Sunday, July 1, 2012

Poems For Your Perusal: New Half-Stack Of Alpha Poetry

All bent out of shape
About nothing important
I take a deep breath
Tap on the brakes
And remind myself
That not everyone
Drives as perfectly
As I do. (Yeah, right!)

Batting around the same idea
For twenty-five years or more.
Time to start doing something
And stop only talking about it.
Either it's a dream you dream
Or one you live. Time to decide.

Call the shots.
I'm too tired
And too distracted
To be in charge.
Talk amongst yourselves.
Do what you think
Is best. If I don't like it
I'll let you know.
Otherwise just carry on.

Drawing a blank
Trying to remember
Who you are and
Why I should know you
And why I should care.
Help me out here.

Emotional rollercoaster.
Every day is different
And no day is a drag.
Always something to
Worry about or wonder
But only so much
You can do -- just hang on.

Fly by the seat of your pants
Because the cuffs won't support you.
The seams would rip and tear apart
And you would sink just like a rock.

Give me a break
I'm doing the best I can
With what I have to work with.
I'm no professional at this
Just making it up as I go along.
If you think you can do better
You're certainly welcome to try.
If not, get out of my way
And let me improvise!

Have the last laugh.
The first one is always insincere.
The next one is obligatory.
The others in between
Are cruel and malicious.
The last one is always the best.

In your face
Are two eyes
That scrutinize
Two ears
That listen closely
A nose
That smells something fishy
And a mouth
That talks too little.

Jumping in with both feet
I look around at the walls
Closing in (caving in?)
And wonder when I hit bottom
Will it hurt? Or will I even
Notice the difference?

Kid in a candy store
Told me that the butterscotch
Was made by little Chinese boys
In a sweatshop half a world away.
I thought he was crazy
And I told him so.
(I probably shouldn't have
Been so harsh -- he's just a kid!)
But I didn't want to feel guilty
While eating my butterscotch.
There's too many other things
In life to feel guilty about.

He wastes no time
Finishing what he started.
It was a burger.
He wipes the ketchup
From his dripping lips
And belches like he means it.
No, his mama actually never did
Teach him any manners.
It's obvious now that you know.

Mouth off at strangers
Because you think
It's okay as long as
You don't know them
And they don't know you.
You'll never see them again
They'll never see you again.
But what if you could have
Made a difference
By saying one more word
Or withholding a few?
Now you'll never know.

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