I have addictions
I’m laying in my garden midnight bathing
there’s something in my system
something’s on the way from which I need saving
tomorrow I have a free house
I’m thinking of inviting ten men
there’s more chance of that
than seeing all of my friends
yeah it’s really quite disarming
I’m always told that I’m their best
would you say I’m charming
or shall I just give it a rest?
I crave better connection
it’s only human after all
but I come with all this baggage
the bump in the pavement which made you fall
I try to be polite
I’m told i’m too nice
I try to be in charge
I’m told i’m cold as ice
I suppose you can’t win them all
I’ve been thinking about weddings
meanwhile tinder has me hidden
is it a curse or is it a blessing
that I’m over six foot tall
but the world just keeps on spinning
and I don’t think about that at all
Screeching through my bedroom walls,
time moved on, I hear a song.
Signaling that she’s here.
Convincing that she is an owl to fear.
Her cries and cries at night make me wonder if she’s alright.
There was no peace in the gloomy nights,
Her reflection woke up the spirits, brought them into light.
A war I wasn’t aware of,
I was ignoring the sense.
Whaling on the last breath,
It’s time I give it a rest.
In some way, our cries stopped at once
I open the door, and there was silence.
Please tell me it’s been done.
I found this site called Poetry Soup
Here you can get applause from a group
So I started writing poems, none make the best
My family tells me to "give it a rest."
I need some tough love, some commenter to say
"Your talent is poor, go outside in the day."
Instead, the site policy is to always give praise
Can anything save me - I hope it's just a phase.
Every time I say a sentence, I think of a rhyme
For instance, "dime, time, buy some outshine"
Can't stop rhyming, can't stop writing
I can't get a life that is more exciting.
So to all you young men, sitting on that stoop
Stay away from Poetry Soup
Find yourself another hobby, get some fresh air
Don't be like me, stuck in this creative lair.
Searching for a word, sinking in despair.
I’m an idiot; I keep bending
my feather-tipped thumb
like lumber; not limber
this knuckle bone nail
painted cheap-pink; thinks
only of ink in bottomless pit
push, press, plunk; put on
the old brace to restrain
but don’t you know; the sucker
will escape ‘cause the writer
just can’t give it a rest; useless
to try - won’t cut it off, right?!
Write!
.
.
.
.
.
.
A bar singer asked for a request
But all he got was "give it a rest"
He said "I know that song"
"Please all do sing along"
In that moment he felt truly blessed.
He started to sing and he got jeered
His eyes then filled up in floods of tears
So he ran out the door
Was not seen any more
Till he returned much older by years.
Customers in the bar sat and stared
“His singing's out of tune” they declared
They all went from the room
Left the singer in gloom
His ego was severely impaired.
He said to himself, “that’s it, no more
I’ll ask if I can just sweep the floor”
The manager said “yes”
“You can clean up the mess
But don’t sing when doing your chores.”
Oh farage do give it a rest..' at last things are more quiet
Yet you have to beat your chest.' How much did you cost?
Who has paid your price.? You turned your back and are
Part of the pack..While Tommy is stuck; in the jaws; of their
Vice..I ask you hold that thought for a moment..If its a
Thing you can do? Or lock yourself in a small toilet for just
A fortnight or two..Maybe by the time you come out? there
Will be peace 'at least in ukraine' and Britain will be spared
Your iniquity? That way all sides get much gain.'
What's this we have here?
Second hand?
No, worn out? Eco friendly.
Sure, the color's fading some
But for the grade
It's not too spendy
And it's versatile
Though it doesn't change
Not affected much by where it hangs
Around
Been through the wash a couple times
So I bet if you take it down
You'll find the fiber's tough
Despite the gentle feel
Threaded thick enough to warm you
While being cool enough for mass appeal
And thus often a-ddressed
Though I think you'll find it’s just as satisfying
To give it a rest
(And I'm sorry for the rhyming)
narcissists with huge egos slither and slink ~ hmmm, what would Rumi think
a sly smile on their lips, thinking it's a disguise ~ not from many eyes
having an overly aggressive attitude ~ it's just plain a-rse rude
they are like lemons with sour zest ~ for goodness sake, please give it a rest
There are behaviors that I detest
From people who preach that their work's the best
Lines of gobbledygook
Reads like a boring book
Time to give their arrogant pen a rest
Snowy, slushy mess,
driving now a test,
snowy, slushy mess,
heart is in my chest,
snowy, slushy mess,
please be a quick guest,
snowy, slushy mess,
all snow would be best,
snowy, slushy mess,
sky, give it a rest!
‘cause this stuff is terrible.
Hollow caves sit in my chest
I shed a tear but you tell me “give it a rest”
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat
I look around I’m somewhere remote.
With you in the shadows I am not safe
Shovel in hand you’re digging my grave
I sit straight up blank stare on my face
No breaking down I’ll do this with grace
You circle and circle and spit pure poison
Words trickle out but I don’t let the noise in
I’m stoic as ever and let out a grin
You scream in my face as if I have sinned
Do as I’m told, then I’ll be skinned
Down to the bone to redesign
A shell of myself, but I’ll say I’m fine
It’s a loneliness I can’t define.
Alone in a castle, chained to a wall
I want to run but then I stall
Look at my bruises your words I recall
“No one will save you, alone you are small.”
Sam was the fluffiest Tom on the Parisian block
The tittering of females was found around the clock
They came into Starbucks at a quarter until eight
Giggling and gaggling, which he did not appreciate
Give it a rest, Sam thought, as he tried to read his book.
They were older ladies, giving him a “come hither look”.
He was tired of being married, he had done it six times before.
He would always amble home to Mama at a quarter to four.
I hate when people say "I know what you're going through."
Because you honestly don't, do you?
Were you there when he placed his hand on my knee?
While deathly staring at me?
While I pierced his moving hand with my eyes?
When I suddenly thought this was going to ruin my life?
When he finally stopped moving his hand up?
While I sat there unable to interrupt?
While I sat there worthless?
Wishing he would give it a rest?
When he placed his hand where he wanted?
When I began to feel haunted?
When I felt my body was not my own?
But I didn't give it out to loan!
I didn't want to feel his hand move about.
All I could do was sit there and count.
I couldn't move until he was done.
But I sat there wishing to run.
I shouldn't have froze up like that.
But I just felt trapped.
I still feel his horrible breath breathing in my face.
Wishing to get out of that place.
But now I'm just a part of the 97%.
With all the girls that didn't give consent.
Jealousy in senior citizens
Is an ugly thing
It’s childish, it’s petty,
It has a negative ring
For elderly women, make no mistake
In certain surroundings
There’s quite an outbreak
And don’t they look silly
With their petulant smiles
As they pose and they preen
Like noxious reptiles!
The venom they spew, why, it’s unladylike
Overheard was this gentleman:
“Girl, take a hike!”
We don’t want you around,
Say the popular guys
But they simply can’t help it
They draw them like flies
So here is a warning, a word to the wise
If old ladies don’t watch it
They may recognize
That they haven’t a clue
How to compete for the prize.
Let them be jealous, let them talk trash
They only look foolish
But they’re due for a crash
‘Cause nobody likes them
We think they’re absurd
Their ugliest nature
Is more than inferred
Drop the act, ladies, give it a rest
The men are all saying
You’re the worst kind of pest
There are those who think the spirits of loved ones departed
Have moved on to their heavenly reward,
And there are those who think they'd like to, but "cain't"
Because they still need to finish something they have started,
And until some resolve they contrive to move toward,
They stay trapped here on Earth as a "haint".
Poltergeists don't exist, no real proof there at all,
This is just an "old wives tale", at best,
So I'd entreat you to show some restraint.
That strange noise you may hear some stormy night in the hall
Is just weather related, so give it a rest.
You may think it's a "haint",
But it "ain't".
Author's note: "Haint" is an old mispronounced folklore word for "haunt", or ghost.
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