Brain Boy

He was born with a brain of normal birth size
They took him home, turned on the news, he watched 'till sunrise
As it turned out, it was his thing, the channel never changed
Growing older, that kid knew more than anything

At age fifteen he saw the doc, his head was killing him
The surgeon said it was too big, then went home, he was finished
"What's wrong mom? What's wrong dad? How can I fix this?"
"The only thing I don't know is why I know, and I am pissed"

He grew old, at least for him, he was twenty-three
His brain too big, his head too small, there was no cancel key
On his last day, it was too much, there was a loud crack
A brain explosion, it was loud, blood on the T.V. rack

Indie Generation

We live as teens with blue torn jeans
In a millennium that is ours
In postered rooms that aren't well groomed
Where we kill most of the hours
Music free, illegally
We seem to have it all
Politics make us sick
And religion comes to a fall

Memories of the 90s
Are faint if they're there
hopes arn't far like a star
To win big, you can't play fair
We all stay if we want to play
So pass the instrument
On the run to have some fun
We thank the internet

Bug

There is a bug in the system
Chewing on the wires of modern society's machine
A machine chronically pumping out individuals
These so called "individuals" are not individual

The inventor of the machine grew enemies
Enemies of a separate machine that runs on a lower budget
The inventor makes a few adjustments to the "individual" pumper
Allowing the machine to make enemy eliminators

It is time for these individuals to load up
The inventor's enemies are now their enemies
Time to destroy for the creator of creations
Enemies becoming the enemy of other enemies

The bug arrives bringing its companions
It has a map to the machine's not-so-elusive location
the inventor backs down, what can he do?
The bug in the system is growing

Bishop Like Poem

The sun goes down, its time to sleep
Until it is ready to arrive again
For now all I must do is close my eyes
And wait for the images to appear

I wonder what my REM will bring
Will it be familiar, from something today?
Or will it confuse me and leave me wondering
Who knows right now, I'm still just waiting

The sun is here, it came so quick
But what did I dream of just moments ago?
Oh, wait, here it comes. I can see it!
No, there it goes. Maybe it'll come back to me

Collins Like poem

Constantly typing to finish my work
The sounds of typing is all I hear
It makes a click-clack as I'm typing
Typing, typing, typing

The feel of typing on my fingers
Feels weird the more I think of typing
Getting this work done just by typing
Typing, typing, typing

Homework

It seems now that it's homework time
When I'm in my non-homework prime
Feel I should do something other
Like come up with another rhyme

Will not read cover to cover
'Bout this book involving lovers
Many words for my eyes to read
Go outside? I think I'd rather

History time 'bout white man's greed
And all the presidents that lead
Stories about war and its wrath
Diff'rent homework is what I need

Now it seems it's time to do math
Nothing about it makes me laugh
No more numbers and no more graphs!
Done with homework? Only half

Nature Poem

I felt slight warmth from the sun
Trying to soothe the stinging
Of the cold Maine winter
the smell of coffee
Accompanies man-made warmth
As I enter shelter