The Wedding Toast

Recently, I had the pleasure of seeing two of my long-time friends tie the knot. It was the one wedding (out of several!) I had to attend. Reason being, they both met through me. I informed the bride that I had a poem prepared for the inevitable toast. What I didn’t know…is that I had been made the toastmaster. Luckily, I had a speech prepared, so to speak…

I have a tale to tell,
But it won’t be too terse.
As long as you can deal
With it being told in verse.

In the “before time”,
During The Myspace Age,
I had a friend I hadn’t seen
Much on the IRL stage.

She was whimsical and nerdy,
Talked a mile a minute, stat!
Her name – like her traits –
Simply known as “Kat”.

On the other side, a coder,
Musician, cyborg invader –
In human form, he looked curiously
Like actor, James Spader.

Kat and I had an outing
In the bowels of Southeast,
To hear the cyborg play
Synth songs yet released.

Between those two,
A connection was made –
Fempto-filaments of love
Were soon holding sway.

I received an e-mail that week
From the poor cyborg lout
Asking, “Would you break my balls
If I asked her out?”

Mere days after that,
Over an AOL chat rush,
Anime-eyed Kat chimed in,
“OMG, I have a crush!”

It was accidental yet planned,
Serendipitous to a fault,
And somehow I was in the middle
Of Fate’s new gestalt.

I thought to myself,
“I am not her dad.”
And I couldn’t say, nay
To the poor cyborg lad.

So here we stand (or sit),
Basking in their glee.
But for future matchmakings,
I will charge a fee.

Congratulations Justin and Kat. May your cybernetic offspring take over the world in due haste.

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Sunday, September 9th, 2012 Poetry 5 Comments


Amidst the stars where empires fell

Wanderers make their living there.

Existence is harsh yet life prevails

While warlords tear away at cosmos.

Along the Spiral Run there dwells

A place known to few along clusters.

Ancients refer to it as the Refuge.

These wanderers call it home.

A name was given to it eons ago

In a tongue no longer spoken.

Where did the name have its origins?

Among the stars like so many others.

Let the wanderers find their home again

Even if it’s a place they’ve never been.

Beckon the gate to open once more,

And unleash the reverie of ages past.

When will all be normal for us?

Will the Age of Decay ever end?

All questions are what we know to speak,

For we’ve forgotten the words to the song.

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Thursday, December 11th, 2008 Poetry No Comments

Enoch’s Legacy

Enoch’s Legacy

None wept when a hero fell

Upon the blood-soaked ground,

His colorless stare directed


Few saw what impaled him

Through his chest with graceless ease,

The hilt of the weapon pointed


Some recall a flashing light

Signifying the end of a long struggle,

Causing the retreat of many a soldier


Many knew his name before

He took up arms against the horde,

Grazing assailants as he pressed


All will remember his sacrifice

For redemption of past sins,

Singing songs to usher his soul


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Saturday, December 6th, 2008 Poetry No Comments



A friend of the Wood,
And all that is good,
They do what they should
For Nature’s yolk.

Small to our vision,
But without derision,
They make a decision
To work as play.

One laces his boots
To tiny feet like roots
And soon off he shoots
Into foliate fray.

Forest dwellers abound
Listen to profound
Wisdom to be found
From so small a hand.

We honor them well
With mockery’s yell.
Plastic idols tell
From lawns across land.

In our wanton desire
As our lives perspire
We lose sight of dire
Consequences to home.

A lot, we can learn
From a simple yearn;
A hefty need to return
To the land of the gnome.

Charcoal Sketch by Robert E. Norman

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Monday, December 1st, 2008 Poetry No Comments

The Aquarian Queen

The Aquarian Queen

The sky bleeds a faint crimson of sunset
As he and his followers walk the reliquary,
The marble pillars of a vast city greet them.
The wind scours their stark and spiry facades
Of shadows.

Why does he feel welcome?

A pirate, he was, a plunderer of planets
Guided by that which fueled his hubris,
Yet here upon Aquaria’s terrestrial soil –
Eyes glazed and mouth agape – he admits to a growth
Of awe.

Where did that voice come from?

Atop the mount littered with effigies,
A sentinel overlooks a vast ruin.
Gleaming of aqua-blue ore forged before humankind
Conceived of flight, she is a guardian
Of nothing.

Was she the one who spoke his name?

“It was me,” she says. No one hears her but him.
“Who are you?” he asks through his mind’s eye.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she intones. “Return us…
…to the stars.” He nods slowly, sensing no malice,
“Of course.”

Will she be the one to save him?

He dubs her The Aquarian Queen, granting her flight
Once more upon the star-strewn void.
A new-found sense of Self buds within,
A lotus given form by a soothing voice
Of hope.

“May I never leave her care,” he sighs.

Charcoal Sketch by Robert E. Norman

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Monday, December 1st, 2008 Poetry No Comments


These were originally intended as song lyrics, but they serve a much better purpose as poetry. (That and I can’t write a song worth a damn.)


A burning question,

One I can’t erase.

A cloak and dagger

Behind your real face.

Are you near or am I drifting?

A lingering thought

Hollows out my mind.

Footsteps behind me

Grasp a dream sublime.

I turn to see an image shifting.



I don’t want this anymore.


Sailing on an unknown shore.


No longer will I adore.

Shield my eyes.

Watch the skies.

Beware the wraith.

Avoid the lies.

(End Chorus)

Were you a dreamer,

Someone I could trust?

Or a fickle ending

Turning dreams to rust?

I thought you were my destiny.

Laughing irony,

A soul’s new abode.

Lost in a sea of

Symptomatic code.

A hardened heart is my blasphemy.


I walk on.

I walk on.

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Saturday, November 22nd, 2008 Poetry No Comments


I was encouraged by a friend of mine to take up song-writing. While I can’t say I’m a musician by any stretch, music does run in my family. For example brother has honed his piano skills with the help of that ol’ gene.

Mine…well…let’s just say that particular helix is underdeveloped. Or in a state of hibernation.

Said friend told me to come up with lyrics and the basic melody, and he’d help me flesh out the rest.

When I was at work one day, I got a tune in my head. The following day, I jotted the lyrics down. Took about an hour. Day after, I revised the lyrics after getting a few pointers.

Thanksgiving Day? I mooched my mother’s piano to practice the melody. My brother and cousin sat watching my kindergarten-line attempts to flesh it out. Snickering.

They were right to do so. The tune – while pretty – sounded off with the lyrics. Plus, I had a nudging sense of doubt. A day later, I realized what was bothering me.

The melody I thought I devised for the piece was to the tune of VNV Nation’s “Beloved”.

Beautiful song, but not my song.


So, back to the drawing board, I go. However, here are the lyrics for your viewing pleasure. I like how they turned out for the most part.

Hrm…maybe it’ll work as simple poetry.

Damn, still thinking out loud.


The road I took to sign my fate,

It bleeds away like a leech.

Looking on but I can’t see straight,

Peace of mind seems out of reach.

I try to focus.

Nothing to see.

Siren chorus.

Something guiding me.

Where are you, my diligence?

I misplaced you long before.

Coupled with my countenance,

Show this coward to the door.

I long for silence.

Deafen the screams.

Verbal violence.

Tear me at the seams!

(1st Chorus)

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Something’s wrong with everything

When all my dreams subside.

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Longing for my belonging,

I still have my pride.

(End 1st Chorus)

Walking with a steady pace,

Head held high, resolve exposed.

My path defined, I will embrace.

Cancer-thoughts will be disposed.

Shun the masses.

Listen to me.

Favored passes.

Apples from the tree

(2nd Chorus)

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Waking to awakening,

This I will abide.

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Savor precious severing,

I renew my stride.

(End 2nd Chorus)

(Repeat of 1st Chorus, Higher Octive)

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Saturday, November 22nd, 2008 Poetry No Comments

My Trip to Ireland…In Limerick Form

In early 2006 I went on a vacation to Ireland. Several people – mainly relatives – wanted a detailed play-by-play of my adventures. I promise I would concoct something, but no matter how many times I tried, the task seemed too daunting.

So, I took the easy way out.

I put it to poetry.



I got off work at seven in the morn.
In two hours, I would be heaven borne.
I could not find sleep,
Where were those damn sheep?
I sat in my small seat forlorn.

My derriere started to give way
Due to my fifteen-hour day.
With all of that sitting
One felt like shitting,
But on a plane toilet, I will not lay.

MARCH 4th:

Dublin is a really odd town,
Where tourists flock on the ground.
If you’re tired as hell,
You will not fair well,
And seek to be homeward bound.

Thank God for the drink that is stout,
It alleviated my continuous pout.
The tour of Guinness
Got rid of my grimace.
Now I’m stumbling around like a lout.

MARCH 5th:

I gallivanted around Dublin City,
No longer feeling quite so shitty.
I hopped on a few tours,
And avoided the lures,
Of pubs that looked far too gritty.

Since I have no internal compass,
I got lost in the Temple Bar fuss.
As if spotting rare jewelry,
I stumbled upon a brewery,
And donned my crafted beer truss.

MARCH 6th:

Ah, the wonderful city that is Cork,
Irish-ness I could eat with a fork!
Now free of Dublin,
My trip could begin.
And finances, I would not bork.

I sampled a stout they call Beamish,
Not once did I feel a bit squeamish.
It went down quite smooth.
A thirst, it did soothe.
In contrast of Guinness’ ream-ish.

MARCH 7th:

Before you, my highlights of the day:
A butter museum, a gaol, wa-hay!
I got lost but felt swell,
Saw the Franciscan Well;
A microbrewery I found on the way.

A small note ’bout how the Irish break fast,
Pudding, eggs, and rashers at long last!
Oh, the food I did try,
Brings a tear to me eye,
How I wish the time had not passed!

A quick anecdote about my time in Cork, one that would be quite difficult to put in limerick form. I went to a church called St. Anne’s and rang the bell. However, to ring the bell, one has to go up a very narrow flight of stairs…in a small tower. I did so.

After pulling the ropes and hearing the loud chimes, I figured “what the hell,” I’d continue up the rest of it. The view of Cork from the top of the tower was breathtaking. Pictures were taken, but getting back down was a chore.

A flock of green-clad schoolgirls herded their way up the tower stairs, blocking my egress. When I finally made it down, the doorman looked at me oddly. I nodded in return.

“Enjoy the sites?” he asked.

“Yeah, but getting back down was tough,” I said. “My path was blocked by schoolgirls.”

“Oh, so you were in your element, eh?” he replied, giving me a knowing grin.

“Oh, nononono! To young! To young!” I countered frantically.

“Suuure, they are.”

Mind you, this conversation happened in the MIDDLE OF A CHURCH!

End of anecdote.

MARCH 8th:

Killarney was my third destination,
And a product of my procrastination.
I was in a bit of a bind,
For tours, I couldn’t find
To a castle in another part of the nation.

I visited a tower house called Ross,
I must admit I was at a bit of a loss.
My tour guide was British,
And I was quite skittish.
She was hot, and my heart turned to sauce.

March 9th:

I took a tour of the grand Ring of Kerry,
And our tour bus had a guest oh-so-merry!
A dog had stowed away,
In the back seat at play,
And away from sheep, him, I did ferry.

March 10th:

I made it to that damn castle in Blarney,
Three full hours away from Killarney.
I kissed that damn stone,
Upside down with a groan,
And my bus ticket fell out of my harnie*

* Made-up word for harness actually a jacket pocket. Couldn’t find anything that rhymed with Killarney.

The rest of my trip was a bit of a blaze;
Galway, the Midlands, Dublin in a haze.
I visited relatives,
And no superlatives
Will be made of my joy for those days.

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Saturday, November 22nd, 2008 Poetry No Comments

Ode to Kiwis


Albeit fruit or flightless bird,

Scant larger than a turd,

Whether brightly orange or spritely yellow,

A citrus snack or feathered fellow,

Both bring joy at different turns-

Quenched cuteness anyone yearns.

How one could wish for – in their hand –

A little friend not quite so bland.

In the interim I’ll settle on this,

A plushie muskrat for short-lived bliss.

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Saturday, November 22nd, 2008 Poetry 1 Comment

An Ode to Geek Chicks


There exists in rare doses,
Those cut from an ornate fabric so priceless,
That to utter the name or title
Would barely cover the grace.

Women etched from the finest marble
Who know what it means to speak
In a language invented
From the mind of a novelist.

Feminine figures fused with scholars
Who drink from a chalice reserved
For those oft considered
Outcasts of the norm.

Girls that change roles,
Estrogen in combat,
To the mind’s eye
Nothing dares meet its grandeur.

One who can outwit
A fictional creature
With nary a sweat as the
Die is cast in their favor.

Maidens of the stars
Who dream in novas
As vessels take flight
For parts unknown in the vast.

Virtual combatants swathed
In clothes reserved for men,
Spectacles donned
And opposable thumbs ready.

Oh, so rare a breed
To the public eye, yet
Existing and thriving
Beyond me…still shrouded.

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Saturday, November 22nd, 2008 Poetry No Comments

I work for tea money.


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