writing

Memorial Cliché

~

 A mean and petty old boss I once had,

made threats to all when he was mad.

“My pen’s mightier than the sword!” he’d say

“Bad recommendations will affect your pay.”

He was always looking to pick a fight.

So with my pen I poked him – to find he’s right.

~*~

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Duplicity

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I don’t like writing sad poetry.

It’s not a place I choose to see.

In my world of goodness, all are free,

where faces of children are full of glee.

Hope and happiness is how it should be.

~

Yet pencils ever dull in reality,

so I hone my points, turn’s the key.

Returning I do to the safety of fantasy.

I think that’s best, don’t you agree?

Or is everything escape in poetry?

~*~

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Rags & Riches

~

The millionaire poets, no dollars just sense

Their estates so large too big for a fence

With endless pens to harness the needs

Gardens abound grown from their seeds

~

Though time not made with gold on wrist

Dawn awakes when morning kissed

Wealth’s not held it’s how you see

When life’s embrace forever free

~*~

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Advance On No Advance

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Writing for me is a chapter in a story I’ll see not done.

The beginning a bit sketchy, the middle’s been mostly fun.

A sequel’s now in the works, I can see the volumes begun.

Genre’s chosen comedy drawn, opera unspoken and drama shun.

Yet the covers close on all someday. I hope at the end we won.

~*~

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Poetic Fiction

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If you’re in no hurry to go

then I’m in no hurry to stay

I’ll pack up my belongings

and be out by the end of the day

.

You can’t ever keep a job

Or even wash the clothes

Our meals served at the drive-thru

That’s where the money goes

.

The few dollars that remain

Is always spent on ink

The few hours that we share

Always your time to think

.

You lock yourself in a room

There you laugh, scream and cry

While I long for the silence

When one of us will die

.

If not for crumpled notes

Our stove would be always cold

Your hot and chilled emotions

Once steamy have gotten old

.

We haven’t kissed in a week

There’s been no love for a year

I’ve now begun to wonder

If love was ever there

.

Now you say you wrote a poem

That all the world should see

It’s a poem of love and devotion

But this one’s just for me

.

If these words of passion

Are as true as you say

Rumpled sheets await

There’s no need to leave today

.

But if they’re not

as all other times before

My future will unfold

beyond your paper door

~*~

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