Distracted [Classic] (joke)

I don’t think this is a true story, so I’ve created a new category called ‘Jokes’. (But this might be my only one…)


When I was younger, I had to walk very far to school every day. There was a teacher at the school with the name Williams. She was very pretty, and well-endowed. One day, I was at my desk looking at her and not listening, when I realized that she had asked me a question. Everyone was waiting. Knowing that it was math class, I answered with the first thing that I thought of — “parabolas.” I was then taken to the principal. I was told later that the question she had asked was “What are you looking at?”

Provocation [Classic] (550 word story)

Another silly old story. Classic ‘Tom’ formula (plot twist + death). More old stories here.


The klimmer rolled itself into a ball as the dog approached. The dog sniffed cautiously at the creature, not knowing what to make of it. After a few nudges and a bit of pawing, the klimmer decided to put up with no more and attacked.

Two powerful tentacles lashed out and wrapped around the dog’s head. Tiny teeth along the tentacles sank into the flesh, further supplementing the vice-like grip, making it impossible for the dog to shake the creature free. The dog yelped and whipped its head about in panic as the klimmer began secreting digesting juices, instantly blinding the dog and rapidly dissolving away hair and skin. The dog’s struggles ended abruptly as the juices ate through its skull and into its brain.

The gathered scientists applauded in appreciation. The klimmer began consuming the carcass by enveloping it with its elastic body, much as a snake engulfs its prey, digesting the flesh and bones along the way. It progressed rapidly, and was already past the shoulders and at work on the rib cage.

“Notice, gentlemen,” began Dr. Mumford, the proud ‘father’ of this demonstration, “that the klimmer will not attack unless provoked but, as victor, it does not stop until it has devoured its opponent completely. The clear liquid you see on the floor is almost pure H2O discarded by the klimmer as it focuses on absorbing the more-valuable solids. After consuming this 25 kilogram dog, this 8 kilogram klimmer will nearly double in mass.”

The klimmer had already finished with the dog, and then once again became as motionless as the rock it resembled. Dr. Mumford stepped into the arena in which the demonstration had taken place, careful not to slip on the liquid. “After a kill of sufficient mass such as this one,” he continued, “the klimmer retires into a period of dormancy during which it prepares for reproduction. The unusually fast metabolism of the kilmmer – its inner body temperature has been measured at nearly two hundred degrees celsius – allows it to undergo its high-level mitosis within a few minutes of a sufficiently-large meal. This high temperature also aids in the manufacture and lethalness of its digestive juices.”

Dr. Mumford reached down and picked up the klimmer with some difficulty, as it was deceptively heavy for its size. “During the reproductive phase, the organism will divide into eight to ten parts – each a functioning klimmer in itself capable of devouring the dog that the parent devoured. This should happen any moment now.”

Dr. Mumford set the klimmer down on the floor outside the arena and, a few moments later, the creature seemed to dissolve into many little pieces – each then recognizable as a fully-formed klimmer. He had just enough to hand out to the eager scientists.

“It seems that, at close range, the offspring can communicate telepathically – or perhaps have some sort of shared hive mind. Often, their actions seem synchronized, as nearby klimmers react to a stimulus applied to one individual.”

Dr. Mumford smiled in satisfaction at how well his demonstration had proceeded. “I’m sure each of your respective zoos will be quite pleased with this new addition.”

The scientists examined their klimmers. After a few nudges and a bit of pawing, the klimmers decided to put up with no more and attacked…

Pursuit [Classic] (30 line poem)

To round things out, since today is (apparently) ‘Demon Day’, here is another terrible but silly old poem about death and hell.


They stole my heart
They took my brain
They threw my body off the train
Yet magic made me whole again
But now I’ve witnessed death

I stalk them now
I roam the night
My body whole, my mind not right
I see ahead a distant light
And draw a rasping breath

I shuffle nearer
To the place
A look of menace on my face
My anxious steps become a race
I open up the door

I step inside
They scream, “Surprise!”
And poke their fingers in my eyes
But I choke each one till he dies
Then throw him on the floor

The episode
Has just begun
Now it’s time to have some fun
I look around and find a gun
And blow my face away

Falling, falling
Down a well
We land amid the fires of Hell
I grin a grin so they can tell
That now it’s time to play

Death of a Student [Classic] (48 line poem)

This is perhaps the most ‘Alice like’ of my longer poems that I plan to include in my Alice-like narrative that connects my longer poems. As I’ve mentioned, the characters in the poems would become characters in the connecting story, with the Student from this poem being the main protagonist in the larger story, and the Teacher from this poem being the main antagonist.

In my mind, this takes place in an old schoolhouse full of boys — before girls were part of mainstream education. To make it more modern and approachable, I probably need to have some of the students be girls — even quite likely the main protagonist — which may require some wording tweaks to the poem.

NEW NOTE: My son recently used AI to movie-ize this poem. Link here: http://tomlewczyk.me/DOS.mov.


“Three times three,” the Teacher said;
“Plus three times three,” He cried!
“Makes six times three,” a Student said;
And with those words, He died.

“Correct,” was all the Teacher said,
And looking rather glum,
He wondered how the answer could
Have come to One so dumb.

The teacher searched His memory —
“Six apples minus three,
“Plus four more apples added next,
“How many will there be?”

“Seven, Sir,” a small Voice said,
But Most stared in dismay
At First Boy slumped down in His chair
As Second passed away.

“Again correct,” the Teacher sighed;
Another question spew
As steady rage within Him built —
“What’s thirty minus two?”

Reluctant Students squirmed in shame;
All feared this certain death.
But Someone stammered “Twenty eight,”
And breathed His final breath.

By now, the Teacher’s face was red;
He spat a muffled curse;
He thought of answers and of deaths,
Not knowing which were worse.

But then the Teacher saw the truth
Though not the How nor Why —
That All who answered what He asked
Were instantly to die.

He brought forth question after next,
‘Til finally, He tired.
That left Him there with only One;
The Others had expired.

“I’m God!” He thought, “I rule the world!”
He eyed the single Child.
He leered, He sneered, He showed His teeth.
The Other only smiled.

He delved into His inner mind,
To find His very best,
To finish-off this Hanger-on,
To put Him to the test.

The Teacher shuffled, sorted, thought,
At last came up with one.
“Am I sure?” He asked Himself…
“Indeed,” and He was done.


2021 comments:

  • I’ve reverted some wording back to how it was originally written. Slight changes, but I’m prioritizing the ‘flow’ more than the exact words.
  • Reading this over now, I’m thinking that MAYBE the poem needs another stanza near the end. It might wrap up too quickly, given the relatively long and wordy progression toward the final conflict.

Backwards [Classic] (20 line poem)

Decades ago, folk singer Steve Goodman released the song Talk Backwards (link) describing a fictitious trend where people were switching to speaking words and sentences backwards. The concept inspired this poem (which I wrote in the 1980’s when Reagan was president) which describes one man’s struggles adjusting to this new speaking convention. The poem is naughty (concepts, language), and not politically correct. Apologies in advance to the thin-skinned. 🙁 


Since the country switched to Backwards
I think I’ve had enough
My lady tailor slapped me
When I asked her for a cuff

I set a bad example
Saying mad dog like I did
My secretary left me
When I bragged about my kid

Reagan got me beaten
By this black guy I had met
I said I loved his rhythm
And he answered with a threat

When I said egg, these fairy-fellers
Chased me from the bus
I hollered back: Their fathers
Must have taught them how to cuss

But two things keep me going
As I struggle with this shit
A boob is still a boob
And a tit is still a tit


At the time, I had seriously considered sending this into Playboy magazine — and equivalent competitors — for potential publication. They definitely publish crap like this in their magazine — not that anyone reads the words. 😉

Strange [Classic] (14 line poem)

Since today is ‘brother day’ [I posted some riddles written with another brother here], below is a poem written with my brother Rob when we were both quite young — early teens? pre-teens?

Silly is good. Weebles, if you don’t know, are toys from my youth [link]


the untiring sound of scraping your dog
the wonderful feel of bumps on a log
the pleasant aroma of reheated gloves
the inflatable raft of your only true love
bowling balls marching from here to Siam
the congested sinus of Lizzie the lamb
the rhythmic laughter of Weebles at play
the croak of a needle that’s lost in the hay
the hum of a hummingbird not told the words
the triumphant bugle of elephant birds
the innocent fungus infesting the crown
the munching of Freetos to Sweet Georgia Brown
the puckered-up thumbprint from sucking your thumb
the end of this poem most surely has come

The Preacher’s Chair [Classic plus] (32 line poem)

Time to break out one of my full-blown, longer poems. I’ve labeled it ‘classic plus’ because, though I originally wrote it years ago, I’ve ‘stayed in touch’ with it over the years, occasionally rewriting/refining the wording to improve it. My goal has been to take a dozen or so of my complete, longer poems and connect them with a coherent narrative — with the result being something structured like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass. I suspect that Lewis Carroll may have followed a similar path — taking a set of poems he had written, extracting the characters, and creating a story around them which allowed the poems themselves to be included.

As the Joker said, “and…here…we…go”


The Preacher comes to visit us
A dozen times a week.
He comes so bless-ed often,
And Lordy does he speak!
At night or noon or morning
You’ll likely find him there;
Screaming out his warning
Astride the Preacher’s Chair.

The Preacher’s Chair is empty
When the Preacher ain’t around.
Grandpa used to sit there
‘Fore the Preacher came to town.
But the Preacher’s got the recipe
For emptying that seat –
Don’t tell the Preacher ‘bout your sins,
He knows when to repeat!

The Preacher talks to Jimmy –
How he lectures to that lad!
Tells him that he’ll go to Blazes
‘Cause he’s been so bad.
But Mama thinks that Jimmy,
He’s been good beyond compare.
And someday when the Preacher’s gone
He’ll fill the Preacher’s Chair.

The Preacher’s Chair is gone now,
But it’ll soon be back.
The Preacher still comes all the time,
And Lordy does he yack!
Now when the Preacher needs to sit,
He can do it anywhere.
‘Cause Jimmy spread a pot of glue
Upon the Preacher’s Chair!

The Further Adventures of Tweedledum and Tweedledee [Classic/New] (42 line poem)

Tweedledum and Tweedledee are characters from Lewis Carroll’s Alice books. Note that Damascus is not a seaport, which only adds to the lunacy.

Old poem, recently finished.

What got the writing of this poem going was the subtle alliterative wordplay in the first few lines.


“Not the mad, nor the damned,
“Nor the damned mad
“Will carry M’dam to Damascus.
“As for us,” said we,
“For a minimal fee,
“We’ll ferry you there if you ask us.”

She looked on with doubt
As our ears flapped about
And our smiles slowly broadened to grins
“I do need the ride,”
She saw fit to confide,
“But I hear there is danger in twins.”

“Do not fear, do not fret.
“You won’t even get wet.
“As our boat is surprisingly sound.
“It was made from a pail
“With swiss cheese for a sail.
“Only half of our crewmen have drowned.”

We set off at noon
By the light of the moon
Hoping to get there by dawn
We were in a hurry
Which caused her some worry
But we lessened her stress with a yawn

Halfway to our goal
We encountered a hole
On the top of the head of a whale
It was pulling us in
Be we saved with a spin
And continued our path without fail

The ocean was rough
Which made sailing quite tough
Though the boat mostly progressed as planned
It took us a while
But we maintained a smile
And eventually made it to land

She paid us our fare
As she flipped back her hair
And we carried her luggage ashore
We waved her goodbye
With a wink in our eye
And moved on to collect even more

Love is Blind [Classic] (unfinished poem)

unfinished, and not at all politically correct — but it makes me laugh


I left in such a hurry
At least I thought I did
I think she didn’t even seem to mind
Perhaps she didn’t notice
Perhaps I never left
The mystery — when both of you are blind

One day I brought her flowers
At least I thought I did
She thanked me with a kind word and a kiss

The Final Cut [Classic] (12 line poem)

My son thinks this may be the best thing I’ve written.


She started by sending me letters
Hundreds a day without fail
The postman developed a hernia
So I had them cut off my mail

Next she’d call me at noontime
My ear wore away to the bone
For hours and hours she’d ramble and talk
So I had them cut off my phone

Finally she’d come to my bedroom
We’d have so much sex I’d get sick
To dress was a chore (I had gotten so sore)
So I had them cut off… the end of this poem