Tag Archives: Poetry


The new woman in my life.
The new woman in my life.

You may have noticed I haven’t been around lately. I’ve been distracted. There’s a new woman in my life. You know how it goes. When graced with new love, little else penetrates your thoughts. “But, John, what happened? You’re married – happily. What does your wife think of this?”

The truth is she’s ecstatic. No, she’s not excited to get rid of me – as far as I know. Quite to the contrary, this has brought us closer than ever. No this isn’t a sister-wife situation – get your mind out of the gutter – one spouse is enough for this guy.

The new love of our life is a granddaughter.  Truthfully, I’m shocked with my reaction. Having no children of my own, and never possessing much of a paternal instinct, I never, ever, ever, imagined having such strong emotions. Sure, I was excited for mommy, daddy, and granny, but I was meh. When my nieces and nephews were born, I hadn’t much of a reaction holding the new bundles. It was cool and all, but I was in my twenties and intimidated. I expected similar with the new arrival. I didn’t expect to be flattened by a freight train.

From the moment I laid eyes on her – holding her less than an hour into her life, I fell in love. I’ll spare you the gushy details. I don’t want to be one of those people. Needless to

My favorite picture of Mommy and baby.
My favorite picture of Mommy and baby.

say, I can’t get enough of her. The more religious of us would say she’s God’s precious gift. The spiritual comment that she represents the possibility of life. The more far out think she’s stardust. Other’s state her innocence is from recently being in the presence of the divine. I’m in line with the idea a newborn’s glow is Mother Natures little trick: a mix of pheromones and hormones that prevents us from eating our young. Whatever it is, the experience has been most intoxicating. I’ve taken to holding the bundle in my arms for hours. More than once tears have rolled down my cheeks. Some of my miscreant friends say I’ve grown a vagina. I laugh, think of my little angel, and feel tears well.

Gepetto and his girl!
Gepetto and his girl!

One night while holding my angel, as she made the same expression in sleep as her grandmother makes in hers, the following words found me.



                                                                                                         Baby on my chest

                                                                                       Rising – Falling with ancient breath

Her Innocent smile tears in my eyes
Cleansing soul – Healing heart
Feel the love –
Bathe in its light
From my arms into life
If lonely, tired or frightened
Reach across time Tug my heart
Shower in the white light
Rest within its might



I'll crack anyone who comes between me an Gepetto!
I’ll crack anyone who comes between me and Gepetto!

Yes, my grandfather moniker is Gepetto. I wanted to call myself Zedo, in honor of my Slovakian Grandfather, but when I looked it up I found that Dedko was Slovakian for grandfather. My family either twisted the pronunciation or Zedo is rare dialect, either way, it just didn’t feel right. Then in the word play that always happens in our home, Gepetto was born. Maybe because of my Pinocchio nose. At least I’m not called Granny Panties.

Welcome to life Anastazia Mae…

Yes, she has her Granny Panties initials in her name, poor kid.



The Shithouse Poet Returns – The Men’s Room… The Barroom Chronicles… Episode 9

It was only a matter of time, you knew it was coming –  the yin to the  women’s room yang, or is it the yang to the yin? Who knows? All I know is that I can’t help  reading this stuff multiple times a day – no wonder I’m twisted. 

Without further ado, allow me to reintroduce the shithouse poet – the Men’s Room edition.

If you're weak kneed, sensitive, or a stick in the mud, do not attend!

Warning: If you’re sensitive, easily offended, or are politically correct…  Oh wait, you wouldn’t be here. If you managed to stumble across this blog and don’t know my tastes and find it offensive, tuck your skirt in or leave before you stain this beautiful poetry with your tears of sensitivity and good taste. 

Phew, now that we handled that and you’re still here, did you ever consider that good taste is a euphamism for a humorless stick in the mud. I know of such a person who took offense to what follows and in protest demostrated his outrage by urinating over the bathroom walls. But then his name was on the wall and next to his name is an activity in which I cannot confirm nor deny the said person is alleged to have participated. 

Without further ado, let’s step into the men’s room. Just don’t step on the butt print in the floor. We don’t know where that bottom has been other than sitting in wet concrete at a specific point in time.  (Hopefully picture is forthcoming. An edit is required to live up to wordpress standards.)

The first thing you may notice is a note about our town:

Shithouse Poet at it again!

Alberton: Where you don’t lose your woman, you lose your turn!

Placement is everything, and it’s no wonder I have a complex. Every time I pee, this chestnut stares me in the face: 

Why are you looking up here, the joke is in your hand.

Of course there’s plenty to read about men’s favorite topic, and it ain’t football, hockey or basketball:

I like them in frills…  I like them in lace…  But I like them better when they sit on my face!

Snow is like pussy… Fun to play in, you never know when it will cum, and only some of it is clean enough to eat!

Here’s to the breezes that blow through the treez’s and lifts little girl’s dresses above her kneezes… Lil boy seezes, does what he pleases and catches social diseases.

A trick is a trick, a ho is a ho, it ain’t no fun less you get some mo.

Now that we’ve discerned a man’s favorite topic, here’s a little lit about what we do when we get what we want:

The religious amongst us pray:   Now I lay me down to eat, I pray her muff don’t smell like feet, and if it smells too much to lick, I hope she’s good at sucking dick!

Others boast our own accoutrements:    It’s as long as me arm and thick as me wrist with a knob on the end as big as me fist and it just longs to be kissed.

Other’s wax poetic:  Love me tender, love me sweet, wrap you lips around my meat! Watch me smile, watch me grin, watch my cum run down your chin.

Other’s wax to the wax: I’ll love you tender, I’ll love you sweet, but it won’t be my lips you’ll see on your meat.  We’ll see a smile, we’ll see a grin, and we’ll see who’s cum is running down who’s chin!

And then there’s the result of such shenanigans:  As I stand here trying to piss, I think of the girl who gave me this!

When us men tire of pussy, there’s always our best friend:

My dog is smarter than you… She’s spayed!                                

Lady, keep your hands to yourself!

It’s a dog’s life… If you can’t eat it, fuck it, piss on it.

Some of us prefer a different kind of pet:                                          

I’m not a Spring Chicken… I’m the Rooster!

And often when we sit to contemplate we give birth to the following drivel:

 Here I sit buns a flexin’  givin’ birth to another Mexican!

Often contemplation leads to the philosophical:

Civilization exists by nature’s consent – subject to change without notice.

If the creator was a pessimist, he would have put your asshole in the middle of your face!

And then there’s the management’s promise:  We shall serve no whine before it’s time!    

Orson Welles has served 'whine' in his time... but he agrees literature is best enjoyed upon thy throne!

Please ignore the beauty right above the hopper,  it may cause you to piss on the walls:  Blankety Blank, you Blankety Blank, don’t you?

That’s funny, it didn’t cause me to do it either…

I’ve hope you enjoyed this tour into the filthiest of all places… and I’m not talking about the men’s room, I’m refering to man’s one track mind.

The Shithouse Poet… Another Installment of The Barroom Chronicles

Considering this series started with a quote from the Ladies’ room wall, maybe it’s time to take a deeper look at thou holiest of all places and the artistry scribbled upon its walls.  (Men, you’ll have equal time, Men’s room poetry will be featured in later post.)  If you are a minor, or do not posses a sense of humor, you are not welcome here. Go Away! We don’t want your whining to interrupt our good time. Without further ado, may I point you to the last door on the right.

As with all quality pieces of lit, this is dedicated to the poet of the house of shit, whoever and wherever you are!


Welcome to the Ladies’ Room:

– If you love your man and have some class-  Don’t write his name where your wipe your ass!

-You cry, I cry –   You laugh, I laugh – You jump off a cliff, I laugh even harder.

-Why do men like being on the bottom during sex? They only know how to fuck up.

-I’m starting to see double and act single.

-Whip me, beat me, bite me, blow me, suck me, fuck me, very slowly, then walk away like you don’t even know me!

-Some people are like Slinkies… Good for nothing; but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs.

And that’s only what’s written on the door.

My personal favorite:

The right pic is a close up of the verbiage so elegantly written above the toilet paper.  Gives me a chuckle everyday, but I have an eight year old’s sense of  humor.


Continuing our tour:

The Bar Nazi demanding that the toilets flush on time!

The Female’s Prayer:  As he lays me down to hit, I pray his dick ain’t small as shit – and if his dick ain’t long and thick – I pray that he’s good at lickin’ it.

Of the Philosophical realm we have: (Please ignore the Bar Nazi.)

– You’re born…  You die… And somewhere in the middle… you live. If you make it happen.

– Wage + Debt = Slavery

Shithouse Poet busted in the act!

– Life is like a cock, when it’s soft you can’t beat it – when it’s hard – you get fucked!

For the Epicureans:

A blowjob is the healthiest breakfast –  you get sausage, 2 nuts and a shot of protein.

If it tastes like chicken, it’s good for a lickin’ –  If it tastes like fish, add some sauce, it’s a dish –  If it smells like cologne… leave it alone!

If vodka were water and I was a duck, I’d swim to the bottom and never come up. But vodka ain’t water and I’m not a duck, so slide me the bottle and shut the fuck up!


A Tale of Eternal Love:

Here’s to the man  –  I love the best – I love him the best – when he’s undressed – I’d fuck him – Sitting, standing, lying

If he had wings – I’d fuck him flying

And when he’s dead – and long forgotten – I’d dig him up – and fuck him rotten.

I’ve hope you’ve enjoyed our little tour, if you didn’t, there’s the f’ing door!

For those of us remaining. Repeat after me…  (You have to say this out loud for full effect:)

I’m sofa king…  I’m sofa king we-Todd-it!


If you fell for it, you’re in good company, I bit hook, line and sinker the first time a barroom prankster pulled that classic on me.


Till next time, keep a Sharpie in hand, because inspiration may find you where you sit or you stand.