Cerebral Contents:

Update for 05.13.08:

Male Model by Phil Doran

Set to Replay by Willie Smith

Backsliding by Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Tree by G. David Schwartz

05.05.08:

Disintegration by Don Hucks

Five Feet and Building by Joel Van Noord

Grocery Aisle by Richard Lighthouse

Cross the Road by Ashok Niyogi

04.29.08:

Lookalikes by Phil Doran

Dinner by Brandi Wells

The Modern Covenant by Daniel E. Wilcox

Death by Onions by Michael Frissore

04.21.08:

Future's Children by Kimberly Raiser

Identity Theft by George Anderson

The Datists by Adam Engel

A Great Deal of Money by Justin Hyde

04.14.08:

Mr. Papaya and Dale by Eric Suhem

California by Caroline Imreibe

Aftermath of Vehement Argument #1,068 by Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Trip-Hammer Vitality by Lisa Nickerson

04.07.08:

The Florence of Basel, or Why Readers of Nietzsche Need to Read Burckhardt by Jeff Crouch

Slideshow by Miles J. Bell

Friends of the Poet by Sean C. Bowen

Picture Perfect by Leah Baldwin

03.24.08:

The Streak by Jeremy Hendrix

Grab Your Butts by Emme Hor

Far Away by Ashok Niyogi

Staring Down a White-Tailed Doe by Aleathia Drehmer

03.17.08:

The Hairbrush by Vernard Kennedy

Dog Days of Winter by Niall Berkeley

Poem From My Grave by Michael Lee Johnson

Mashed Potatoes and Hamburgers by Matt Finney

03.10.08:

Hard Work by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Jetty Cake Pigs by J.D. Nelson

I'm Quiet in Bed by Moctezuma Johnson

Tequila Shakes by Richard Lighthouse

Drat!

by Daniel S. Irwin

Drat, ye sorry bastards!
An' drat upon ye again!
Throw me from the pub,
I've got me flask of gin.

Your conduct is truly outrageous.
I but puked upon bar and floor.
The dart in the back of the head
Should give me a winning score.

Bested by your better.
In argument you'll always lose.
My wit is sharply rendered.
'Tis spouted by a drunken muse.

I bare me butt to ye bastards.
Let ol' brown eye cast his gaze.
Me head suddenly takes to swimming
Like a rat within a maze.

So ends a night of revelry.
You're a sorry, sorry lot.
And as usual on Sunday morn,
I awake on a jailhouse cot.

Well, rise and consider business.
It is my busiest day.
Off to church and pulpit,
I shall preach of sin today.

______________________________________
Daniel S. Irwin is an artist/writer (both a matter of opinion) who works as a medic in a maximum security prison, as his creditors expect to be paid, and it's a daily decision as to whether he should be let out at night... especially when the moon is full. He's had work published in various publications throughout the world... and various works rejected throughout the world... is there no humor in France?

posted 06.26.06.

Emergent Properties:

Main

F.A.Q.

About

Archives (alphabetical)
Archives (chronological)

Links - Updated 05.05.08

Books - Updated 05.05.08

Pandemic Poetry

Taglines