Not my genre
I find it hard to describe
art, that I can’t get into.
No offense to the painter,
it’s all good and in the
pupils to remember.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Not my genre
I find it hard to describe
art, that I can’t get into.
No offense to the painter,
it’s all good and in the
pupils to remember.
HUH??
“Welcome home!”
“Thank you,” he said to appease me.
“How are you?” my sentence began.
He replied, “I’m fine, how are you, my old friend?
Now there’s someone who knows
where respect grows. Pardon me,
if I lose you, on this one.
“Excuse me,” he said, as
he pushed me away, without malice.
“Have a nice day” I said as I left…
“Pardon me” “How are you?” “What do you do?”
So this poem sucketh
without an ounce of true.
If I could make it go away
would you tell me,
THE TRUTH?
Veirdoffus Chuben… who needs it!
I have so many stories all of them true
most about dogs, as I’ve had a few.
From shepherds to dobies and a mixture or two.
Let me start with our shepherd,
who had a friend Benjy,
a beagle he knew.
Our dog was named, Veirdoff, one of a kind.
My mother named him or he’d be left behind.
It’s a deal that we made, to take him home.
That big pawed puppy, if only we’d known.
“So who needs it?” Is the translation, you see;
a name he would carry without shame.
Veirdoff was a smart one, yet dumb in some ways.
When his friends came to call, he bolted like the wind.
This cute puppy grew to a beast of a dog
so his friends learned to use his strength.
Let me explain a thing or two
before I divulge, what he did.
One day he came home with a large gash
on his nose that didn’t seem to bother him.
He didn’t complain, but we called anyway.
His vet said to use, blah, blah from the house
and it would heal, quickly, without a bandaid.
To our dismay the lesion remained
without getting any better.
Just when we, were going to call for
an appointment; he was spotted, across our lawn.
We watched as Benjy and a new friend
got out of the way, for Veirdoff.
Lo and behold, there was our dog, brave as can be,
removing a metal garbage lid with his nose.
From our neighbor’s, trash can, no less.
Yes, he used his nose to lift off the lid,
then he put his front paws on the side
of the pail, to tip it.
As soon as it tipped, Benjy and friend
dove in for buffet, while Veirdoff stood
guard, behind them.
We watched his escapade
from start to finish
not a scrap did he have
in his mouth.
We opened the door and called him;
his buddies ran, leaving him alone
to face the doggie music.
Of course he could’t clean the mess they made
so we picked up the smelly garbage remains.
There’s many a story to be told about Veirdoff,
our big boned shepherd, a pooch to behold!
BROKEN
I wanted to figure, out
why I hated to cook,
so I went back a few years
and took a look.
I was young, barely four, but
an independent streak, had I.
I reveled in a house of
love, music, and song.
No foul words,
from my parent’s lips
did ever pass. Only
love, hugs, and kisses,
ya know.
In my happy home, my
favorite toy was a stove.
I was told to play with
either Mom or Dad.
Why, I didn’t know.
Well, being who I am
and always was;
I plugged in my stove
while they slept.
I wanted to make
a surprise breakfast
with milk.
So I filled the pot
and felt so secure
as I boiled the milk
for cocoa.
I stirred and I stirred as
the smoke swirled around
then Daddy came in, in a rush.
I gushed, Daddy I’m cooking,
it is a surprise, is Mommy up yet?
My Father, with a crazed
look in his eyes, pulled the plug,
and yelled for my Mom.
Mother arrived, with a
that same look on her face.
Dad left for a moment and
when he returned
he cut the plug on my stove.
I looked at them
with a broken heart
and said, “Now it won’t work!
I’ll never cook again!”
I abandoned the toy,
that had no plug.
And to this day, I won’t
cook or play with a stove!
HER THIRD EYE
She’s a psychic in denial.
as everyone knows.
She’ll deny her third eye
though brightly it glows.
Along with her aura
she will deny
that her aura bangs it
right out of the sky.
Ask her a question
she’ll tell you
the truth.
No fudge in her answers
she’ll brutally bruise.
She’s a little pudgy
men flock like flies
she could care less,
her love is true, no lies.
Centered on earth
her faith has been
shattered.
No glory in war, but
what does that matter?
She fights the light
that comes and goes.
She fights the light,
not darkness you see.
For the light keeps on
calling both you and me.
Don’t get her wrong,
she hates the dark,
and all that it stands for.
Evil versus Goodness
and sometimes it wins, but
she encapsulates sweetness
and let’s the light in.
Don’t be confused
with the one you will seek
when leaving this earth,
when climbing that peak.
In her heart and in her soul
though she will deny it
a mighty force grows.
Bring her your questions,
bring her your fears.
she’ll always try to help you
and clear up some tears.
Now you may feel this person, is you
I know first hand, there’s more than a few
Remember, she will deny her third eye
She’s a psychic in denial, but she’ll never lie.
THE ZIPPER
A friend almost died
his ticker, the cause.
Does he need stints or
is a by pass the cure.
Today I went to see him
his hospital bed was empty.
My body trembled as I
looked around his room.
“Nurse, nurse where is
Mr. G?
I think I have his room right.
Where might he be?”
“Are you a relative,” she sighed.
“I am, I am. Is he alright?”
“They sent him down for surgery,
he’s getting his zipper tonight.”
I looked at her queerly, so
she explained it to me.
A zipper is a term they use
for by-pass surgery.
MOSSY DEATH
There’s a cemetery few have seen;
it hides its dead, in the forest.
No visitors allowed.
Reads the sign.
Apparently when death arrived,
no one cared.
Piled on top of one another,
some do lie, for eternity.
Death cars, you heard me right.
Covered with rust and moss
some with trees, grown through
the body of steel.
Moss is natures carpet
to cover moist ground,
but when you slip in there
the car graveyard, that is.
You will find nature loves
and returns to the earth
that which belongs to her.
WRAPPED
I stole myself away.
They didn’t know how strangled I felt.
The umbilical chord still attached
wrapped tightly round my neck.
I didn’t mean to hurt anyone or put fear in their hearts.
I wanted freedom, I wanted a new start.
I said goodbye to only a few
not the ones that mattered.
I wrenched a heart, that was easy to claim.
He kept his promise, but cried all night.
I didn’t realize the pain I had caused
when setting my pain free.
I wanted freedom, an apartment and
of course my own key.
I was missing, no where to be found.
I was happy, delirious with joy, while
they were crying, worried and scared.
I had no idea, I didn’t care. I was free.
Was I alone? Well I’ll never tell.
I went missing, they were in hell.
Do I regret it? I guess in some ways.
I wish there had been, a better way
MOON DITTIE
Glory to the moon
that shines above
shooting its beams
to the lake below.
Make no mistake
it may not always
be there.
Don’t panic my friend,
I hear Gods got a spare.
TRAVELIN’
With pencil and paper in hand
I jot down the name,
I jot down the brand.
For other folks
the brand don’t matter
but I write it down
it saves on the chatter.
I travel from town to town
aching with pain,
but I like what I do.
Of course I’d prefer
for a doc to see
I let my wounds to heal
no docs are around
I don’t trust em barbers
and I never will
I’ve seen what they’ve done
to a cadaver or two.
I’m feared by particular men, you see.
Dirty stink’n rotten men, the kind you want to bury.
The kind that steal your horses and cattle
and know, if caught, they’ll be heightened for death.
Perhaps it’s the platform,
they desire to speak
most hold their tongue
many of ’em freak..
They whine and squeal just like little pigs.
Two more miles to go and I’ll be there by sun-up.
Reckon they’ll be waitin’, for this travelin’ man.
I’m the one with the rope,
I’m the one with the plan.
They stretch if I leave em
don’t want no complaints.
So they’re down in a day.
The crowd that amasses
boggles my mind
They line up a few men for the day.
For I may not return
for months on end.
I’m the hangman
I move from town to town.
My horses are tired
they have a right to complain.
I’ll set down me britches
one of these days.
For now I’ll keep movin’ and hanging away.