Cynical Writings

Cynics for a Better Tomorrow

Writings Page

I have collected and written a set of writings of various types, prose, poetry, and essays with a cynical outlook.

Enjoy the writings. If you have others to suggest or submit, or constructive criticism of any of my writings, please contact me
by clicking this link, for discussion or consideration.

I will probably break these out into several pages as time goes on and more writings are included. For now, they are inline on this main writings page.



This is a pair of Haiku poems, written under the English rules for Haiku, by a cynical brother/sister pair, known herein as "James" and "Dee", about their predictions for their gardens, in the spring of 2012.

Spring on the High Plains,
Trees and flowers are in bloom,
Moles eat my garden.

Moles in the High Plains
Hidden among flower blooms
Spring on my veggies?


Two Love Guppies Are Stuck On You

By 2 Cynical Popes of the Panty-Floater Discordian Cabal
Copyleft 2012 - All Rights Reversed
Feel free to copy, quote, use, misuse, or abuse in any way you see fit.

Like your car in the ditch Like the boot on your car Like a stake and a witch Like the 2-month-old leftovers on a plate in your fridge
We are stuck on you.

Like the lime in your toilet, Like the grunge in your bathtub, Like your car after a 42" Michigan blizzard Like the bill collector Like the green dye in my hair We are stuck on you.
Like sweaty skin on plastic Like plastic wrap to itself Like the KGB agent tailing you Like the bubblegum on your shoe Like your sub in handcuffs Like your dom in boots We are stuck on you!
Like the window during a blizzard, Like the crust in my oven Like the macaroni burned on the pot-metal skillet Like the nut on the lug bolt We are stuck on you!!!
Like the rusted union over the leaking water heater, Like the car lock after an ice storm Like the port wine in your carpet Like glue in a school-girl's pigtains, Like the Kool Aid on the white tablecloth. We are stuck on you!!!!!!!
Like a phonograph needle.... "INA INA INA INA INA INA...." in the middle of Ina Gadda Da Vida Like spyware on your hard drive Like your wet hand on a sub-zero metal banister Like the lid on a vacuum-packed canister

Like the Love Guppy in the original poem....
We are stuck on you, for now and ever more!


Discussion or explanation

This poem was written by two people for the same third person, First Pope and Founder of the Panty-Floater Discordian Cabal who enjoyed having
their first love poem having the unusual attribute of having two authors, and it being a serious contender to Love Guppy for
worst-love-poem-ever. None of these people shall be named so as to maintain privacy and artistic reputation.


Original Love Guppy
by Sam Jones

This is the defending champion in a ``can you bottom that'' love poetry contest. Anyone wanting to challenge its status is welcome to try.
- Sam Jones

You mean all the world to me.
Without you I can't be free.
You make me pant considerably.
You're my love guppy.

You have the finest rosebud's taste.
Without you my life is waste,
I'll stick to you like Elmer's paste.
You're my love guppy.

I'd break through a citadel.
I'd fight with a raging bull,
Though winning would seem improbable.
You're my love guppy.

My love's as strong as the mid-ocean ridge.
You shine like the rainbow bridge
or like that light inside my fridge.
You're my love guppy.

For you I'd consume haggis,
or lose the joys of Bacchus,
or live in sin with Mike Dukakis.
You're my love guppy.

No time's too long for me to wait.
For you, I'd fight against Fate,
though maybe you could lose some weight,
You're my love guppy.

Without you, I'd be not whole,
I would have to sell my soul,
or gulp a quart of Tide-E-Bowl.
You're my love guppy.

My passion is always mounting.
I'm like a geyser founting.
Well, maybe not, but who's counting?
You're my love guppy.

The love that is the more intense
always has the most silence,
like quiet bursts of flatulence.
You're my love guppy.

I know that my love is true.
I know that you'll love me too,
or I'll hold my breath 'till I turn blue
You're my love guppy.

I'd not forget you if I tried.
You make me all warm inside.
My love's as pure as Naugahyde.
You're my love guppy.

Then I hear the words let slip
From betwixt impatient lips,
``I want to have a relationship.
You're my love guppy.''



Sir John Denham (1668)

1 Love! in what poison is thy dart
Dipp'd, when it makes a bleeding heart?
None know but they who feel the smart.

2 It is not thou, but we are blind,
And our corporeal eyes (we find)
Dazzle the optics of our mind.

3 Love to our citadel resorts;
Through those deceitful sally-ports,
Our sentinels betrays our forts.

4 What subtle witchcraft man constrains,
To change his pleasure into pains,
And all his freedom into chains?

5 May not a prison, or a grave,
Like wedlock, honour's title have
That word makes freeborn man a slave.

6 How happy he that loves not, lives!
Him neither hope nor fear deceives,
To Fortune who no hostage gives.

7 How unconcern'd in things to come!
If here uneasy, finds at Rome,
At Paris, or Madrid, his home.

8 Secure from low and private ends,
His life, his zeal, his wealth attends
His prince, his country, and his friends.

9 Danger and honour are his joy;
But a fond wife, or wanton boy,
May all those gen'rous thoughts destroy.

10 Then he lays by the public care;
Thinks of providing for an heir;
Learns how to get, and how to spare.

11 Nor fire, nor foe, nor fate, nor night,
The Trojan hero did affright,
Who bravely twice renew'd the fight.

12 Though still his foes in number grew,
Thicker their darts and arrows flew,
Yet, left alone, no fear he knew.

13 But Death in all her forms appears,
From every thing he sees and hears,
For whom he leads, and whom he bears.[1]

14 Love, making all things else his foes,
Like a fierce torrent, overflows
Whatever doth his course oppose.

15 This was the cause, the poets sung,
Thy mother from the sea was sprung;
But they were mad to make thee young.

16 Her father, not her son, art thou:
From our desires our actions grow;
And from the cause th'effect must flow.

17 Love is as old as place or time;
'Twas he the fatal tree did climb,
Grandsire of father Adam's crime.

18 Well may'st thou keep this world in awe;
Religion, wisdom, honour, law,
The tyrant in his triumph draw.

19 'Tis he commands the powers above;
Phoebus resigns his darts, and Jove
His thunder to the god of Love.

20 To him doth his feign'd mother yield;
Nor Mars (her champion's) flaming shield
Guards him, when Cupid takes the field.

21 He clips Hope's wings, whose airy bliss
Much higher than fruition is,
But less than nothing if it miss.

22 When matches Love alone projects,
The cause transcending the effects,
That wild fire's quench'd in cold neglects;

23 Whilst those conjunctions prove the best,
Where Love's of blindness dispossess'd
By perspectives of interest.

24 Though Sol'mon with a thousand wives,
To get a wise successor strives,
But one (and he a fool) survives.

25 Old Rome of children took no care;
They with their friends their beds did share,
Secure t'adopt a hopeful heir.

26 Love drowsy days and stormy nights
Makes; and breaks friendship, whose delights
Feed, but not glut our appetites.

27 Well-chosen friendship, the most noble
Of virtues, all our joys makes double,
And into halves divides our trouble.

28 But when th'unlucky knot we tie,
Care, av'rice, fear, and jealousy
Make friendship languish till it die.

29 The wolf, the lion, and the bear,
When they their prey in pieces tear,
To quarrel with themselves forbear;

30 Yet tim'rous deer, and harmless sheep,
When love into their veins doth creep,
That law of Nature cease to keep.

31 Who, then, can blame the am'rous boy,
Who, the fair Helen to enjoy,
To quench his own, set fire on Troy?

32 Such is the world's prepost'rous fate,
Amongst all creatures, mortal hate
Love (though immortal) doth create.

33 But love may beasts excuse, for they
Their actions not by reason sway,
But their brute appetites obey.

34 But man's that savage beast, whose mind
From reason to self-love declined,
Delights to prey upon his kind.

[1] 'Whom he bears': his father and son.



This has been one of my favorite poems since I was a teenager. Many times as a young adult, I'd thought I'd found a good match, and then the whole thing would turn around and bite me - it would turn out that the person wanted me for something they thought I was or something they thought I'd do for them in the mundane world. After a bunch of these, I gave up, with the notion of "What's the use in trying?"

"What's the use?" is not a rhetorical question!


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