Tag Archives: #poem


This morning, a goddess
stepped down from heaven,
just upstream of the river bend
where eddies twirl cosmic
visions with solar rays,

dug her heels into the muddy bank.

Lavender scented curls,
long as winter nights,
spilled from the crown of her head,
flowed across bewitching shoulders
against her marigold aura.

I was void cast in shadow.

– Chris Miller

Legends come to life

American comeback
Future blazing bright
Dancing with optimism
Very, very high

Energy independent
Manufacturing might
Coming back to the USA
Where the action is

Freedom unifies the soul
Missiles, planes, rockets, ships
Made in the USA
Greatest Hero of them all

People are the heart
Dreams are the soul
Love powers and sustains
We celebrate faith

Raise sights to glory of God
Second amendment rights
Land of heroes
Legends come to life

Washington, Patton, Neil Armstrong
Earp, Earhart, Annie Oakley
Beautiful, beautiful Alamo
Brave wild, wild west

Vanquish tyranny
Laid railroads,
Glorious and magnificent
Pioneers, pathfinders

Eternal truth
Hand of almighty God
The American Age
American Empire

American Adventure
Sun is still rising
Best is yet to come

Two day delivery

Traffic clump huddles at the feet of five-story buildings.

Tailpipe frustrations steam from idling engines.

Impatience roils from a rolled down window

of a red minivan with a single headlight.

Speak-to-your-manager-hair wearing gal –

grabs the attention of one passer-by,

What’s all this ruckus? Please, give me a reason!

What’s with this bozo. It’s making me cranky.

That box truck is blocking my way to get through

I can’t wait much longer. I have things to do.

Wearing tie-dyed toboggan, sunglasses, broad grin,

USPS pants, button-up shirt to match,

passer-by answers from right side of the street,

“What professional driver parks so far from the curb?

The hazards flash yellow but show no concern.

Casting such chaos in nets over others

just to deliver two day packaged goods.”

Yes, you understand it. Imagine the nerve?

Some half minded click-fest in wee hours of night

caused today’s standstill. I say it’s not right.

“Because of those clicks, this delivery driver

with gloves on his fingers was required to cradle

and heft precious parcel with its smile on the side

up goo riddled stairwell to flight number five.”

No elevator?

“Relativity stricken; it just wouldn’t budge.”

What’s the deal with the stairs? How did they add up?

The stairwell equation: E = MC Escher + Wonka squared.

Warped tarpit illusion, oozing dank sweat sock smells.

A saccharide marshland, hard candy outcrops,

stream beds of soda spilled last week and dried,

gummy bear creatures with mad looks in their eyes,

the shoes of the hopeless, half sunk in molasses,

abandoned by owners in desperate attempts

to escape the quagmire before being sensed

by the gummy goo monster always quick to descend

and gobble up travelers caught in its strands.”

This is surreal. Are you making this up?

“I shoot from the hip, my friend, and hips do not lie.

Sounds like a challenge.

A challenge to some, but our swift dodger of hazards

jumped the goo gummy monster, left it to gurgle in dust.

He went on to climb the staircase double helix

up, left, and down, through top, bottom, and middle

til the web surfer’s door popped into existence.”

Did he remember to knock?

“He knocked twice, just as all postmen do.

Our guy’s a cool cat, so he rapped a double tap rap.

He thrummed a wool-wrapped-knuckles-against-the-metallic-door-frame-twice-over rap.

A spirograph voice from behind the door warbled,

‘I’m in the bath, soaking. If you will, please just leave it.

I expect any moment, Dali will come by and retrieve it.’

That’s just what our guy did. He completed the drop,

then, retraced his steps through the pitching, the yawing,

the twisting and twizzle of five story levels

set to deliver the next cubic cardboard delight.”

An epic adventure, I’ll give you that,

but why is this truck still parked curbside?

“The answer is simple as simple can be.

You flagged me down, insisting to know about my delivery.”

Wait, say again. What was that name?

“The voice squiggled ‘Dali’ through my inner ear.”

Dali, you say. The name’s quite familiar

You know my name is strikingly similar

Now, this can mean only one thing.

My accessories, my accessories you bring!

  • Chris Miller

A response from Nintəndo

The following is a response to Kylen’s poem/letter to Nintəndo.

Dear Kylen,

We at Nintəndo find it quite pleasing

when devoted gamers write letters.

Really, we do; I’m not teasing.

Atari calls us bananas,

but we like it a bunch,

almost as much as Mac likes

to earn a star punch.

You know that Mario was the ref in that game?

No princess in Punch-Out either.

Isn’t that a shame?

Back to your points, on side quests

we won’t dawdle.

Just know your suffering moves us

as do your death foibles.

Your many…many…many death foibles.

It’s funny you should ask

about the plumbers’ back story.

Their pipe dreams began long ago

on that glorious morning,

but that’s all I can tell you

without a DLC purchase.

To answer your question

about what substance influenced

side-scrolling action, flying turtles and goombas,

we don’t condone–wink, wink–

the consumption of fungi,

LSD, ecstasy, or marijuana.

Though there is Bud, but he’s only one guy.

Then, I suppose, there is Sue and Steve and

Amanda and Tobi from Bandai.

Now is no time to get caught up

in the who took the what

or why the walls melted

into the princess-dragon-castle plot.

That answer, I’m sure, will be found

in another spot.

As for tossing your system

out the window after your thousandth death,

I can say this:

The biggest Nintəndon’t

I’ve heard to this day:

Never, ever, ever, ever

throw your Nintəndo away.

Didn’t mother ever tell you

there are aliens on Mars

who are starving to play?

I’ll close out this letter and reveal a surprise.

Attached is a package

with Amanita muscaria spores inside.

I do have to add that

these are strictly for research

beneath a microscope.

Now, go slay that Bowser! The Princess is waiting.

Star Power for life!

Forever Yours,


Line Potion #5

Wait in line at the bank

Write lines in a notebook

Between the lines of a page

Check online for an email

Outside the lines on the highway

Front line trenches of warzones

Offensive line runs a play fake

Line backers blitz the runner

Receiver bee line touchdown

Hold the line for the call

Clotheslines knock over wrestlers

Free throws at the foul line

Fast line round the racetrack

Line drives blast the outfield

Baseline alley-oop dunk

Notes line sheet music onstage

George Clinton’s bassline funk

People line dance in the night club

Cast pickup lines at the bar

y = mx + b

Carpenter chalk lines before cutting

Neon timeline on my face

Bread lines in the depression

Aluminum foil lines the pan

Kitchen line cook makes soup

Formula for a closing line.