking,

The source of all my fears.

Reaching for my glass of water

but my cold hand slips on by,

Looking back at the night, I wonder,

were you the ghost... or was I?