Best Edits Poems
EDITS OF MY LIFE
The years scrolled down like pages
Lots of memories to highlight
Bad times not deleted
That wouldn’t feel right.
Sometimes the years just flowed
Almost perfect from the start
Others were a struggle
Etched forever in my heart
There were missing commas
Brief respites from the pain
Transitions were never easy
But life went on again.
We’d seen unexpected full stops
Sudden death and falling tears
Some insertions gave great pleasure
As I scrolled back through the years
Others dared to comment
Sometimes along the way
Suggested I make changes
That price too high to pay
Edits never ended—
Descriptions just not right
The deadline approached quickly
Time to print in black and white
I wouldn’t really change things
—even if I could
I liked the script I’ d chosen,
things that I had done
The life story that unfolded
Was for me a special one
My owner Jon has bought a bright new shovel
But keeps me in this corner of the barn.
I’m very glad to be here by my lonesome,
no longer party to his wicked deeds.
He used to throw me into his black van
every other month or so at night.
He’d drive a long ways out into a forest.
He’s got a spot out there where no one goes.
I’d always get tossed next to a fresh corpse.
Then we’d go thumping over back road bumps.
Each corpse was young and often beautiful
except for where he’d slashed the young thing’s face.
His van was spotless. Tarp had been laid down
before his escapades into the city.
I’d hear each victim’s screams once she’d been brought
into his house where torture would ensue.
Sometimes they’d have some blood upon their flesh.
My blade would get a small taste of that blood
when it was fresh and I’d been laid down where
he’d left a cut or two on some of them.
In fact, if some detective had the brains
to figure out the methods of this creep
whose madness never gets satiation,
they’d only have to seize me from his barn.
The old dried blood of victims and the dirt
that came from the location of his dump site
would be the evidence that they would need
to lock that monster up for once and all.
Too bad I cannot speak aloud his crimes.
I’m sick to death of slashing earth for him.
What degradation digging young girls’ graves.
Accomplice most unwilling I was made.
And now the shiny shovel gets to do
Jon’s dirty work, becoming old like me.
I send my thoughts out to the universe.
Please catch our wicked owner. Make him STOP.
WHO EDITS?
I read the news,
I watch the news,
I listen to the news,
I read Google for views,
Someone edits all this stuff,
Well, I guess that's tough,
Whose agenda is manipulative?
Media ghouls so negative,
Their agenda is too much,
Haven't normals had enough?
Well, I guess that's tough,
Who edits all this stuff?
Diet is really edit misspelled.
I'd rather think of it that way.
It seems easier to modify,
Than it does to take away.
Diet is also a harsh word.
Starvation leaps to mind.
A jailer who throws the key away,
Because eating is a crime.
Edit is a nicer word.
Rearranged it spells the tide.
A picture of ebbing serenity,
Erosion over time.
Diet is more of a challenge.
A gauntlet slapped in your face!
While edit simply reminds us,
A pencil may also erase.
...for Virginia
Floating under the surface,
stones weighting her body,
gremlins and goblins
are hobbling her soul.
Images jar,
memories jostle,
her compass is gone
yet she's in full control.
Full to o'erflowing,
her faculties failing,
she's one with the fishes,
at last she is whole.