Long Drive around Poems
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I brought the rent home
after a day of work in the heat.
The homeowner was gone.
His uncle who he took in
was yelling
I went away.
Clothes cluttered
the living room floor.
Sometimes I had to admit
to myself I felt this
was not a home to me.
Last night I searched
my laptop for images
of women once loved
and allowed my mind
to wander.
a wanderer
maybe that was who
I was meant to be
The moon looked in
the window while
the television in the living
room played the same thing.
Another housemate slept on the couch.
A manager asked if I could
come in on a day off.
I told him no to protect
my time and allow myself
to drive around and write.
He called it a hobby—
never read the books I wrote.
My books were kept on a shelf
above the dresser in my bedroom.
In my dreams another was born.
I put my life savings into bitcoins she told me
Bit coins! Bit coins! Bit coins!
The neighbors are dancing in the street.
They have $100, 000 in a $10, 000 portfolio now.
Bit coin mania, you are insania!
I cannot believe how fast they buy
Bit coin mania, you are insania.
I still ask myself why buy? Oh why?
Two weeks later the janitor at works tells me a secret.
I am a millionaire now, but I still plan to work through December.
I ask him to let me in on his secret.
Bit coins! He tells me. But he cautions me “don’t tell anyone else.”'
Bit coin mania, you are insania!
I cannot believe how fast they buy
Bit coin mania, you are insania.
I still ask myself why buy? Oh why?
Before the Bit Coin debacle, I was the only poor person I knew.
Now they are all in it with me except for one thing.
Not only did they go from Richie Rich status to poverty level in a week
But they lost their life savings.
Whereas mine was spent on a new car
which I am enjoying as I drive around singing the “Bit Coin” jingle.
Hocus Pocus, Balderdash,
Newspapers print horror and trash.
Oligarchs hungry for extra cash,
To add to their enormous stash.
Nervous police officers feel the heat,
When they caution terrorists in the street,
They no longer walk the beat,
They have cars with safety seats.
Police cars drive around at night,
Warning louts that curse and fight,
Often these thugs take flight
Making the cops chase them with all their might.
Sadly the world needs cops.
We will need them until the crime rate stops.
When you see someone coming, a cropper
Phone the station, and they will send a copper.
A Poet Road
Now that it is hot and the sun has turned from
a warm friend to a raging enemy, what did I say
to make it so burning hot?
I`m up early and drive around, stopping and take
pictures of growing plants before the rampant
sun makes them lose all colors.
Then, before I knew it was ten o’clock time to
sit indoors watching the miserable news
and trivial entrainment programs.
The bushfires of terror are something we have to
live with until we learn to clear the undergrowth
and when needed...brutally weed.
I’m thinking of a man who has a small field of
the greenest vines, every day he tends lovingly
his bushes, you see, we should not be too kind.
On the other hand, we cannot poison the land
with pesticides to save a plant we like and
forgetting that all life has its place.
The me I would rather be will drive around town in a red fire truck
Picking up children who are mad and sad, giving them ice cream,
Taking them to my creative center, dumping them out with my loving staff,
Who will show them how to be kind, and how to get along, and how to have fun.
The me I would rather be will be nice to my relatives even the ones I completely dislike.
We will laugh and sing and dance and play, making the elders laugh and play too in a joyful way.
We would do the twist and the stomp and the jerk and the Freddie, and we would make fun
And no one’s feelings would be hurt at all, because we would not have feelings. They would be gone.
The me I would rather be will play a flute, that people with fun and kind spirits would follow.
They will follow me home, and we will sit in soft chairs, and tell funny stories, and love each other.
They would bring all their people, and we will eat warm peanut butter cookies and be wonderful.
The laughter would be so bad the police would come and join us, and they would laugh too.
The me I would rather be would nurture the people, and show them their oneness, each part of others.
We would be careful to not step on toes, and people would be so nice, the news stations would fail.
We would go to sleep cuddled up close to each other, under the sky, and no doors would be locked.
The guns would be non-existent, because no one would had a need of them without feelings.
The me I would rather be would sleep wherever I wanted. I would walk into houses and surprise people.
Meeting new friends everywhere I went, laughing, and playing and singing, and it would be stupendous.
The world would want their feelings back, so I would talk to God, and they would get them back
But only the good ones – hopefulness, resilience, love, peace, kindness, enthusiasm and joy.
I sleep now, dreaming of the me I would rather be.
Someone's at my kitchen door
I hear them gently knock
But it really is quite early
I look glumly at the clock
Who could be there waiting
Who would be about
I haven't had my coffee yet
It makes me want to shout
They must still be standing there
Again I hear them knock
I can't open the door like this
It would give them quite a shock
I haven't had my shower yet
And my hair is everywhere
I've just hurried out of bed
I'm looking kind of bare
I wish that they'd be gone from here
Once more I hear a knock
Why can't they just walk away
Or drive around the block
Oh, but now I'm wide awake
And it's clear they're here to stay
So I guess I'll quickly dress myself
...Welcome to my day
This is home,
I grew up here.
I'm a native,
A true pioneer.
The homeless taking
Over downtown.
The pervert dressed
Like a clown.
This town is not like
It used to be.
Taking over by Fentanyl
And Poverty.
I drive around,
Everything is strange.
Time ticks on,
The wind of change.
Lovers and friends,
They come and they go.
Some days are high,
Some days are low.
This hometown runs
In my blood.
I stand by it from the
Church to the thug.
I have ventured off,
Always to return.
The battles I have fought,
The lessons I learned.
In all of its glory,
This is where it began.
In all of its glory,
This is where it will end.
Turbo1904?
The Seasons
The changing seasons
—winter, spring, summer, and fall—
I love them all.
Variety is said to be the spice of life,
And I enjoy their arrivals and departures,
Each season unique with its own set of characteristics.
Winter presents a choice between cross-country skiing, slalom,
Or tobogganing down a hill; or snowshoeing in the woods;
Or staying warm inside while reading a good book;
Or going for a leisurely drive around town to see the Christmas lights
And enjoy the festive Yuletide merriment.
Spring brings the warm rains that freshen the Earth
When imaginations are set free after the winter pall,
And to lace up the sneakers after a winter spent in the gym
And go jogging outside to feel the wind in your face.
Come spring, love is in the air, and new life is born.
Sunny summer, breezy and warm, fills the days,
Lending decision-making as to whether to go biking or swimming,
Or to laze on the beach relaxing and suntanning,
Or to go boating or canoeing to fish and explore.
Summer is the season to visit kin and rest from work.
Fall is the harvest, whose abundance I’m thankful for,
When leaves change colour and scatter in the wind,
And walks in the forests are a common thing.
The days grow colder and the nights longer
As winter approaches and autumn ends.
River, oil, black sludge, bubbles of despair!
Crystal clear stream once, when I was a lad!
Man’s dreaded waste, pollutes beyond repair!
Smoke, stench, spreads in town, water can’t be had!
Greed of man floods across, splashes all land!
Million cars drive around, petrol everywhere!
How acrid this air, do they understand?
riches. razzmatazz! Do they even care?
On this Earth we live , for a brief lifetime!
damaged bad we leave, nature’s paradise!
Blame not God nor earths forces, for our crime,
Hurricanes! floods! from our misdeeds arise!
Your prayers will not stop them, do what you will!
If we live life green, God gives a clean bill!!
A better tomorrow poetry contest
Sponsor John Hamilton
Written 06/09/2020
Always great fun at an intersection
With only a four way stop
You start, he starts, it's him no it's me
Nose to nose, where's a cop
You glare, he glares, nothing's solved
It boils down to a battle of wits
Like kids arguing over a colourful toy
“That's mine! No, it's mine!” and you sit
Even the ear shattering sound of horns
Has no effects on this yahoo!
All hell breaks loose, 8 guys get out
And a bloody fist fight ensues!
Standing back I watch the proceedings
Grown men acting like jerks
Get back in my car, I drive around it all
It's not worth being late for work
Four way stops are becoming quite rare
In this fast paced world we live in
Four way stops are now being replaced
Coz nobody's willing to give in