I got to thinkin' about Billy the Kid
and the peculiar line of work he did.
If I were Billy's older brother or pa,
I would say, "instead of bein' a bad outlaw",
why not get yerself an education,
a 401K and three weeks' vacation.
When a whore house was fun
I sat down to write about flowers, those often
called weeds and grows on untended pavements
but another thought got in the way as I recalled
that flowers in a whore house are usually plastic
except for a chrysanthemum on
a painting on a wall of an artistic whore
I have had much fun in houses of ill-repute
it is not only sex but also laughter and dance
The girls liked young sailors and the possibility
of a steady relationship.
It did happen to a sailor coming home from Brazil
with a blushing bride, no need to tell how
they had met
Time has changed, women are victims of men's
sexual demands and places where many victims
operate from have been closed down
Just as well, women in this trade are sex workers
and if not treated rightly, can take a customer
to court, or try a little blackmail
Whoring was more moral before you paid and
had a laughter, not hard-headed business
as the line of work has become
my line of work
is space travel
those distances between stars
that's me
arranging all the loungers
around the hyper-pool
although
I'm only filling in
I pack eggs on a chicken farm.
Their colours range from brown to white.
Quite often in this line of work
I see some funny sites!
When walking through the hen house
I see a yellow forest of legs.
The foliage of which is red and brown
And like rocky mounds are the eggs.
The hens, they fascinate me.
They make many different sounds.
Some are gentle, contented,
Others, sharp and loud.
Their eyes are orange beads.
Many thousands blink my way.
When I reach out to pet them
They duck, hop, run away!
But most humorous of all
Is when two scrap for order;
They peck, they puff their chest
And stretch their necks to look taller.
When one yields, it screeches
Then hurries off in another direction.
When I see one hurt I want to scoop her up
And offer her loving attention.
Their movements bring on smiles,
Slow stalk, heads bob back and forth.
Some even balance on one leg
Whilst deciding whether or not to walk!
These beautiful girls are creatures of habit.
They are inquisitive and like to follow.
They are sensitive. They are free range.
It's always sad to see them go.
The Flowers of Fall
On the road to Bolequeime on the way to
the German supermarket that sells proper Teutonic sausages
autumnal blossom flowers sit on white plastic chairs
high heels and shorts
Sometimes a car stops, no, not the man in a white van
usually, it is a big car with dark windows a business man on
The way to the office. A quick blow-jobs nothing much else
to do in a car and no need to undress.
The flowers have water which they drink from after a job
in this line of work, no one smells the roses
They used in the summer gone look exotic on the beach and
clubs but only pensioners are here now and they walk
slowly in the sand, so they trek inland like beautiful weed by
the roadside and the dust of passing cars.
The roses look nice in falls light if you remember what love is
you’ll not find it here by the verge they only sell despondency
Often people ask me
What it is I do
Poet of the times
Purveyor of the truth
Peeling back the onion skin
Carving at the rhyme
Pouring drinks of imagery
Squeezing out the line
Taking out the sickle
Knocking down the weeds
Till I uncover the beauty of
Hidden treasures underneath
Often people ask me
What it is I see
In the ink of illusion
Known as poetry
I say the line of work I'm in
Suits this poet fine
Where so often I catch myself
Working overtime
I worked in a bowlin' place settin' pins,
Tryin' not to let a ball break my shins!
In those days of yore, pins were set by hand,
And you had to hustle to beat the band!
I was around fourteen when I was hired,
And was around fourteen when I was fired!
The boss man paid me fifty cents per hour,
'Til one night our relationship went sour!
I advised him where he could stuff the job!
Said he, "Find another line of work, Bob!"
Couldn't face workin' there 'til I retired.
Found work pumpin' gas when I was rehired!
8 November 2014 - Entry for Sara Hendrick's "Jobs" Contest
I call her name in my sleep
No, not this day
The gods won't let me be
Death will be my escape
From all the madness
All this madness from dreams
No, not this day
They won't leave me at peace
I call out to her from my sleep
I reach for her, and she is there
My comfort zone, I pull her close
It calms me to no end.
She says nothing even though I know
I've pulled her away from her lucid dreams
again ~ I need her, my angel of light
It's true, I need her there to save me
Save me from dreams of the grave
I'm standing closer every time I sleep
She is the only one who saves me from this fate
From falling into this grave I dug for me.
7/15/2000 my X used to have dreams of his grave,,,, he was always waking me, must have been his line of work.
fall for the eyes once over
again, spin up, spin down &
wonder if you’ll ever hit the
ground again---ceasing the caring of
all the poetry that came before
because s/he is staring right back
into you & all of a sudden the
Autumn sun starts to make its
way into your heart
(look again! look again!)
make that cup of coffee &
walk down that hallway &
ease into that line of work &
get up for your break, steal a look,
thieve a peek & take it all in stride,
cause’ if you don’t live now
then when you gonna do it?
nobody is counting your days
except you & all our wicks are
burning, all our fuses growing
shorter---at a different rate?
(you never know)---so fall for
his/her eyes again now, sink
deep into those stargazing “windows”
& indulge, indulge, indulge,
no matter your age,
no matter your persuasion,
we’ve only so many heartbeats
saved for these
occasions.
They formed a posse and it was loaded
Three experienced at tracking
And their guide
He was a one-legged kangaroo
No one dared to waltz with him
Even Matilda kept clear
The heat was unbearable
Australia
And no one liked bank robbers
Crossing upstream the three rode through rapids
One horse was bitten by a bee
It startled him and reared
Throwing the third rider into the rapids
One scream and carried downstream
The other two rode the banks and the rapid
And their one legged kangaroo hopped
One hop forward but always angles
They came to a suddenly quiet pool
They saw a hat that was clear
The horse whinnied and a single tear
The kangaroo was exhausted and thought of a new line of work
His master lay face down and floated
The three horses gazed at the floater
And the two men followed their lead
And what about the bank robbers
They had a pint
A Lil' Bit of Aus... Free Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
You can take away my job
Another line of work I will find
You can take away my hair
Going bald I really don’t mind
You can take away my friends
I am comfortable all alone
You can take away my gadgets
I have no use for a cell phone
You can take away my memories
My past is best forgot
You can take away my possessions
I really don’t have a lot
You can take away my money
I will live a beggar’s life
I could get used to no more nagging, so
You can take away my wife
You can take away my sight
For I can still see without my eyes
You can take away my wardrobe
I like being naked, no surprise
You can take away my house
With a shopping cart I will roam
But you cannot take away my words
I’ve secured them in my poems