A poem… of sorts…

A poetic collaboration between myself and a guy I like to call Too Full To Write… because that is what he calls himself too…


He did the first 8 lines, then I did 4, then him, and so on until I finished it up… because I always have the last word. This is a poem about both of us, and our struggle to release our inner demons by having a blog so we can share the pain with all of you. The poem is called;



My family don’t think I’m funny, that’s why I have myself a blog

The love that I get sent from others, makes up for the hard slog

Don’t ask me what the addiction is, no doubt the answer stinks

We write this stuff because we have to, according to the shrinks

I once tried to explain this blog in specific detail to my Mom

She kind of lost interest, she’s not big on poetry or songs

So I offer myself up to you for your own unique judgement

My subject matter rings true if you’re an adult or an adolescent



I have three people residing within me; the father, son and ghost

It helps relieve the pressure that’s building every time I do a post

My mind is buzzing full of energy and perhaps a little bit of rage

Bouncing around, a crack-addicted squirrel in a very tiny cage



What will I write about today to get you foaming at the mouth?

Climbing on top of my mountain, it’s time for me to shout out

Should I make it funny, topical, dramatic, or tender-hearted?

Or should take a turkey and Photoshop on a giraffe’s head?



Oh the places I could take you, the things that I could say

Till my spittle rains upon you like a stormy ocean’s spray

So wrap your coat about you, hang on grimly to the mast

The only thing I promise you is that we will have a blast



Put the kids off to bed and then go dim down the lights

Turn your mobile off and go pour yourself a glass of wine

Strap yourself in because it will be one hell of a ride

While I regale in glorious detail of how I nearly died



The secret of having plenty of good stories to tell

Is to dance just outside of the very gates of hell

You may get banged up, and have to walk with a limp

Or almost get your face shot off by an Amsterdam pimp

It isn’t fun for me to be me, I am frantic and manic

I live my whole life in a bit of an erratic panic

Being all art-side-of-the-brain is a pain, don’t you see?

But I think you just might enjoy watching me being me


You should check out his blog. Not only is there lots of funny and insightful stuff there, he was kind enough to do links to my book, so…

About pouringmyartout

You will laugh at my antics... That is my solemn promise to you... Or your money back... Stop on by...
This entry was posted in Everything Else and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to A poem… of sorts…

  1. Hells yeah. Like I said over on TFTW’s blog, this didn’t seem that gay at all. I’m kidding! It’s extremely g- No! I’m kidding again.

    Actually, I said I was wondering when two guys would write a poem, and I wanted it not to be me first. Or, than in the of which.

  2. Is it bad that I truly relate to this poem? ❤

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s