(my)our day

Paul & Josh 75%

Havin’ my second party
You came

Cryin’ when she had to leave
Mom shame

Sittin’ with my grandparents
No blame

Openin’ my next present
New game

Quittin’ on the party NO
Dad claimed

Headin’ back here as soon as
Paul named

Eight Fourteen: The Theiss B-Day
Bro frame


Happy birthday, bro.
Stop crashing my party.



Helena and Josh

I love photography,
But don’t much like photos.
Clinging to memories;
Negatives–I don’t know,
Doesn’t appeal to me.
To future, and to grow,
Is preferred, honestly.
However, apropos
Of this–the irony
Is not lost on me, though;
Knowledge, maturity;
Photos offer windows
In time to the many
Circumstances that show
A glimpse: identity,
Gained ever thoroughly.

Thanks for reading.



Poem, that wasn’t a poem
Inquired why it wasn’t so.

“Your author knows not what he does,

Therefore you cannot be,” they rebuked.

“If ignorance precludes art,
How did the first poet pen a poem?” Poem replied.

“Clearly, the first poet knew their craft,

Else they wouldn’t be the first,” they declared.

“But whose rules were they following?”

Poem persisted.

“The poetic rules,

Obviously,” they quipped.

“If the first poet was the first poet,

Was it not a subsequent poet who declared the first poet a poet?” Poem persisted.

“You’re an annoying little prose,

Aren’t you?” they scoffed.

“Please don’t call me that;

I am a poem,” Poem objected.

“You have no meter; you have no rhyme; your line breaks are superfluous,

And your author is naive,” they lectured.

“That’s because I am unique;

If the first poet wrote me what would I be?” Poem posed.

A poem,” they concluded.