March 1999
[Aaddzz Counter]

Current Issue
Back Issues
Article Index
A Herring!
About Us

In Association With
This page copyright 1999 The Shrubbery
Webmaster: Jason Morrison

Poetry Page


My alarmís smarter than me
My Pooh Bear talks
Iíve got twenty law suits
And split pfizer stocks.

C-spanning out my brain
Stamped to death
Thirty three cents 
Will I live to see thirty-four?
You know the rest.

Those no good tramps
Keep wallking my street
And my STD itches
Like a son of a bitch.

It's Monday 
Internet keeps dialing
Iíve got hot dog gas
The qwerty on my bed
Looks like Tyson in a dress.

It's a day like yesterday
Caffeine free
Grinding through traffic
"for Me only"
Fifty thousand-dollar bail
For kicking a limosine.

And so it goes
Insert head in beer
Enter cyberspace
Get chaperoned dates
Your face on a carton
With men in pink berets.

God Bless America
Gad bless Amirrorca
Accented, pierced, and religious
Gaudy nights
Flippant days
Cheating the IRS
And no V8 sideways.

173 dollars in the mail
A check made out to me
In America
The land of the Scandel
Yoí momma
and Free MTV

by Julie Wernau

Our love was a drag

Our love is a drag
I once said to you
But you just ignored me
As most men do

But our love was a drag
The sex, it did lag
As our bodies would sag

One night was different
You dared to be daring
You thought it would be fun
to wear my earrings

The months wore on
As your fetish grew worse
My clothes disappeared

Hey, that's not my purse!

You stopped wearing pants
Grew your hair out long
Started wearing women's dresses
And stretched out my thong

You said I was to blame
When I tossed out your bags
You thought I said
"I'd love you in drag"

So fellas pay attention 
Listen to your women; show them you care
And to my ex,
Give me back my lucky underwear!
by Katharine Miller

Its past that hour

Its past that hour
That somebody decreed
Was too late to buy
Alcohol but if you
Can find an open gun
Store go right ahead
And the only place 
To buy coffee is
In a brightly lit
7-11 but the guy
Behind the counter
Wonders why your there
And who can blame him
So you get out of there
As fast as you can
With your coffee and
You light up your cigarette
That you bummed from
A corner dealer because
You cant afford em anymore
Past what looks
Like a bust but is
Probably just some
Off duty cops getting
Their Fix
Into your apartment
That you pay too much
For but its better
Than the street
You keep telling yourself
But you spend so much
Time out there
Because its the
Only place that
Makes you feel alive

by MutantMan

Suburban Life Ain't What it Seems

It's too late now
To return those videos to Blockbuster
But you can still
Go to Walmart
And buy guns and clothes
Go right ahead
So you go to Denny's
And you don't even leave a tip
Then you go to StarBucks
Because drinking coffee there
Makes you cool
Then you leave
You smoke because that's
really cool too
Every other person on
Your street has a riding lawnmower
But you don't
Some women on the street corner
Hopped up on prescription
Valum because they
Need a good night sleep to
Go to work tomorrow 
Into your house
I mean your parents house
I wish I lived on the street
You keep telling yourself
If I spent my time there
I'd have more to complain about
So I could feel alive.

by Jason Morrison

Recipe For a God

One day a Mortal sat alone,
A thought sprang to his mind,
"I wonder which God made this world,
An answer I shall find.."

So being feeble minded,
(As most Peasants seemed to be)
He went to ask the Wiseman,
and the Wiseman said to he...

"My answer is a simple one,
Quite many Gods abound,
But Gruk is who you're Seeking,
He's the Mighty God of Ground."

Thus satisfied, The Peasant Left,
This Wisdom for to spread,
Not knowing that the Wiseman,
Had made up what he'd just said.. 

Now time Passed on and something strange,
Did happen in the Town...
The Peasants started worshipping,
Great Gruk, the Lord of Ground..

The Wiseman thought this funny,
Oh, but little did he know,
The Peasants took it seriously,
His Cult began to grow..

Then Above it all, in Heavens' High,
Something came to be,
A God sprang forth from so much faith,
and Mighty Gruk was he...

The other Gods were angry,
But 'twas naught that they could do,
Gruk was no longer a Peasant Cult,
The Nobles joined it too...

With Nobles joining to the Cult,
So Soon the King did too,
and they Conquered lands in the name of Gruk,
His Cult just Grew and Grew....

Now Gruk was pleased, and growing strong,
An thought it would be nice,
If like the Elder, Ancient Gods,
He'd get some sacrifice...

So to the Prophets his message went,
And who was First to Die,
But a Sacriligeous Wiseman,
Who kept calling Gruk a Lie..

He was given Mucho Sacrifice,
But Greedy still was He...
So Gruk sent forth the message,
"Much more Carnage there must be!!"

Now the Peasants,(Though quite Stupid),
Could see where this was going,
Noticed how the Sacrifice,
So steadily was growing..

Said, "This is going much too Far,
No more lives We'll Give!!"
And promptly stopped the Sacrifice,
(And hoped like Hell they'd live!)

Gruk then grew quite Angry,
At this Pacifists-Revolt,
And So he made an Earthquake,
Which killed off all his cult..

He'd Quite forgot they'd made him,
Now without their Faith was he,
He mumbled, "Whoops!", and disappeared,
Great Gruk had ceased to be...

The Moral of this Story,
Is a Simple One indeed,
Be Careful when you Lie, My Friend,
You See where it might Lead.. 

by S. Draugr

the Girl

Love letters that were never addressed to me
crushes that were never mine
relationships that I was not a part of
hearts that never loved me
mouths that never formed my name
chances that I was never entitled to
people who never cared about me
friends that I never had
jokes I never laughed at
 a voice that never spoke up
growth I never dared to expect
faces I only saw with fear
tears no one was meant to see
failings that were my own
windows I never jumped from
concrete I never crumbled my bones on
                           gravestones without my name engraved

by Jen Brook

Do you have poetry?

Send it on in! It can be romantic, heart-warming, humorous, or epic--we dont care! But if it makes the cut, you'll see it in the next issue of The Shrubbery. E-mail it to

Note: The Shrubbery now only prints 5 pieces of poetry per month, so don't feel bad if your stuff doesn't make it. Keep sending!!!

Back to Main