It was there,

then, it was gone,

leaving behind mere fragments,

I’m talking about your memory, mother.

It seemed to occur out of the blue,

but I can’t share that,

it would upset you.

You blamed it on old age,

but, things began to change,

It’s called “looping” I heard the doctor say,

That’s why you repeat things 98 times a day,

I answer your questions, nod and agree,

while I watch Alzheimer’s slowly take you away from me.

Clock Hands

The clock hands wave to the past on their way to high-five the future,

stopping to shake hands with the six and the three.

They can’t stay but a second, because they’ve got somewhere else to be.

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings” they must have been taught,

I say pull out the battery and let’s talk.

Dangerous Theater

Chests are puffed out,

spines stand straighter,

threats are spewed

in this dangerous theater.

The brat fakes throwing a stone,

to intimidate another,

keeping others off guard

in this dangerous theater.

And, the play continues,

since the days of Mesopotamia,

the brat has no issue with spilling blood

all over this dangerous theater.

Bombs bullets and pain,

triggered by a brat’s signature,

spell the death of so many

in this dangerous theater.

Everyone Deserves Their Moment in the Sun, Son.

Everyone Deserves Their Moment in the Sun, Son.

The Bible says don’t light your candle and hide it,

but, that doesn’t mean you should brag,

like when you twist someone else’s posts to make it be about you, hashtag.

Ego is thinly veiled,

and hard to disguise, you see,

you’re about to bust a gut,

because I want it all to be about me!

Someone posts a pic of their vacay,

you reply, “I’ve been there, let me tell you where I stayed.

Someone checks in and says, “this restaurant is nice.”

You reply, “I know, I’ve been there twice.”

Everyone deserves their moment in the sun, son,

just let them be.

Stop trying to turn everyone else’s posts into something about thee.

Sometimes the Sky Rains Frogs

Sometimes the sky rains frogs,

and sometimes you need to sleep,

26% of the universe is dark matter,

yet, no one has even seen it.

Bumblebees shouldn’t be able to fly,

say the experts in science and aviation,

apparently, the bees never bothered asking for permission.

There’s a compartment in our brains that crave mystery and magic,

Without these components, our lives would be tragic.

We need that escape,

that’s why we love movies about people in capes,

and love stories and spies,

all the things we don’t experience in our everyday lives.

That compartment I mentioned earlier,

the one in your brain?

It gets smaller with age.

Not because of anything physical,

as you grow older, you’re told to be practical.

Time to act like an adult and climb those rings,

to the top of the work and/or family ladder.

If you don’t, people will ask “what’s a matter?”

But, we still want that fantasy,

that’s what made J.K. Rowling rich, you see?

Well, the bumblebee still flies,

and sometimes frogs fall from the sky.

I think it’s great to be surprised.

We are never going to have all the answers,

and would you want them anyway?

How boring would that be?

Baby it’s Cold Outside, Or is it Us?

Baby, It’s Cold Outside, or is it Us?

Baby, It’s Cold Outside,

Yes, it is, I agree,

People have blocks of ice, where their brains used to be.

People claim to be offended,

By a song that was popular before D-Day ended,

That’s right, 1944, when the average house cost,

Three thousand, four hundred dollars,

Makes me want to holler.

This all began because one listener complained,

To a radio station called WDOK.

It just goes to prove that during our lives today,

We have too much time on our hands, yeah, you heard me say.

There are hands on a clock, but our hands are holding a little block.

Our eyes stay transfixed while our brains allow themselves to be tricked,

Into discussion and raging about meaningless crap,

It’s a trap.

Don’t be a sap.

Wake up from your nap.

The Internet is Making Us Crazy

The Internet is Making Us Crazy

We can still be friends, even if we disagree,

I can say it’s an eight; you can say it’s a 3.

Our friendship doesn’t have to vanish,

It’s not like we are building a wall to keep out those who speak Spanish.

Social media can jumble up our brains,

It’s up to you to keep yourself sane.

What Do You Think About That, Jack?

We live in an age when so many want to be king,

They want to rule our lives and tell us what to think.

They keep the good stuff; we keep the scraps,

What do you think about that, Jack?

Saw a story about a girl, not even 17, living on the streets,

Three babies to feed.

While the government spends money on programs, we don’t need.

The rich keep the riches; we get the scraps,

What do you think about that, Jack?

Probably fake news, right, we see it 24/7,

Some say this nation has moved away from heaven.

Not long ago, in Queens, a 37 year-old-man was shot leaving the scene,

Of a crime, he didn’t commit, though he was shot in the back, guess what, he was black.

What do you think about that, Jack?

Times are not getting better; there’s no doubt about it,

Whether your 10 or 99, get on the rooftops and shout it,

Let the royals know they’re days are numbered,

They’ll be a time soon when they’re no longer unencumbered.

So many folks work 10 hour days, seven days a week,

Just to pay the rent and have something to eat,

The fat cats get fatter, and they throw us the scraps,

What do you think about that, Jack?


Photograph:EPA/Mast Irham
The Irish Times


If I told you I had memorized the names of all the characters from LORD OF THE RINGS, you’d think I’m a nerd.

If I told you I liked the movie, WATCHMEN, although, it wasn’t as good as the graphic novel series, you’d think I’m a nerd.

If I told you I named my dog, Jabba or Lando, you might think I’m a STAR WARS nerd; not, necessarily, however, if my dogs’ name was Yoda because Yoda is too mainstream to be considered nerdish.

On the other hand, if I told you I know the names of all the players and their stats on the Detroit Lions, you’d think I’m a FAN.

If I expounded on my opinion on what changes I feel the coaching staff should make on the Orlando Magic roster, you’d consider me a FAN.

Do you see where I’m going with this?  Society gives you a pass when it comes to rabid sports fandom.  You can know and spout stats, history, records, players shoe sizes, their favorite foods and the names of their nieces and nephews.  You can dress head to toe in “officially licensed” everything.  You can paint your body with team colors and go full-goose bozo this weekend at the game, or even at home watching the game. You are a Fan, maybe even a DIEHARD FAN.  It will never reach NERD status when it comes to sports.

Try the above with books, video games, movies, comic books, virtually anything else, and you passed the line into nerd territory.

There’s even bars and restaurants explicitly designed for YOU, dear fan!  Places where you can nerd-out, no wait, I mean “cheer” on in 70 inches, HDR, big-screened wonder.

Is there something broken inside of me?  Perhaps, I’m missing a particular gene in my DNA?  I have no interest in how well someone else does at kicking a ball.  If you love sports, I’d like to better understand.  Do you visualize yourself in their place as if you’ve had a “Freaky Friday” moment?  Do you fantasize it being you or you being friends with the players?  Maybe it’s a basic instinct-type thing of wanting to be part of the tribe that all roots together that offers the feeling of camaraderie.

Clearly, for commerce reasons,  the NFL, NHL, FIFA, and all the other sporting associations want and need to keep the word “nerd” from sports culture.  Generally, the words “nerd” and “geek” have negative connotations, implying a lack of social skills, while exhibiting an obsessive abundance of knowledge about a subject; oh wait, that sounds like a DIEHARD SPORTS FAN!

I originally wrote a manuscript around 2006 called “THE GUIDE FOR MEN WHO HATE SPORTS”.   I wrote from the angle of a guy trying to make sense of the intense passion other men have for sports.  I sent a query off to a publisher in Los Angeles (keep in mind, this was pre-easy-internet-self-publishing days).  A few months went by, and I received a response letter saying they thought the book was funny, even though it wasn’t something they felt they could publish.  I left it on the backburner, eventually uploading it to CreateSpace and then forgot about it again.
Recently, Amazon stated that all content would be transferred from CreateSpace, directly to Amazon and asked if I wanted to move this particular book.  I decided it was time to publish it on Kindle.  I changed the name to I HAVE A PENIS, AND I HATE SPORTS.
I welcome all comments.
Thanks for reading,
Tony Hollowell