Best What A Drag Poems
The discounts are now quite a few
And cause for a feeling that's blue
It's true--what a drag
As the parts start to sag
A bonus for age sixty-two
Textbooks,
chalk dust,
young men
full of lust.
School bus,
school bag,
mathematics,
what a drag!
Woodwork,
English lit,
some pass,
some quit.
Autumn leaf,
summer sun,
playin’ truant
on the run.
Fibrolite
prefab,
bunson burner,
science lab.
Trampoline,
gym rope,
girls flirt,
boys hope!
Written: 1992
———
I attended “Rangi”
1974 ~ 1977.
What a drag they are
Pressure rises until death
Sleep peacefully now
Don't go calling baby-boomers no heroes
Our legacy won't be much above zero
What GRAND contributions we've made
We blessed you with cocaine and aids!
All pop wanted when he survived the war
Was a quaint little family of four
But reality busted their bubble
What they got was truck-load a' trouble
We grew up too coddled and cozy
Running rings around po' little Rosie
Whatcha' get for paid college tuition?
A spoiled brat who can't do addition
Staging sit-ins to protect the masses
With pillows for tender little asses
No Vietnam or bust for THIS Joe
(My congressman will intervene, you know)
So go stuff your damn draft notice order!
(Later dude, gotta' run for the border)
Welcome back Sarge, here's your homecoming prize
How 'bout the finger and spit in both eyes?
We stand PROUD may God bless our sweet flag!
(You SALUTING?? Good lord what a drag!)
How we LABORED to set the world free!
Hey, wanna' check out my new SUV?
***Vietnam was of course a tragic mistake and there were many injustices during those times...However many of the protesters and draft dodgers were privileged, insulated rich kids who had no clue about the real world...The ultimate insult was Jane Fonda's visit to North Vietnam in 1972, where she proudly posed on an enemy anti-aircraft gun while POW's were being tortured practically next door..One of those POW's was Senator John McCain who was offered release but refused because those imprisoned earlier were not offered the same...now THAT'S what I'd call a Baby Boomer hero!
To her very small credit, 'Hanoi Jane' later apologized calling her visit a mistake and a betrayal to the troops...ditto to you, Ms. Fondue....
Now I am sitting alone in this
Funny wagon with my boom box
and minding my own business
along with a bunch of numskulls
who thinks I am a nutcase like them—
What a drag! And they think we are
all going to a Funny Farm where
they take those who go bananas!
But I know better because
I am good and dandy--
One hell of a cockscomb dude!
All I am doing is
bamboozling them for now,
Behaving as if I am one of them—
These dolts, dim-witted blockheads!
But, YOU, who’s reading this,
can vouch for me, won’t ya?
Why? Because you are as cool as I am,
It takes one to know one!
You catching my drift, ain’t ya?
~07/16/15
~"Colloquialism" contest by Laura Leiser
Murder was the show
And Monday was the goal
Mid night,
strangers passing by
The scene is set,
So I gaze at the moon
Call me moon gazer,
Following my foot steps
To Hiding in the forests
All for Gathering trees
This is weird like my long legs,
So I draw back
To counter attack,
Like my opponent has plans
Like I have a vision
Like this situation lets to some conclusion,
Well this just the body
The start, of the whole story
As the moon light,
So I focus on the uncovered mystery
Like stars’ shine,
I guess that's the calling,
Witnessing death,
Man all the pain
Like simmy had it all before the rain
Now Gee's reigning so we all feel the ruins,
The power of change
In life it's all about chance,
Mondays the start,
Friday is so far
Like Sundays are cool
And its Monday again, what a drag!
The design of days,
The catholic order
The whole eastern take over,
So we live in a religious system
But we be dying like its Satan's game,
We are living in the diary written by ancient folks,
Everyone plays a part like everyone is a character
Your life is just a sentence to this whole story,
If you don't live a paragraph long you be sentenced to hell,
So we all pray like we all want to be in the new chapter
The new world order,
The fiction we living in and this is just part of the story,
The whole untold mysteries will unfold
And we'll fall like dominos
Like the extinction of dinosaurs,
But this is just evolution
The whole alien plan
The anunnaki breeding program
So we all are experiments,
Humanoid hybrids to cloning,
The whole abomination
This is the design of humans,
So we form nations
To regimes, contemplating a rebellion
So we unite as a state to fighting the state
So it’s a case battle that no one will win
Just genocide so we all are erased and
that's the conclusion leading to the end.
Kisses good-bye; waved out the door.
Sitting at the shore. The water is still rolling.
You want to know how much longer I'll be here for.
We'll all be here till death is at the door. Methadone,
morphine will squelch the pain, but for that ONE day
when it won't work anymore.
All the threads have been cut around the spool ahead.
There will be nothing but pain and nothing at the store.
People like it when I'm cheery and I don't know where to
put myself anymore.
Sit, stand, lay; I have no real reason to stay. I am warm
and cozy under this hood. My body is clean. That is
understood. My cuticles are disgusting. Is this the purply glut
they talk about in signs and symptoms of the dead and dying?
They are not the nails you see in Cosmo for manicure ads, you
know, manicures to die for.
My mouth feels mucky and brushing my teeth is a chore. I can't
remember one breakthrough from another. Holidays forever around
each corner; it would appear I'll still be around, what a drag; the wet blanket.
Dead broad walking down the dining room hall.
If I could cry and know the river would actually wash these tears away
for GOOD; I'd lay down and weep for weeks on end if it we're understood
that this would be the bloody end.
Tears aren't painful, nothing more than a wash. Not everything is as someone else says.
You know its so short lived but do we not think or realise
Who gives it a second thought, it's gone before your eyes
It sounds cynical your born, you live, you die, end of story
One frowns but guess it's part of the cycle of life’s journey
Though I would still question what about the in-between
What’s ones intension we ask our self’s what dose it mean
You know I was once told that time, it will wait for no man
Go with the flow, whinge and whine, or do the best you can
With obstacles to tackle, herldes to jump ,bridges to cross
At times there’s miracles, theirs hope and too, love and loss
What a drag, if not enjoyed, it's endured, where is the rapture
A zigzag, getting annoyed or bored, moments we try to capture
There's no straight path in this life, it's like one side or the other
Makes you laugh or cry at times it's rife , so much too discover
But gone so fast, like your picture taken then faded into obscurity
A touch of a button, a flash, I guess it's just apart of life's journey
WITH THIS I WAS TRYING TO DELVE IN TO THE MEANING OF LIFE LIE SORT OF THING
GOT LOST AND BORED WITH IT FINALY BROIGHT TO AN END I STARTED TIS JANUARY 2012
WAY BEFORE I CAME ON THE SOUP MAYBE ILL CHANGE IN FUTURE M TAKE ON THE CYCAI
ALREADY ON SOUP BUT FAR TO LONG ALL OVER THE PLACE IN BETTER CONTEXT
NOT SO MUCH ABOUT MYSELF BUT UNIVERSAL...........................completed January 2013
LIFES JOURNEY WRITTEN BY MYSELF DAVIDSCOTT,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
NOTE THIS WAS ON HERE BUT DELETED AS FELT ALL OVER THE PLAC THIS IN BETTER CONTEXT
OF WHAT AM TRYING TO GET ACROSS........................this is not a rehearsal you only get one life
NOTE DONT KNOW WHY i TRYED REWORKING THIS AS MESSED IT UP PUT BACK
AS WAS AND CHNGED LAST TWO LINES TO FIT WITH TITLE
Control your jealousy; I convey.
I am not cheating.
I relate.
I am helplessly in love.
Why do you not trust me?
I ask.
I am not a cheat; I blab.
I am helplessly in love.
Please give me my space.
I say.
I am not a w*o*e!
I communicate.
I am helplessly in love.
I state.
With you
Okay!
______________|
Penned April 28, 2014!
Thief in the night that stole my heart
Shot me with your poisoned dart
Took from me against my will
Be careful of that which you steal
Why do you have to be so obtuse?
Do you really think I like the abuse?
Dangling your promises on a thin straw
Promises broken there should be a law
Bragging about what you once had
But you sold it all off, man what a drag
If it wasn't sold you claim it was stoled
Stole or sold your statement seems bold
Always thinking everyone owes you
Them owing you is not always true
It's a sense of entitlement
that emanates from you
What are you doing people aren't dumb
You about as predictable as the morning sun
Searching for fault in everyone you meet
Pointing your finger is far from discreet
There's a darkness in you that stains your soul
When you stand in the light it casts its shadow
What does it take to get through to you?
Yet every so often a bright light shines through
My wish for you is your demons be gone
I wouldn't wish them upon anyone
Your perception of things is slightly skewed
Paranoid and delusional no one is out to get you
Ripple in time like a rock skipping in a lake
Tiny bubbles could result in a wake
Or it could smooth itself into calm - A flat surface likened unto a pond
There is a shadow inside you called ego and pride
causing a quake from which you can't hide
Getting rid of the demon would be most wise
Before it consumes you and becomes your demise
The light that's within you now will abound
No longer blind you see light all around
Westward blown…
sprinkled mist of wind’s wisp
bathed in summer’s blazing heat
upon iron frame bench I sit
my legs they dangle above madness,
sandy ledge,
not a cloud shield me from sun’s bake
baking my starving arms…
hunger’s thrum
I wait here for love to come
my eyes they roam the torrent angry sea
splash of wave’s cast swab my face
amid gentle breeze
so consumed with the wind’s mist,
the sun’s bake, the sea’s splash,
my hunger’s sass
I missed the love that walked pass
daydreaming… what a drag!
Thelonious Monk, In a world where he spins not just notes, but notes where bebop rides vibes/
Monk plays funk, Groovy good-time funk, A jazz revolution, a sonic delight/
No, Thelonious Monk did not play funk, But what if he did?/
are you hip to the scene a smoky room filled with the beat, would it be jazz funk? Bebop of today, with a strong, rhythmic bassline, a pulse that pulls your mind strings like a JB embrace/
a prominent drum groove, that makes your soul sway, funk chords dancing, Minor 9th chords, slipping and sliding, Dominant 13th chords, bold and inviting. Can you hear it? /
The bebop beat, fast tempo, bandstand sweaty heat always exceeding 200 bpm/
a race against time, a chase through sound, complex chord progressions, rapid shifts, and a whirlwind of keys, to catch you off guard, and bring you higher into the bebop ozone. C, D, E, F, G, A?, A, B/
Man, what a drag, to think Monk didn’t play funk, what a world he might have created, If his fingers danced on those keys, In a vibrant, electric harmony, where Bebop jazz meets funk, and the night spins on/
A tapestry woven with sound, Riddled with the heartbeat of a genius, A world where Thelonious Monk Is the king of the jazz-funk groove/
Oh, what a drag, another day
Is going by so flatly.
A.A.
The life drags on again. As real as a haze
over a lunar sea it lasted for so many
eons that you began to take the life at face
value but luckily it didn't lead to any
fallouts: as before the notional mirage
continues to attract the spurious wayfarers
in a conceptual sand; a verbal camouflage
is still a matter of perceptive faults and errors.
Regretfully, the death is just another wrong
conception. Do not place too high your expectations
on it. The death as well endures for so long
that once you'll get enough of any incarnations.
"You bored me to the death you both, life and death".
I don't remember who said that. May be, Macbeth.
Today’s Mick Jagger’s birthday
And it must be quite a drag,
For seven-zero are the years
That he’s got in the bag.
When “Mother’s Little Helper”
Was released and made the charts,
A younger Mick, at twenty-three,
Was breaking younger hearts.
That famous lyric from the song,
While catchy and harmonic,
When issued from his youthful lips
I’m sure seemed quite ironic.
But now that many years have passed
And Mick’s an older dude,
The irony’s no longer there,
Despite his attitude.
So rock on, Mick, and celebrate
Because, if truth be told,
At seventy, you must agree,
It’s no fun getting old!
High School, what a drag
My best friend has class today?
Why did she start now?
School for her starts tomorrow
I wish I could have done more