"yaps" poems
Trump feathers his caps
faux wings fly his maps
in mind's pond, gold laps
a big ego he claps
his faucet lost taps
a drought he play wraps
behind two faces yaps
of how he fills gaps
enough of his craps
where our poor dig scraps
and our rich gift wraps
enough watching saps
with twitter backslaps
and infidelity bootstraps
enough of this cold snaps
as our leader naps
of dreams his madcaps
I say impeach, asap(s)
than befall his traps
Logan Robertson
5/31/2018
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
A merry dachshund yaps, and leaps for leaves
Wind-blown across the still-green summer grass
As autumn visits briefly, and looks around
To plan his festive moonlit frosts when next
Diana dances ‘cross November’s skies.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
Wutsa matter wit you?
Whirr you frumm?
You from summ furren country?
Cain’t you tawk better den at?
Murruhkunz doan tawk Inglush lie cat.
We talk good Inglush. We tawk da bess Inglush.
Ain’t nobody tawk better den us.
Irregardless of whut kine uh furriner you are
You could not tawk so ignernt.
It’s a insult tah good Murrukuhns tawkin lie cat.
You should be imburrst to tawk ataway in public.
Should be ashaymt uh yerself.
Yenno, peepo c’n perject thur ignernce
’N thur lack intelluhgunce so easy.
They jess open up thur mouths
’N let the dumbness fall out
’N thur it is, fer alll to see.
Yude thank they’d realize what dumshits they are
’N not let thur mouths write checks
Thur butts cain’t cover.
But, no. They’s flappin’ thur yaps an babblin’
‘Bout nothin’ at all, ’n actin’ the pure fool
Lack thur mamas din teach them nuthin.
Well, nuthin’ good, at lease.
Me, muhseff, I thank sumbuddy
Shoulda kicked thur butts
From here ta Sundee.
But, thass jess me.
I know thurs a buncha bleedin’ heart libralls out thur
That wanna let peepo get by with crap jess ‘cause
Sumbuddy is a Niger er ‘cause they’s Messcun
Er sum kinda ******* heathen er ‘sump’n,
But I thank thass jess wrong.
Peepo gotta talk good jess to respeck the flag
’N God n’ country. Or go home.
Yeah, go on back to whatever Godless place
You ’n your race ’n yer ideas is okay.
We rilly doan need ‘em here.
We’s good, God fearing’ peepo and hard working too.
So, if that ain’t you, *** on yer camel ’n ride
Back tah whurever you cumm frumm
Till you c’n tawk good Iinglush lack decent fokes.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
In bed
for the first time
I am watching you
in the bathroom
brushing your teeth
just the right chunk of light
enough to see
a magenta vest
your only tattoo
sneaking out from the top
of black shorts
your clock notifies me
it is ten past twelve
a dog yaps in sporadic bursts
outside a siren whines
only to die seconds later
but I am captivated
by your shape
the backs of your feet
a little fraction of skin
under the belly-button
and if this is to become
commonplace
an ordinary event
I will sleep every night
with a smile
painted over my dreams
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
Here’s my question:
Don’t daughters lope their mules?
However non-existent
They too surely must bend the rules.
Surely it’s not only guys
Who secretly, daily slap their laps.
If so, would you bluenoses
Quickly and firmly shut your yaps?
There are so many things
Boys are not supposed to ever do
Like farting and belching
And all kinds of gods to apologize to.
We have to fold napkins
And keep our elbows off the table.
The list seems to grow.
I’m not sure I will ever really be able.
Adhering to what it takes
In life to keep myself perfectly decent
Seems to involve rules
Both ancient, ecclesiastical and recent.
I must put the lid down
Because, it seems, women can’t do it.
Hold the door open for them
Because, alone, they can’t go through it.
Give your seat up on a bus
Because even if they are younger than I
Women are the weaker ***
And I must be much stronger, I’m a guy.
And there literally hundreds
Of words I can’t say and shouldn’t think.
Now if only the women of the world
Would outlaw me getting near the kitchen sink.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
If Christmas were given
the same gaze as Yom Kippur,
there would be riotous, careful,
false-faced diligence in the streets
of every Capital; silent prayers of
meditation mediation senseless acts
of kindness from a root of sterile fear
as if to offend Christianity would bring
about a Talibani death-wrath if-and-when
affronted-- but Christmas and Christ have
been so transparent as to become tested
combinations on the invisible lock of human
desire everyone eventually frustrated at the failure
of probable-consistent guess as to turn to Freudian
psychology for answer in lieu of Christ's final revelation
numerical in nature-- numerical strangeness Da Vinci Code
impossible-- as all other religions keep their yaps shut whilst
all Christianity has left is the little grey Luoyang City safe--
we've all given up and assumed it's empty-- empty like the
universe, maybe.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
I love my family.
But I hate spending time with them.
My grandma babbles about the "good ol' days",
an aunt stirs her tea.
The cousins are running wild "Who's watching them?"
Right, me.
My mother brags about her eldest daughter
and all her achievements;
I actually don't exist.
My uncle barks a drunken epithet,
hands slam on the table
laughter shakes shoulders.
Talk of kindergarten politics is touched upon.
The gays? They exist.
The poor? They're, well, poor.
The coloreds? Are they still here?
Dice are tossed,
feet shuffle under the table.
The dog yaps for scraps.
Uncle goes outside with a cigarette
takes a puff.
Auntie doesn't wanna go to bed,
says "a slavelord woulda haveta whip me to get me off this chair."
I decide I've had enough.
I get up for another drink.
I love my family.
But I hate spending time with them.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
For Liesl-the-Wonder-Dachshund, of Happy Memory
A merry dachshund yaps, and leaps for leaves
Wind-strewn across the still-green summer grass
As Autumn visits briefly, and looks around
To plan his festive moonlit frosts when soon
Diana dances across November’s skies.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
Yehudit can't get
Benny out of her mind
even over dinner
when her mother
is griping off
about things
about the untidy room
and about chores
left undone
she still had Benny
on her mind eating away
thinking of him
of where she'd
like him to touch
and where and when
and even when
her mother asks
about school and things
she has Benny in mind
all the time
his eyes
his quiff of hair
and that afternoon
by the pond
when they lay there
watching the water's skin
the ducks
the fish beneath the skin
and he kissed her
and she wanted him
to do more
but well
she can't get him
out of her mind
and as she undresses
for bed
she thinks of him
pretending he's there
watching
waiting
and even when
her sister yaps
on about this
and that
about the feeding
of the rabbits
of the bird
catching cat
she thinks of Benny
and his kisses
and o God
what a feeling
o what a heat
and sits
on her bed
staring at
the touching he made
of her feet.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
Privilege is the American social caste system
But let’s just pretend the “American Dream” is
still alive and well, hmm?
Cis white men get all the opportunities
While all us minorities
Are stuck in the dregs of society
“Stop whining,” they say,
“pull yourself up by your bootstraps.”
I just wish that I could tell them to shut their big yaps.
I’m trying as hard as I can
Running a race I can’t win
While they line their pockets
With more and more green.
Then they vote in
the Oompa-Loompa in Chief
Who just gives us more grief
With his cronies and their hateful motifs
No matter how much we protest
Their privilege cannot be contested
They’re in power and we are not
And their power can only be bought
Anyone got a spare billion bucks?
I want to buy off these chucklefucks
We could start this country over, us minorities
And turn it into the real-life “land of the free.”
Who’s with me?
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
The Yank *****
shares my tent
yaks about the guys
she's had and how
and where
as if I care.
Ever read Sartre?
she says
all that existential stuff?
I say I have
just to get her
off my case.
We make our
own luck
she says.
I smoke
and study the tent
how the stained blue
looks cheap.
I wonder how often
it's been used
on these trips.
Did I tell you
of that guy
in Hamburg?
she says.
No I say
although she may.
Well he had this
big tool and I mean big
she yaps on
and spreads
her arms wide.
I said to him
you could fish
with that.
She laughs.
I smile picturing it
and did you?
I say.
Of course
she says
never turn down
a good seeing to.
The smoke drifts
from the cigarette
and floats about my head.
I wish Benny was here
and not her
wish it was him
lying there like her
completely bare.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
I write this poem,for my four legged friend
so loving ,so delicate,my praise never ends
Is he a cat ? , a mouse ? or a dog ? none of the former
lets call him a cog.
,follows me round, close to my leg this is true
think the little ****** has stuck with glue
but when he is naughty,he stalks slow like a cat,
curls up in a ball and could fit in a hat,
He dont bark ,he just yaps ,god how he yaps,
but with all of his flaws,please get down ***** paws
he"s so pleased to see me ,maybe wishes he could be me
will be here the end,cause a dogs man"s best friend
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
I wake still and far too often
with the all-too-slowly
but oh so evanescently
fading memory of her voice.
Ever since that odious event,
that heinous malevolent and
deafeningly persistent
drumming in my head
that disturbs my sleep
distracts my thoughts
and haunts the daymares
of my diminishing life.
The blaring, blasting bluster,
the eruption of molten viscous sound
that barks, yaps, yelps and yowls,
that sounds, resounds and reverberates.
How can I escape the cacophany
that threatens to enmesh me?
How can I return to the
tranquillity of a serene silence?
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC