Every gosh darn morning I draw water from the well
Not having indoor plumbing has proven to be hell
If ever I find a way to afford it, that would be swell
I'm annoyed with carrying the buckets. Can you tell?
Lowering the thing is easy because it's so light
I'm chilly on Winter morns, even when the sun is bright
It's been the main reason for many a marital fight
Especially if more water is needed during the night
The hubs declared that it should be woman's work
His chauvinistic attitude shows that he's a jerk
He's a bit lazy at chores, and finds reasons to shirk
Sometimes he makes me so mad that I go berserk!
Usually, I can't carry the water without making a splash
He said he would do it for me... if I paid him in cash
His relentless sarcasm is nothing more than balderdash!
The rudeness is so irritating that he's given me a rash!
It’s too high, far too high, I cannot look down at the floor’
Said the bird who realised she suffered from vertigo
‘But it’s only a bird bath’ this really is too silly
Said her impatient friend, who by now was rather chilly.
‘Why me, why me? I can’t believe it’s happened to me!’
Said the bird to her friend, wishing she could flee.
We’ve got to get this sorted, we’ve got to get this right
If you are to ever take your very first true flight.
‘I have an idea, I think it might just work’
Said the bird to his friend, as she might just go berserk
‘If you simply close your eyes and imagine you can float
As if you’re perched safely, on a magic flying coat
The bird with vertigo said ‘maybe I can try’
Then closed her eyes tightly, as she flew up in the sky
She dare not even look, for fear that she may fall
But her friend was right beside her, at her beck and call.
‘You’re flying!’ said her friend ‘I’m so very, very proud’
As they both navigated carefully, each and every cloud,
Now you are a bird who is not afraid to fall,
You can do it if you try, is a lesson for us all.
I call myself a "senior teenager"
(put the two together and you get "seenager").
I have all that I ever wanted as a teenager
- lots of stuff, both minor and major -
I just got it all some fifty years later!
I don't have to go to school
or obey some teacher's rule.
I don't have to go to work
and hear some boss go berserk.
I get an allowance, I have my own pad,
I don't have to put up with a deadbeat dad.
I don't have a curfew, I have my own car;
no one will say squat if I smoke a cigar.
The folks I'm with are really not scared
of getting pregnant or even losing their hair.
The drugs we take are just medication
and definitely not for recreation.
I don't have acne, no sign of a zit.
Life is great, I must admit!
Coyote, wolf or fox?
I stare at the gorgeous animal.
He may be wild, but he is exquisitely made.
Low to the ground, red fur, dark tail.
My dogs go berserk when they notice the creature.
Barking and charging at the glass separating them.
I let the wild one have a head start.
Then I release my dogs, confident they cannot catch him.
REFINING CONSCIOUSNESS
The time has long gone since consciousness woke
Some do say that it is unique to the human mind
For some it always appears as mirrors and smoke
The sharpest brain is sometimes quite hard to find
For them, study and mental exercises might work
And for all the rest, they have just left it unrefined
But with brain exercises, one should not go berserk
An ability for thinking straight is often quite enough
Otherwise, one just embraces all that mist and murk
So, no more of all that dry academic research stuff
There are many brains still collecting dust and fluff
PEN
At first, it was just another pen
A ballpoint, as is called by some
Not one in that old clear plastic
But shiny metal, looking fantastic
A present, as fancy as they come
Quite the classy image back then
That silvery glint in my top pocket
And a perfect weight in my hand
I used it for all my college work
And if ever I lost it, I’d go berserk
All avid students will understand
It was my thing, so don’t mock it
Over time, it became my identity
Still as the messenger of my writing
My signature in places I had to sign
Unique, clearly to know it was mine
Then creative stuff became exciting
On the page, words flowed rapidly
I replaced the refills, always black
In my life it was a solid workhorse
I held it up to point, for emphasis
It was a poor performer’s nemesis
As detailed in my notes of course
A reliable instrument I’d never lack
From the first day that I was hired
I wielded that pen just like a sword
The barrel shone, the clip was strong
No smudging and never went wrong
Given a new gold pen by the Board
A parting gift when we both retired
Democracy
The politicians have no common sense
Collect their pay and sit on the fence
They don’t benefit me or you
Tell me now, what do they do?
All they say is a brand-new lie
They won’t feed you, but watch you die
They get everything they need for free
Nothing left for you and me
And I wonder if we vote again
What will we receive?
Democracy is a cross from my pen
But I don’t believe
We don’t want war
Or climate change any more.
I watch the people in Trafalgar square
White robes and long black hair
A foreign flag whips in the wind
Stoned to death because we sinned.
We fight for the rights in a foreign land
But for us there’s nothing planned
Their hairbrained schemes will never work
No wonder people go berserk.
David Cox 15/07/24
The long days of work
Can make you go berserk
Oftentimes I wonder
Am I going down under
To make sense of it all
I feel like a ping pong ball
Being bounced here and there
No escaping the big brown bear
Where do I go?
How do I grow?
What do I know?
Only pain, suffering and sorrow
I run to you my love
For a better tomorrow
A black cat with eyes so bright,
Crept through the shadows of the night,
With a purr so soft and a heart so pure,
It set out to save a life for sure.
Through the streets, it did roam,
Guided by an instinctive home,
Towards a house where danger did lurk,
And a life was about to go berserk.
The cat did leap and the cat did claw,
Fighting off danger with tooth and claw,
Its courage shone like a beacon of light,
As it saved the life in the darkest of night.
And when the danger had passed,
The cat slipped away, so sly and fast,
But in the heart of the one it had saved,
Its heroism would never be forgotten, engraved.
How thin the line between respect and fear
A line too thin for little boys to see
They look the same beneath the bully tree
If pain's involved, it's rarely ever clear
Some dads use fear to teach their sons respect
But we have learned that doesn't always work
On some occasions, some may go berserk
With most, that fear, they simply redirect
But as the years went by we understood
Imaginary lines are in the mind
Fear is a forced response, respect is earned
My children learned respect... as children should,
I did not have to paddle their behind
Respect they gave, was lovingly returned.
Daniel Turner
Somewhere lost the children are
One left looking for a car
Another one ran far away
Looking for a decent stay
the little ones have a plan their devising
While chasing after a sun that's rising
A moment or two
And a glimpse from you
Then their wardens go berserk
Wondering why they will not work
Within a memory the children shall find
A different world that's still entwined
What right have they I wonder still
To trudge along that lonely hill
When gay meant happy and kwier meant odd
You didn't swear in public, right in front of God
You wore a suit to the World Series, a hat to work
If your team won, you didn't loot or go berserk
You cheered the President, shook hands with him too
You'd never think to avoid him, to jeer or to boo
When the Nation's Anthem played, you covered your heart
You sang along proudly, every word from the start
Now the nation's fabric is rent, we're so polarized
And what with the murder and mayhem ~ desensitized
My friend Bert the Twerp was a real jerk
Small things at work would make him go berserk
Told his boss off
At the water trough
For not allowing Bert to wear a pretty skirt
Work,
A jerk,
Born to irk,
We cannot shirk,
Manager or clerk,
He makes us go berserk,
In every corner he'll lurk,
Well then, what's his positive perk?
Payday brings on our faces - a SMIRK.
11.07.19
WITH PEN AND HEART
With a writer's pen and a poet's heart,
I long to craft a piece of art.
But sometimes words don't want to play
And I am left with aught to say!
Perhaps a DIFFERENT pen might work,
I think before I go berserk.
The ink went dry some time ago,
Because my thoughts were much too slow!
I'll get a pencil....that will do.
But where IS one I fret and stew!
I've tried and tried to use a pen,
But errors are my PERMANENT friends!
So what's a writer then to say.....
Or write, or think this wretched day?
Just when did play turn in to work,
And why is writing NOT a perk?
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