Poetry for July 18, 2011.
Perhaps this is coming a bit too soon,
Since I wrote all that poetry back in June
But I couldn’t quite
Come up with tonight’s
Topic on which to rant and write.
Once upon a setting sun
A police officer pulled out his gun
And examined it, it had been fired
At someone innocent, now expired
He laughed to himself
With a new taste for blood
“I don’t even have to run!”
The sinister minister administered things
Because he wanted to reach high brass rings
Secretly he wanted to be the boss,
But he was instead the yes man,
Dealing with the dross
Once there was a man
Who built a dam
That was worth a damn.
But he’s dead now.
Some people don’t know
All the things I know
But most people
Know more than me
My view of the world
Is often cracked, warped and cynical
And I know that not everyone agrees.
My mail is slow, much too slow
I’m waiting for extra weeks
I don’t really know
Why this is so
So very slow
Strike Backlog!
I think this blow
Causing this slow
Will make it so
I must give up more control
I’m considering Direct Deposit!
All my life I’ve been called a loser,
A moron, hoser
And a worthless poser
A faker, a taker, and even a breaker
But it’s all done by a bunch of bullies
Who would likely sue me if I’d stand up to ‘em
So I might just consider
Taking the gun to shoot ‘em
But then…
I’m a nice guy
And I’m short, and fat
And broke
Needless to say, I never get laid,
But then it’s also confidence I lack
I want a man eating plant in my garden.
On second thought, maybe not.
I wish I could’ve come up with something new
But this week it just got away from me
I’d be repeating myself
If I wrote anything that’s bothering me at the moment
I wish I could sleep,
But this heat is keeping me up.
Rod Roddy is dead.
from cancer of the mantits
around seven or eight years ago
I thought you knew that
———————————-
and another thing…
Fish, can drown.
You are not a fish.
therefore you cannot drown
except that you can
logic doesn’t always act logically, does it?
Summer is nice
It’s warm outside
Everyone wears less clothing
The shapelessness of winter
Is no longer seen
And bared bodies are now partly showing
Summer is nice
But sunburns are not
And neither are the mosquitoes
Summer is nice
But not the humidity
And not the difficulty to breathe
Winter is nice.
Nuclear explosions with mushroom clouds
Are photographed for posters to be put up on the wall
By hepcats, coolcats, scenesters, hipsters and hippies too
And let’s not forget the punks.
And while there are combinated formations of the above in current existence
And while I happen to be friends with many of them
And while I would be among them if I were ten years younger
And yet, I am among them
And I
Am a combinated combination of the above.
