Switchfoot Would Dig It

I have never been given a genuine mission,

Nor a visible model to mimic:

From myriad sources, conflicting generalities,

But nothing detailed or specific.

I'm not up to date on my internal systems,

Though I hear it's quite a series.

On my origins and my place in the world

I've heard conflicting theories.

I've no quest for an experience or object

Of which I've been deprived.

So many past misadventures I could

Have failed to avoid or survive.

In short, I lack any concrete idea

Of why I am alive.

Caedmon Might Dig It

Aspirational ceilings are held up by walls,

But the floors, not the ceilings, tell how far you could fall--

A tumble while changing a lightbulb, at worst,

and not from story fifteen to the first.

From a young age, we're taught not to gaze at the floor:

Eyes ahead, or look up to men taller, with more,

So the only ones truly aware of the same

Are the ones who are bent by oppression or shame,

and where people look, they will usually go

(As all who are riders or drivers would know).

One can climb a step ladder or prostrate himself,

So in the end, what makes us poor is poverty itself.

Macklemore Might or Might Not Dig It

What's wrong with wearing something gauche or passé?

Why spend down to the lint to keep a wardrobe up to date?

The answers don't suffice, because nobody really knows

What's wrong with wearing your father's old clothes.

Think about it a second, that's all it takes to realize

That the same genes might make the man the same size.

If the shoe hurts, don't you dare just grin and bear it.

If the shoe feels good, why, then it's a good idea to wear it.

Why I Don't Write Anymore, Part 3: Tiny Tim Would Dig It

Kind sir, have you chance for a stanza?

I'm only a couplet away

From a poem to upgrade my website,

and I'd sure like to get it today.

You see, it's been months since my last one,

and my mind's furnace has been left cold.

A career and a mind-bending hobby

Burns more than my skull-shed can hold,

But the fact is I felt much more healthy

When I wrote something every few hours...

Admiral Akbar Would Dig It

I remember quite vividly being appalled
To find, as a person, I'm subject to fall
For a girl with a mind like a bland tourist trap,
Full of unuseful and bright-colored crap.
As she feigned undisinterest, and I feigned undisgust,
We built a foundationless level of trust.
Having left, I wish her the best, wish her well,
As she builds picket fences 'round other men's hells.

I Contain Duelists, or Walt Whitman Would Dig It

Whitman, a populist, contained multitudes.

I contain not a woman, and very few dudes.

I contain duelists, intransigent brothers.

One geeks out at some things; one's too cool for others.

One's politically cynical; one debates such things often.

One seeks to move on while one seeks the forgotten.

On nary a thing do these brothers agree,

'Cept if something seems normal, it isn't for me.

Alanis Morissette Would Dig It

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

I've been known to write poems;

I'll write none about you.

Charlton Heston Would Dig It

Vehicles and Real Estate, ever-practical excess

Are always one missed payment between held and repossessed.

Almost any thing other than those two, things mundane, things celebrated

Aren't beyond the long arm of legal excuses.  They could be confiscated,

To say nothing of legal tender, which by fiat is deployed,

and can by that same fiat be collected, devalued, destroyed.

Most intellectual property is borrowed, as per the terms of use,

and the physical stuff can be stolen, or ruined by malice or abuse.

No, the only thing I've used or spent that was ever truly mine

Was time.

You can have it when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.

Greg House Would Dig It, Pt. 3: People Don't Change

It's a source of more amusement than fright that my body

Is an empty shell, cracked open at the knees.

I will always come back to football

No matter what's wrong with the NFL,

Be it dull gameplay or the (completely nonexistent) morals

Of the irredeemable, despicable quarterback

On the team I guess I still like,

and I take a break every once in a while,

But canceled or not, I still watch the X-Files.

I am always the same person that I have always been.

A complete list of the ways I have changed:

Greg House Would Dig It, Pt. 2: Bound To

A hive of nomad herders bound to transitory fates,
We transfer schools, move out of towns, quit jobs and graduate,
and all the while, "moving on"'s our grow-and-heal refrain,
Or maybe it's the old excuse for "people never change."

Greg House Would Dig It

Eyes are drawn from quite a distance to your slimmest little waist.
It's fair to say you're reasoned, inoffensive in your tastes.
You don't mind PB, but prefer to spread some jelly or a rumor.
You like movies that review well, plus some others with light humor.
You want a man to give you two kids in one marriage, 'til the end,
But I think normal's boring.  Introduce me to your friend.

Freud Would Not Dig It

She belittles everything I think and questions everything I do,

Especially my refuges, those things that pull me through.

When I do do as she likes, it's no refuge from attacking

It's never enough, it's all about looks, and “it looks like you're slacking.”

and, to be fair, I'm known to lash out in my defense

Aimed at her heart, and at both our expense

Even though I could swear that I love her.

I refuse to marry my mother

Dickens Would Dig It

New places and new people sometimes excite me.
I can ask for new roles to play,
But no matter who I meet or how I ask,
My stories all end the same way.