'Follow your dream'
easier said than done
as the girl of my dreams
for me she is the only one
and yet for her I don't exist
she sees through me sad to say
don't have what (it) takes her fancy
won't even look my way
as ships which pass in the night
our two hearts will never meet
I find mine's a dead-end dream
on the wrong side of a one-way street
Down at the end of dead end street,
Cold, down and feeling beat,
Trying to make sense of it all,
Sun rises burning red,
Visions spinning in my head,
Now every dead end street leads to me.
Blowing around in stormy weather,
Like a bunch of dead leaves,
I'd be a boarded up home,
I'd be a rusty old car sitting up on blocks,
And every dead end street leads to me.
On dead end street looking back in my rear view mirror,
The view used to be much clearer,
I want to see sunrise on the dead end street,
I want smiles from every body I meet,
Still every dead end street leads to me.
pist'n broke
male libido has vanished
an anti climax
Admit you lost track
under a blue fever moon
Buckle your seat belt
The hysterical,
the shrinking curse
Chew dog food, gum
it sure smells delicious
Constant tinnitus
Burn aromatic herbs
Dangerous situations
with sparks from the mains
A threat to the electricity pylons
they are blacked out
The street was familiar
as one's own pocket
Mysterious disappearances
Even not Stephen King
understood what had happened
Down the desolation of a dead-end street,
Lost love's whisper, a heartbeat's retreat.
Echoes of laughter, now silenced and cold,
The tale of a journey, a story untold.
Gone are the riches, the glittering gold,
Faded dreams in a tale that unfolds.
Job's embrace, a fleeting affair,
Friends once near, now distant air.
In shadows of despair, I tread the way,
Searching for light in the muted gray.
The weight of loss, a burden to bear,
On this lonely path of deep despair.
But in the darkness, a flicker appears,
A distant light, through my silent tears.
A glimmer of hope on this desolate track,
A chance to rebuild what despair did lack.
For a new job one day, I drove fast.
I was late and the city was vast.
With no GPS,
I just had to guess
how to get there as minutes flew past.
Some shortcuts I tried. Time so fleet
I swore wouldn’t see me be beat.
Aha, it is here
I cried with great cheer,
till I saw it was a dead-end street.
A U-turn I made right away.
Still lost, I was filled with dismay.
My new job I lost,
but worse was the cost
of the gas I used that one day.
we could
pound our perspectives
as flat as a pancake
and force-feed each other with them.
we could debate
until two plus two is five
and still arrive at
an impregnable impasse;
a dead-end street.
you seem to be as stubborn as I am.
my mind -
and yours -
clearly will not change.
so why don't we agree to disagree?
you see, I'm simply sick of shouting,
tired of talking.
A dead end street like road to hell
A burning bright flame, you can tell
A deep pitfall with no way out
It takes your soul without a doubt
A sharp sickle of death awaits
To put some dead souls in the crates
Towards the way to endless pit
Without a vent, even a bit
The grim reaper waits with his scythe
And in his eyes, there is a blithe
For, there's one more soul, he will take
Or his glory will be at stake
And just before the barb-blocked end
You can do nothing but to bend
That miracle will pave the way
For you to pass the tragic slay
Dead End Street
He is waiting in the dark
In the smoky dark under the railway sidings.
He is nervous in the black
In the black of the black slag piles.
He lights a cigarette and breathes out
His breathing rapid and expectant.
The victim is on his way
On his way to redemption
Victim of stupidity and slur.
There will be no escape
Once bludgeoned and dragged
There is nowhere to go.
The noise of human life begins
Human life that calls time on the light
And the insolent one
Will die tonight.
At the dead-end street or cul-de-sac stands a tall silver lamp pole,
And a portable basketball hoop. I wish I could say there lives not a single soul.
What if the lamp pole sat on a game board on City property?
As fast as this little town is growing, we could play a game of monopoly.
A railroad track there was once, now a highway, and businesses
within a four-block radius causing dizziness.
Traffic so fast, there are a lot of accidents. If you cross the line,
watch where you turn, it’s your fault if you have the stop sign.
Ambulance wails and police sirens sound that drown
Your thoughts, almost all day long around town.
If you stand by the lamp pole, you’ll see them, go by.
You look up at the sky and pray; please don’t let them die.
I am only three houses down from that lamp pole
and highway when I take my dog out for a stroll.
11/9/2023
Dilapidated by harsh weather.
Ivy growing over it held it together.
Not much more than a shack.
My life ended there in that cul de sac.
~The Poet~
Twisting smiles along the way,
Struggles and strivings of the fray.
Trying to reach an ultimate goal.
Hardship seeps, destroying the soul.
Lest we show remorse for the deeds,
Bestowing ill, on suffering it feeds.
Incantations of hollow pleasure,
Rustic cavorting through our leisure.
Opulence rains in a copious deluge.
Affluence smothers yearning so huge.
Time inaudible, voices escape,
Stand on the precipice with no shape.
Trudging without courage so innate.
Leave all behind to contemplate.
Beyond reason, the battle is all uphill.
Feeling the power, we carry on still.
No stopping, no standing, yet defend,
The last conquest a mighty dead end.
Do we have the ability or the knack,
To conquer in life, fate’s cul-de-sac?
There are many kinds of writes,
some write wonderful songs.
Their words will make you sing along,
the music will keep running through your head.
Some write poems,
they can make them rhyme.
A poem could tell a happy or sad story,
or make you laugh out loud.
Some write books,
it could be about a dead end street.
The characters find the road has ended,
what a great place to park.
Park under the silver moon,
and count the shining stars.
DEAD END STREET
It’s where I once lived
On a dead end street
As I try to think back
That road just ended
It was just like my life
When hope ran out
And there at the end
In a tall rusting fence
A locked metal gate
Part hidden in the trees
And I could make out
A path leading away
Perhaps to a realisation
That wherever that led
Was where I had to be
But I never had the key
To what may have been
On a dead end street, I parked my feet
Predetermined by me, myself, and eye.
Laughing at my silliness. Running in the same circle.
A loop that others called out.
I ignored them.
He’s gone they said. Kaput. It was more than a hint.
But there was no note.
Don’t leavers write one?
I thought I knew him.
But he had blocked me.
From his phone and from his mother’s house.
She would not even come to the door
And I sat in her driveway for six hours.
A stalker?
Maybe.
Actually I just want to know.
Is it over?
I am still out here, punching buttons.
On a dead end street. where I have parked my feet.
Walking in circles
Of depression
Silence the ever present killer
On the cul du sac
Of life
Inspired by the Rat Pack
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