I thought blood was no longer thiker than water.
But that's not the matter.
Even that who calls you honey,
Will run away when you have no money.
Listen to me yee!
Not in anyway will I mislead thee.
Build a rapport.
Your kins need your report.
Let your mother be your accomplice.
She always know how to accomplish.
You can always use her as an alibi.
Remember tha time she sang you lullaby.
You have those you call comrade.
But I tell you they'll come and raid.
That day when you'll go.
They'll come eat as they go.
They'll praise you during the requim mass.
But those will be the words of the mass.
Your kins will sing the dirges.
As your gang act as your judges.
Do not be a city boy.
You life will be a bouy.
Go back to the village.
Do not cry much about the milage.
Your village people needs you.
Once you go to the village you'll get a ewe.
But I tell you, you need them more.
One day you grave will need a mow.
Heed to the words of an erudite sage.
Do not judge by looking at the age.
I put this message in words.
Take this to the entire world.
Tha Formidable Cheru.
#themonk
Categories:
milage, analogy,
Form: Rhyme
Embodied
By David J Walker
As if I were a Ford or Chevy
Or an Old’s 88
Classified by year and make and
Model, registered and taxed and
Licensed with the local government
A product of an assembly line from the
American Big 3 proudly adorned with
Airplane like fins and flashy chrome bumpers
Popular in my generation
Parts interchangeable with the few
That are still truly original but more likely
Remanufactured to my specific
Specifications
Some admire the stressed and aged look
That comes naturally with the milage
Others like us restored down to the
Last detail
Keeping us in a garage, taking us
Out on sunny weekends, showing us off
At nostalgia shows playing the music we
Can sing to.
I used to name my cars as if they had a soul
I remember them now as I pass a junkyards
And wrecking yard where they disassembled,
Used parts sold and the rest smashed into a
Coffin like metallic wafer, the sent off to the
Recycler.
Categories:
milage, nostalgia,
Form: Free verse
Jalopy
J unkyard treasure discovered under a pile of worn tires held together with bailing wire duct tape and faith.
A ntique veteran of time traveled back roads before the miles of asphalt Interstate highways were laid still refusing to retire
L and yacht Titanic once admired by wanting eyes viewed now with glares seeing only your wounds of wear unnoticed is your loyal service
O pulent commander surrendering right of way to compacts and sportscars with reputations of low gas milage performance
P ile of sun tortured rusted metal past resurrection of a Simoniz massage to restore the brillance you once shined when your paint glimmered color
Y our perservance I rewarded with my grin of appreciation everytime the key turned in the ignition sparking life into your forever engine delivering me to another destination.
.
Jalopy my first car introduced me to street freedom a magic carpet with four wheels three on the tree my ride I'd drive with pride in my youth
Jalopy we journeyed teenaged smiling miles together never will I forget open roads with speed that beat the racing wind cruising just me and you Cruising just me and you.
Categories:
milage, adventure, car,
Form: Free verse