Trying

A wolf walks past a birch tree in the snow

His fur is silver with the morning dew

And as he passes by, my slinking foe

Is drawn in by the scent of my hot stew

I long have had it cooking by this fire

So that I might fill up and warm my soul

He licks his teeth in hopes he will acquire

The meal that slowly cooks above these coals

I slowly reach for rifle by my side

So that I might then slay approaching beast

My hand lifts up the cover of cow-hide

The wolf continues lusting for his feast

Intently, creeping gently, getting close

My nerves are steady as I raise my gun

Though ignorant, I guess that my wolf knows

His days of stalking prey will soon be done

A shot rings out and breaks the silent morn

The wolf falls limp upon the waiting frost

I never, from the day that I was born

Have paid, for any breakfast, such a cost

Most people call me Ugly...

My mother calls me Sean.

Most people call my mother ugly.

I don't really know a better word

To summarize my existence,

As if that was something worth doing.

As if making things easy to understand

Really ever resulted in understanding.

I usually don't do this.

I usually don't cut out my piece.

Assuming it might fit

Might be foolish.

I'm not loud.

I lack the necessary audacity.

I've spoken out of turn before

Only to remember the look

On people's faces.

It broke their symmetry.

Ugliness isn't an appearance

Or even a status.

It's a decision.

As a young boy I decided

To be ugly.

I made it before I could

Take it back and

Lack the tools to

Turn back time.

I came into this world Sean

And will leave it so.

But I dwell here Ugly.

Knowing God lives for me

So that I may sigh lightly.

This in stead of a deep sigh.

The kind that makes Ugly

Despair at mystery,

Tear at the fabric of what

They think is real.

Feel for a world that

Doesn't keep in it uncertainty.

I am Ugly.

Ugly does twist at himself.

He twists at his face and

What lies behind it.

He smoulders in spite and

Despite of himself.

Twisting and smouldering

Bending and burning

Make a sight more ugly than before.

A sound that screeches,

A stench that is putrid.

I am Sean.

Sean does look outward.

He sets his heart to task and

Is battered back at times.

He builds his strength

Despite his weaknesses.

Looking and building

Growing and learning

Make a man just as Ugly as before.

A friend that betrays,

A lover that fails.

My works are like refuse

As they've been in my pocket.

Understand that I've said little

As you expected I might.

Forget it.

Self-indulgence with no

Self to indulge upon.

I beg the reader to forsake all here

Save one request.

I am Ugly.

Please call me Sean.

What I Want On My Tombstone

Studies have shown that people in their early twenties don't often take the time to stop and think about their own mortality. Those same studies also suggest that when the temporary nature of life is thought of, 78% of those respondents had recently listened to "Time" by Pink Floyd. Taking this to heart, I began thinking about ways I could leave behind a lasting legacy--something that will carry a message to future generations. What was a rock-solid, block-lettered way I could pass on that message? A tombstone, of course. More than anything else, a tombstone would effectively communicate a pointed message to future generations--and one of my choosing. In order for me to build a legacy, some have urged me to commit my life to charitable causes. Others have suggested having many children with wives and girlfriends, and passing on the sacred traditions of honor and family that are the bedrock of our civilization. In my own personal experience, I've tried, as much as possible, to convince those around me to do things for me so that I will be remembered as a leader. However, all of these tactics are contingent on me achieving actual goals. The beauty of the tombstone is this: I get to choose one simple message that family members and creepy cemetery-walkers will be forced to read. That message will be etched in stone, regardless of my life's achievements. I could be a shoeless tramp, a seedy ne'er-do-well, or even a high school gym teacher--it doesn't matter--this message will stand. And because I plan to carry some serious financial debt into the grave, I'll make sure to have my tombstone carved out long before I breathe my last.

This said, I've been pondering what witty phrase, or dirty double-entendre I want forever chiseled a few feet above my dead body. It has to be something short and to the point--in that way, unavoidable. The reader will be finished before they can stop themselves. For instance, most of the people who began reading this blog expecting something of real substance had the opportunity to turn their attention to something else a long time ago. If you're still reading, you're definitely enough of a sucker to stick it out till the end. All things considered, here are my possible answers:

(Tombstone will read: Nicholas Hibbeler 1987-2012)

"Here lies the President of Super-America."

"Please do not use this tombstone as a stage for puppet shows."

"I'm right behind you."

"Being dead is like having sex with Medusa."

"This corpse has a plot, unlike that joke of a movie, Signs."

"I should've used the AC less."

"Captain of the USS Enterprise."

"Time capsule. Please open 2042."

"Beauty is only skin-deep, but smarts are only brain-deep."

"He hated his children."

"Self-aware nose-picker."

"Hermit Crab enthusiast and shell decorator."

"He swam like 12 minutes after eating."

"Resurrection reward: the best chicken pasta you've ever had."

"You should have had sex with him while you could."

"He used aluminium-based deodorant."

"Died not knowing why snow-boarding was cooler than skiing."

"If you're going to pour out liquor, please be seasonally conscious."

"Rigor Mortis: the full-body stiffy."

"If I come back as a zombie, don't dismember my good side."

"Gave good karma to many by owing them cash."

"Set my iPod to shuffle."

Goodtime Activist

I have a problem with people

Who point out the modern evils

Whether pointing at a steeple

Or at their governmental weasles

But, please don't misunderstand

Because I think dissent is healthy

But dissent is never spent

And comfort belongs to the wealthy

Selfish politics are being pushed

And sold to the consumer

Where the glory is the person, not the cause

Let's see how many buttons

And t-shirts we can sell

Before they find that our statistics have been flawed

So your candidate won

But there's a war going on

No, there's several and they're clawing at your soul

See, we've broken into teams

To forget about the issues

And there's nothing left to fill the gaping hole

Sold to the highest bidder!

We're back in the swing of dreams

I'm so damned inspired

That I'll join your scene

Fiends for distractions

Actions speak softly

Words scream the loudest

When they're meaningless and costly

Often, I cry at night

Because I have nothing to cry about

Sometimes I die of fright

When no one seems to hear me out

Let's start a pie fight

World hunger, we'll forget about

Turn off the night light

And go to sleep without a sound

That's what they want from you

To lay down and take it

And if you want climax

You'll just have to fake it

Because sex is so fun when you're completely dishonest

And America's been fucked by the best

They wear lapel pins just to prove that they're modest

But beg you to rip off their vest

Chest exposed

Wardrobe malfunction

But don't disrupt their prayer luncheon

Here, munchkin!

Snack on this for a while

Daddy's got to make the trial

We're serving up death sentences and doing it in style

So keep on paying your taxes

Because I swear if you don't that we won't stay our axes

I swear if you don't that we won't check our faxes

Then can we sound mute?

I swear, when your mouth is shut, you look so cute

But I'll give you an excuse

And a little horn to toot

And every four years you can blow it