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Best Poems Written by Gary Kraidman

Below are the all-time best Gary Kraidman poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Reflections

When I think of all I've done
Plans that kept me on the run
I kind of wonder every day
How I pissed my time away
In my thirties there was cash
Not one buck saved
Not one buck stashed
Sure I thought I could reach fame
From art or science
What a shame
For these goals I truly went
And never saved a single cent
So now it's rough
Though I'm not broke
Just don't live like other folk
My neighbors run out nights for eats
Can't afford such costly treats
When Winter comes they go away
I freeze my rear
I'm forced to stay
Yet I feel the need to try
To make some mark before I die
For in truth these other folk
Live a life that's just a joke
The men dried up some years ago
Their wives plan daily where to go
Their brains are focused on the past
No way to know how long they'll last
So my future's not to dread
Even now I'll move ahead

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Onward and Upward

Sometimes when you're alone
Who can you call?
Who can you phone?
Close friends are few
Some just grew old
Nobody new
Nights always cold
So now you stop
It's time to think
Life does not vanish
In a wink
Lots of new folks are still here
It takes some work
No need to fear
Lots of others need a friend
A little sweat could start a trend
So you put yourself right out
Now there's no more need to pout
You stumble on a brand new group
You fit right in
You tie the loop
Now your days just race right by
New friends at last
No need to cry
You worked real hard
To push ahead
No bad thoughts now
Goodbye to dread

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Bingo Ode To a Nursing Home

I thought I'd seen it all before
What else could life now have in store
She called the game at half past three
The patients stared
Some stared at me
Cards were laid out nice and neat
All waited for the late day treat
The caller let the numbers flow
Her pace, of course, was very slow
Finally a hand went up
A quarter in the winner's cup

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Fifty Five and Still Alive - Ode To the Adult Community

So now we sit around and stare
The truth is that there's no one there
Not a soul found on the street
A passing wave would be a treat
At fifty five
While still alive
A choice was made
And plans were laid
As seniors this was all quite new
Now open to a lucky few
A clubhouse with some gorgeous ground
Surely neighbors would be found
Day and night we'd be so busy
Activities would leave us dizzy
So finally we made the switch
Moved right in without a hitch
We then just took a casual walk
To find someone and start to talk
Yet not a soul was to be found
As we made our stroll around
And soon our hearts were full of dread
Had we found the living dead
So now we simply sit alone
Hoping to just hear the phone
So when it's time to sell your home
And find a place to settle down
Remember just to check it out
Or be the only one in town
There's more to life when you've got cash
Then see your neighbor
Take Out trash

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Pompeii

Sometimes I feel like such a jerk
To hear friends talk of long lost work
Few leave their homes
All had good jobs
From nine to five
Just working slobs
When all is really said and done
Where was real life?
Where was the fun?
So as the years now just roll by
And no one really cares a bit
To hear these has beens spew their wit.

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Haste Makes Waste Ode To a Cyclist

No matter what I read
No matter what I said
The listener never stirred in bed
To all he just appeared quite dead
Eyes blank and always open
Not a word from him was spoken
Through tubes the young man would be fed
He never blinked
Just stared ahead
What more about him can be said
Two days ago he was to wed
No safety helmet on his head
His girlfriend held him by the waist
His motorbike zoomed off in haste
At break-neck speed they lost their luck
On the right they passed a truck
So what more can we say today
In this state he'll always stay
His lover now has walked away
So young she'll soon foreget the day
Another guy will soon appear
No longer will she shed a tear

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Patience Is a Virtue For Just a Little While

Did you ever sit and wait
To hear from someone you just hate
You have no choice
Where's their letter
Their fat check can make you better
If someone just controls your fate
Don't get angry if they're late
Just breathe in slowly
Let it out
A smile to all
Don't ever pout
And when the cash comes to your door
Just be nice
Forget you're sore
Just say thanks
Like once before
So what's the moral of this tale
You waited daily for the mail
No more stomping on the floor
Just take the bucks
You don't need more
Don't have to sit and frown
Just laugh inside
You won the crown
Soon it's time to pack and go
No being nice
No eating crow
Just drop them all
And close the show
You might even win a Tony
For being such a real phony

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A Senior's Day

Usually you're all alone
When there's ringing on your phone
An early call that makes you moan
Just wish it was a dial tone
You grab the phone
Press to your ear
Hello who's there?
You calm your fear
A neighbor's voice comes on the line
You know at once
Things are not fine
What will she say?
This voice today
What gives you dread?
Is someone sick?
Is someone dead?
The news you hear will make you sad
You know it will
It's always bad
And so you hear the tragic tale
Another friend
You start to pale
The call ends soon
Someone who once enjoyed her wealth
She seemed to have the best of health
One minute she was doing great
Then death became her sudden fate
No more to say
Another call
That changed your day
The phone's back now
Back on the wall
Who'll call next
Who's next to fall?

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Haste Makes Waste

No matter what I read
No matter what I said
The listener never stirred in bed
To all he just appeared quite dead
His eyes were always open
Yet not a word from him was spoken
Through tubes the young man world be fed
He never blinked
He stared ahead
What more about him can be said
Two days ago he was to wed
No safety helmet on his head
His girl friend held him by the waist
His motor bike zoomed off in haste
At great neck speed they lost their luck
On the right they passed the truck
So what more can we say today
In this state he'll always stay
His fiancee just walked way 
Never to forget the day
Maybe it was time to pray.

Details | Gary Kraidman Poem

Tap Dance Ode To the Writer's Pitch

You better be a little rich,
If you choose to make a pitch.
By bus or car you make the trip,
You've trained yourself just not to slip.
The agents sit; a motley crew,
A few may even look at you.
To them it's just the same old hat,
To find some meat stuck in the fat.
The writer wonders what they think,
Is he good or does he stink?
Most go home with little done,
Was this pitch just done for fun?