"mike" poems
I am the shadow of trayvon martin
Lying on the ground just as he did
I'm black just as he was
I wasn't planning to die that day either
I wasn't threatning nobody either
that day
The gunshots echoed
just as loud
when I was shot down as Mike Brown
yet his name echoes through the streets years later still
mine followed me to the grave
They don't care about me it seems
If I cried "what about me"
Who would ever see?
because my hashtag has even been drowned so deep in the depths of R.I.P's that I can't barely breathe anymore
When we think black brutality
Why do the names of trayvon
Mike
Tamir
Sandra
Rush to our heads just as fast as blood once rushed to theirs?
Does my black life, too, matter?
I can't blame you
That there have been so many deaths due to oppression and police brutality that they all seem to sound the same
No matter how loud we scream Black lives matter
We will never be seen as the living
But the potentially dead
We cry for justice to a system that's no longer built to accept us
A president that tries to forget us
A black voice will always be too loud to a world who never intended on listening
Who am I?
Besides a hashtag and a t-shirt with my face on it?
A black lives matter sign and a melanin fist?
A statistic?
I am black excellence
Regardless of how much sin you may see in my kin
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
May 1999, on my way to school on day I saw you I wanted to be with you. On the way home, I saw you again. I saw you most days.
By June, I realised you went to our school. I felt like I knew you, but I'd never talked to you.
In September, you were in my class. I flet a rush of hope that I finally talk to you.
In October, I did finally talk to you. Because of a science project. Your name was Mike and you were a wiz in class.
By January 2000, we were good friends and did a lot of projects toghther.
At the end of June, I had changed schools. I realised that I can't live without you.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 11:48 AM UTC
Whatever you do, keep smiling.
Be nice to everyone and stand up for your rights.
There are many paths to the top of the mountain
but few of them are on the map.
Keep running, never give up,
and watch out for the seriously weird.
Avoid psychopaths, if you can recognize them,
be polite to witches and warlocks, eschew cannibals,
beware of the hippopotamus in heat,
don’t drink the second bottle when dancing the Funky Chicken,
and only massage someone without
pimples or hairy legs.
Never give up and keep smiling.
It's a hard life, it's a beautiful world, life's a *****
it's great to be alive, life is nasty, brutish and short,
don’t give up and keep smiling.
Everyone is a guru but ignorance is everywhere,
and don't mix hallucinogens with depressants.
If someone tells you that they're honest,
treat them with the greatest suspicion.
Live to the limits, we're only alive once,
and that's just as well, because
imagine if people you didn't like were immortal.
Keep smiling, never give up,
always hawk to windward,
and never leave your underpants or ******* behind.
Everyone's equal but only the strong survive,
especially when they take from the weak
because what you seize is what you get.
The meek shall inherit the earth,
but the earth that they inherit will be of
poor quality with no mineral deposits.
Party lots, work hard, never give up, and keep smiling.
Don't work so hard you don't enjoy yourself,
remember that the bird is on the wing,
then it falls off its perch and becomes
a miserable pile of feathers and feet.
The fast lane is the best lane
but it's very smooth and slippery
and there are no road rules.
Watch out for lawyers. Seriously.
They put the devil in the details
while their hand is in your wallet.
Everything comes to you if only you can wait,
but this takes too long.
Clean your teeth, obey authority,
except for arrogant ********
and don't forget that love and pleasure are
most important, despite what anybody else says.
When you panic, other people will panic,
which is good, because
in this confusion, you can make your escape.
Mike T Minehan
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
Procrastination?
What is that I've never heard of such a thing.
But maybe because I'm to busy procrastinating to hear it,
I am mike,
I am not a poet, a leader, a storyteller, or an academic,
I am a dreamer, a gamer, a man of many things,
I would rather let life pass me by and sit in my game,
Than to deal with the drama of reality.
It is not that I don't like reality,
It is that reality is too busy,
With school and work
Facebook and friends
Learning and imagining
Are they even one in the same
I love my games because it allows my mind to run wild
From building empires in Minecraft to taming creatures in Pokemon
Games are a way I can re envision my world
They allow kids to show their creative side something education removed long ago.
So I stand before you asking,
What is procrastination,
I'd rather play my game and imagine.
My life seems to pass by but in my one life span I have lived dozens of others.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
when Merry Clayton
sings "Southern Man"
i think of all of you
and i think **** you
and if i was Neil Young
i would start a band called Hateful Bigot
and Mike Watt would be the bass player
and i would write a song
called "social justice warrior"
(in all lower case)
and dedicate it to all the children that have been ***** by the gay mayor of your tiny house town
and Merry Clayton would sing that song
there is a parade in tiny house town
for everyone who's arrived 50 years too late to the civil rights party
and the mayor is coming round
to shake your hand
all your tiny houses coming down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
tiny, tiny houses get smaller and smaller before blowing down
everytime you shake his hand
you have even less to say
about all the children he *****
than the NRA
even less to say than the NRA
everytime the gay mayor rolls down the windows
before he rapes the children in his hot car
everytime he's comes around
to shake your hand
he's got ten dollars in his other hand
tiny, tiny houses blowing down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
i can't wait til they come down
all your tiny houses coming down
tiny, tiny houses coming down
(nothing to do with the fact
he's a gay democrat
nothing to do with the fact)
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away
As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start
But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save
Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out
Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone
Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Christmas Eve was coming
There was plenty to be done
There were protocols to follow
There were programs to be run
Presents needed wrapping
Elves had duties of their own
They've been doing it for centuries
They could call Christmas in by phone
Reindeer games were scheduled
Christmas Carols to be sung
There were toys to be assembled
There were bells that must be wrung
Christmas Cakes...no problem
For we all know there's just one
It gets passed around each Christmas
And that is half the fun
But, back now to the reindeer games
Donner wasn't there
But, neither were three others
It gave Santa Claus a scare
He called the elven vet in
Said "find out what it wrong"
"If I don't have all my reindeer"
"It'll ruin Rudolph's song"
The vet came back directly
Hoof and mouth was what he said
The reindeer must miss Christmas
They were all confined to bed
Santa couldn't take it
Reindeer home...what would he do?
He thought real hard about an answer
Where would he find something that flew
The vet said, "I've an answer"
"But, no questions...just your trust"
"I'll get your gifts delivered Santa"
"I just need your magic dust"
Santa said "do your best Doctor"
"We can't have Christmas end like this"
"Are you sure you have an answer?"
"We can't give Christmas time a miss"
The vet and elves went searching
They formed a team like none before
They went around to the animals
And then they knocked on Santa's door
Santa looked at what they'd brought him
His reindeer gone, but here they stood
A team had been assembled
It made Santa sink into his hood
Harnessed up before him
The vet had two dogs and a bear
A ****** goat, and donkey
And a bald, blind cat...stood there
He smiled and said "Dear Santa"
"They may not look like that much now"
"But, they'll get you where you need to be"
"And they'll be led by a brown cow"
If you hear some noises
From your roof, like bleats and barks
Some, meowing or some mooing
And other strange sounds in the dark
Remember, it's just Santa
With his new team for the season
Rex, Rolf, Billy, Ben, Bessie, Joe, and Mike
and a bald, blind cat who's freezin'
Merry Christmas to all and to all....don't look up!!
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 8:37 PM UTC
Threaded brows and polished nails,
Pouting lips and ruffled skirts.
Doing it slow, with a Magic Mike look-alike.
Hosting shows for the richest of the slums.
Wearing glittering rocks, buying Vuittons.
Stolen dollars, well spent before their time inside.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
Every now and then
I go deep inside my mind
Just to have a little rest
And see what I can find
I don't go in there often
It dark and I must say
That sometimes I'm afraid
That I may lose my way
There's a little corner café
Where Groucho sits alone
Stan Laurel sits there writing gags
And Greta Garbo sits and moans
Sinatra sings for all of them
John Lennon talks to God
Brian Jones gives swimming lessons
There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd
Over in the distance
At a table in the corner
Hemmingway sells movie scripts
To mogul man Jack Warner
Elvis does a hip shake
Ruth and Gherig playing catch
Bud and Lou do Who's on First
Humphrey Bogart lights a match
Charles Dickens playing darts
A red balloon comes floating by
Andy Warhol sits with Nico
Where German pop songs go to die
Marilyn and James Dean
Sit quietly talking on the stairs
John Kennedy and his brother Bob
Just pretend that they are both not there
Chico plays piano and
Harpo with his harp
Bad jokes float around the room
being told by silent stars
Phil Everly and Phil Ramone
They're new here so they're woozy
Sit talking of the songs they'll miss
Rick Nelson sings of Susie
You see it is a mad mad place
in my head when I may wander
I don't go in too deep
And I've met Henry Fonda
There's images, and icons
Family, and friends
on a little street inside my head
That's a circle with no ends
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
If there are infinite worlds,
there must be one where umbrellas never close-
hinges locked open like stubborn jaws,
gape-mouthed against walls in patient herds.
No one in their twenties owns one,
their hamster-cage apartments
too small for such luxuries.
They ask for rain jackets on birthdays.
Mary Poppins still drifts down Cherry Tree Lane,
her umbrella never folding,
only floating.
Children carry slips home
for violating umbrella laws,
forging signatures in loopy ink.
The Morton Salt girl wears a slicker,
yellow as a warning flare before the flood.
My mother walking me to kindergarten in rain,
transparent vinyl dome above our heads-
I, the opposite of a fish in its tank.
Her hair plastered to her forehead
by the time we reached the door.
Everyone looks most beautiful
with rainwater running down their face.
In the open-umbrella reality,
time can walk backward-
you can unwater a plant,
unpeel a clementine,
un-kiss someone.
Endings lift again,
fabric billowing, as if the story
had been left open in the wind.
Heather and Mike find the road out.
Rosemary tips the bassinet.
There, perhaps, neither of us was born.
What lay between us
stays open too long,
collecting rain until it sags,
slow and certain, like sugar
in the first storm.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC
i’ve been thinking a lot
about your hand in mine
the way that our fingers
and palms intertwine
but i think about death
about loss, about worth
i admit that i fear
to return to the earth
where our bodies dissolve
into roots of a tree
and will grow into trunk
then limb, then leaf
but i've heard from a bird
that death will reverse
and your heart will beat hard
like it did at your birth
so hold on for dear life
with your hand in mine
if death makes us let go
it is only for time
© Mike Mortensen
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC
Mike and I were best of friends
and we drank together
and walked home together
And we’d walk along the railway tracks
and Mike
was always the more observant of us two
Yes, I always looked up to him
He’d be first to point out any irregularities
and so he’d say:
*“There sure are a lot of steps
along the way”*
And I’d concur
and I’d say:
*“Yes, Mike…
And the problem is
the ****** handrails
are so low down”*
And you know what
Mike is gone
and I still walk back
along the railway tracks
and the ****** idiots in charge of the railway
after all these years
they still put a lot of steps all the way
and worse –
they still put those ****** handrails
so low down…
Some people never learn;
they never change
I shout these things aloud
And I look up to Mike as I say these things
as I walk alone
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 4:44 PM UTC
Poor little octopus.
Big head and eight tentacles
but no ***** ***** or testicles.
What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods
buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda
and they don't have any pudenda?
Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle
and what do you suppose?
She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose!
Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage,
she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure
this is an amazing olfactory aperture.
So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process.
When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky.
Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a ********
Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act,
that we should court. Compared to the octopus,
the human nose is naught.
It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.
Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.
A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort
and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well
receive a rude retort. Or even worse!
I say herein lies food for thought.
Mike T Minehan
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
Now, I'm here to tell a story
Bout some lessons learned shawty
I got me a tough crew, know what um sayin
We played da diss game, slaydum
Not one a da crew, brought da game shame
First, I dubbed myself Kang
I'm good, true! But didn't mean a thang
Then coughed ma gural Sumpim
She got da club thumpin
Put her own style in da game, bra
We still thuggin? Na!
She first coughed a little gural princess
Kicked in the castle, copped the Queen's dress
Took the crown, made her own success
Her rhymes get the heart pumpim
Much respect to me gural Somthin
Next, little siss picked up the mike
Jumped on the tandem, started peddlin the bike
Shawty's rhymes hit dem in da face
She rhymed like a **** dresses in satin an lace
Mad props out to my siss, Madison grace
I was alone, like a stand a timber
**** Forest on fire with Diein Ember
Laid down rhymes so tight
He'd have my back in any fight
I gotta thank ma boyyy
Gangstan whichu was a flippin joy
Otta nowhere swaggs a tru Gansta chick
Bustin rhymes en droppin dimes like she was Slick Rick
Wedyan be da real trick! Thanks gural slick
Finally, swooped the dark Raven
Rollin on 22's gatz a blazzin
Loyall to da shawtys
Flyin like a bomber on sorties
Droppin posers to der knees
Makin succaass beg, brotha please
To all ya all I got ta tell ya
Would I do it again, hell ya
Um movin on to a new gig
Pull off my crown, plop on a wig
To ya readers out dare got some advice
Giv it a spit, it's Gangsta's Paradise!!!
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
So I’m marrying this young girl, see,
it’s the second time round.
My first wife died and
I’ve been struggling and drowning.
So I'm clutching the life raft
of this girl who is beautiful and young,
who’s romantic and sure of her ground,
and she and her family believe
that I can breathe and survive again.
Me? Can I remember how to be gentle and kind to them?
It was luck. I was lucky before.
Because now I'm a veteran of the thousand campaigns
and I’ve bayed at the moon, see,
then I hunted with The Beast.
And anyway, my first wife and I
********* her name is Lorayne!)
suffered, and then suffocated
before our love soared so high.
Then we danced like fireflies, fabulously,
until the future ended forever.
So how can this new girl
find ecstasy with me and, and,
you know, live happily ever after,
which is such an impossible dream,
and how can I handle all this ******* purity
and innocence and beauty and youth
and flawless skin and fairy tale stuff
when I’m so gnarled
and twisted and knotted?
You see, I'm actually deeply ashamed.
In spite of my much vaunted campaigns,
I'm really a coward.
I'm afraid I can't drag myself back and do this again.
Can we possibly become fireflies and dance in the flame?
Yes, yes, I know.
We'll swear to love and to honor and to obey
in sickness and in health
in richness and in poorness
until death do us part.
Though this formula's too cute. It doesn't mention the pain.
But there's no other option. I must try to rise up again,
and alright, once more, I'll call on the flame.
So I'll cast out my demons and force them away.
Somehow, I'll hold those monsters at bay to give you
the light and the love you say
is still there, everywhere.
You are wide-eyed and oh, so naive.
But I desperately want to believe you.
I need you.
Oh god, I hope we can love without fear.
Mike T Minehan
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
Memories are swept away by the wind
I reminisce all the moments we shared
All my shattered hopes you knew how to mend
No matter what I've done you always cared
Remember how we used to play guitar
On The Road To Nowhere we'd take a hike
All these memories seem distant, so far
I miss those days, I miss you Uncle Mike
I'd like to again visit Urchin Falls
And drag our canoe down The Peace River
Hear the frightening sounds of cougar calls
Fossil dig while the rain makes us shiver
When do we get to spend time together
Play in nature all day, despite weather
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
What does a black kid who wants to rap write about well if he's from the suburbs he'll probably leave the pages white like the folks that where out.
Since there is no poverty, gangs, or death to report on. I guess he'll sit in his two parent household and be put down cause that's his home, and try to figure out that why in order to be black does he have go through struggle, live on 64th and Sangamon Chicago that's just asking for trouble.
Why aren't happiness and good times associated with the black culture, instead we like it when we're known for stealing, killing and getting over. I guess it's why light skinned people want to claim different races, why dark skinned woman aren't beautiful because we don't like the color of there faces.
I guess that's why Mike wanted to be white, why every black man woman and child believe that they have to fight, but naw not injustice and poverty, one another the same person you grew up calling your brother.
But what does it matter cause you don't hear my words. I'm just another black man from Richton Park Illinois so I remain unheard.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
Lonely word,
without rhyme or reason,
seeks meaning
and needs a good root.
Slightly faded but still opulent adjective
seeks mature sentence
and meaningful relationship
view long story
beside warm fire
with red wine.
Noun with no hang-ups
seeks juicy verb
for fun times
and swinging relationship.
Let’s split the infinitive together!
Conditional clauses not welcome.
Mike T Minehan
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 9:26 PM UTC
Dr. King said “I have a dream”,
But his dream suffered homicide in the streets of our nightmares.
Murdered by the people who were supposed to protect us.
336 innocent people killed in 2015, because the police saw color instead of people,
I suppose the color of their skin was more important than human rights.
Because someone's melanin pigment spoke more to how people perceived them than did the color of their character.
So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.
There are still racists hiding behind screens, and cops who refuse body cams.
The white man in blue suits killings brown kid’s dreams, murdering their moments and god ****
Dr. King’s dream of peace and harmony dies in the eyes of every American citizen.
You know things ain’t right when you are more worried about your boyfriend with cops than with drug dealers.
You know something is wrong when walking with him at night is more dangerous for him than for me.
You know there’s a problem when there are too many cops, not enough justice,
Too many them and not enough us and....
Dr. King said “I have a dream”,
And.... So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.
When there are still people like Sandra Bland, and Mike Brown, who die for no reason, then we aren't done yet.
Because when people are more comfortable on a street with gun shots than cops, then we aren't done yet.
When I still get looks for having a black boyfriend, then WE AREN'T DONE YET.
We won’t be done until there’s equality, until there’s no more violence, it may not happen in my life time, but we aren’t done yet.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
and then i am left,
at the upmarket stretch of sand
straddling this most unremarkable state,
quietly flicking my thumb against the blue lighter.
but it's too windy, at the water's edge
in an unremarkable state,
where no one recognizes me,
that bagpipes start playing
the wind acts against my fingers,
they are too delicate, too feminine,
no callousness ever affixed to these,
my ten silken extremities.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 8:17 PM UTC
Once when I was a teen
~~~~~ I too ~~~~~
had a mood ring
Yes, it was the latest craze!
~~~ I remember that ~~~
~~ Yet, not much else ~~
~~ In that time of daze ~~
~ The color of my mood ring ~
Always seemed to stay the same
~~~~ It was a tinge ~~~
~~~ Of AquaMarine ~~~
~~ When I got It I read ~~
~~What that should mean~~
I never wore it for that factor though
~~ I wore it to feel like a Queen ~~
~My Theory is that mine~
Never changed it's shade
~ Forcasting my future ~
~Like a breaking wave~
~~~~~~WKR~~~~~~~
Kinda like this poem motivated # 3 See what you started Mike Hauser! We all had those Mood rings :)
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Pooey, pooey, poo. Gee, I smell you. It's time to take a bath now.
Stinky, stinky, doo, you friends do to. You reek and oh you stink, wow!
So could you hurry to the shower and rub some soap all over you *** Don't hold back!
And if you do remove the peu you'll find your friends won't gag and hack. That's a fact!
So pooey, pooey, poo. What will you do? There's a bathtub fillin'.
Stinky, stinky, doo. It's up to you. To wash off that penicillin.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
*Would you mind if I wrote you a love poem
Would you care if I shared it with the world
Would it be okay if I filled it with cliches
As in I am the oyster and you are the pearl*
***Oh my, it'll be an absolute delight
Go ahead, let the earth be smitten
Let your words float in the twilight
It'll be a beauty no one has ever written***
*I ask would it be too much
If I compared your beauty to that of Spring flowers
Or how I could just sit here and stare
As I dreamly while away the hours*
***I'll be flushed with humility
As I am just one of His thankful creations
I'll allow your gaze even through infinity
Admiring beyond my imperfections***
*Would it be to much to say
That you put the night stars to shame
If I had my very own galaxy
On it I would place your name*
***You can ask the clouds and sky above
How your words touched my heart to the core
The unfeigned expression of your love
I'm truly blessed, couldn't ask for more***
*While all above is true enough
Against your beauty nature would lose
I think instead I'll make this poem
A simple "I love you"*
Eudora
Mike Hauser
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
We are told that
Nothing trumps Trump's
Misogyny but truth will out
When his sexist shtick is a
Gift that keeps giving for
His Republican rivals,
Whose
Lips are sealed, but by
Their deeds their hands are unclean.
We know that Bush did not beat about the bush
When he said of women on welfare that “They should
Be able to get their life Together and find a husband"
We know that Walker repealed Wisconsin's only
Equal pay law and supported anti-choice
Invasive intrusion of a woman's right
To choose. We know that Mike H
Has mused that he thinks women
Who cannot control their “Libido"
Should not “curse” and Jay Z is really
A **** seems to be exploiting Beyoncé.
We know that Rubio opposed re-authorizing the
Violence against Women Act, even though he knew
What it meant when he opposed the Paycheck Fairness
Act. We know Rand P was rightly Republican in similarly
Voting against the Paycheck Act, and in his college secret
Society promoted Anita B's views that oral *** was a sin.
Perhaps they all need to look in the mirror and adhere to
The Biblical adage that "He who is without sin should
Cast the first stone" But what is sin anyway?
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC