Life, already, is difficult and short,
with pain dealt by the hands of others,
as in relentless judgment they hold court.
I've had enough from my sisters and brothers -
without burdening myself with blame
for times that I have hurt relatives and friends,
or myself, with decisions I have made.
No more will I live in regret and shame
but adopt an attitude that mends.
I have already overpaid.
It's our national song
But the words are all wrong
'Cause it sings about war and the glaring of rockets.
So I'll write words quite new
But I haven't a clue
Just some pieces of lyrics I crammed in my pockets.
And this part is too high
For the average guy
Each time that I sing it
I just want to cry.
While the overpaid athletes
Drop down and take a knee
Tis a good thing that they live
In the Land Of The Free.
Golly, this day could be my very
last!
So no, I am not going to organize
my house really fast.
I will sit with my cat, her calico
fur, a love drape upon me.
With warm cup of Joe and yes,
writing poetry that sings of life,
not strife!
Not one ear of mine for doomsday
sayers.
Who love predicting our coming end.
Go look out your window, do!
Do you see millions of dead?
Is an iceberg in your yard, over
your head?
That's the vision the media wants
you to retain.
A planet filled with floods, fires
and incurable pain.
Their latest is the pandemic scare,
hello?
Get your flu shot, the drug
companies see you are a cash cow.
"Come down to the pharmacy,get your
flu shot," they hawk now!
Ah, media, I love your theatrics!
As evil as the snake in Eden was.
How crazy are your prancing antics!
Such pitiful, feigned hypocrisy.
Negative, overpaid, lying donkeys!
Methinks Panagiota dislikes phony
news.
Very true, very true!
News should be on one night a year.
Imagine how free your mind would be.
Not overloaded by the mongrels of
flotsom and jetson chicanery.
September 20, 2019
I watched as the Mets slammed the opposition 10 -2
Been a fan for years
Played catcher for a little while as a kid
Watching sports is a great way to take your mind off
The terrible things we see in the news
Make a little money from writing
and check my stocks periodically
Some people think ballplayers are overpaid
They all make more than the President does
But sports are good for male bonding
Any females who love sports poetry
Please write me!
Everyone has a good old time,
they're written in songs, they're written in rhyme
they have their own days or have their own season
and none of those guys get more applause
than that fat old dude called Santa Clause!
Jack Frost is praised for nothing more
than leaving his artwork on windows and doors,
and the boogeyman gets accolades
for scarin' the hell outa Suzy and Dave.
I can't get busy with my petty labors
'til the Sandman goes and does me a favor.
They're all guys and all overrated - overpaid,
over loved, like that rabbit I dated,
and what do I get for a nighttime of chores
but a sack full of teeth and not a thing more.
Well, none of 'em will think it's so freakin' funny
when they find what I've done with that damn Easter Bunny!
Signed, The Tooth Fairy
I dance in the shadows
And sing from the gallows
And write verses without an eraser
I'm a Supernova racer
Look me in the eyes and smile
I'm doing the two-step on the tile
My only sinister intention
Is to break down antiquated conventions
A happy idiot I'm no longer afraid
And if I overpaid that's okay because I have it made
I overcame obstacles and blunders
To fill minds with my wisecracking wonders
Your hate can't defeat me
Not when I'm finally free
I'm just a happy idiot dancing in time
To a two-step of rhythm and rhyme
The footballs on the tele.
The stars ain't in the sky.
They are kicking bags of wind about
Faking injury's all the time.
The wages make your eyes water
The antics make you cry.
Oh the footballs on the tele.
And I'm drinking beer and wine.
The pizza in the oven
The crisps are in bowl
The wifes been sent to her mothers
The kids to scouts and guides.
Now if only England could win a game
The world cup would be complete
but I'm not holding my breath.
As we have a bunch of overpaid fairies who wear 3 lions on their chest
Scrooge I am
Lovers cold and lost
In forest frost
Paintings chipped
Slippers of golden illusions
I feast on
Yesterdays dreams
With turkey and sour ice cream
Maid so overpaid
I beg of you
Whoever you are
Where are my ghosts?
Three was it not?
Happiness a Christmas knot
Around my throat
None
None at all
No Ghosts for me
Nether meanders the illusive suffering
Notorious angels have no care
Crawling along
I gasp for air
Some day the inconsequential may find itself revealed
Dare to walk this plateau of significant insignificance
this mind of indifferent
and apply such a steadfast mitigated circus
in clogged up self-ingratiated opinions
Better that every servant serves their purpose
and reads their script like everyone else
dance to the tune
along with the trained dogs of celluloid wealth
Portrayed in the skin of isolated pomposity
such an Oscar awarded to political sneers
those outbursts of emotional mendacity
a mere expense of fashion is how easy
life appears
Overburdened with concern
realities unreality of box office applause
pandemonium headlines what a celebrity can earn
and every act is acted by pressing play or pause
Just another show motion, another accolade of pretense
another incontinent photo moment to make them all proud
another vacuous misinterpretation
in their own overpaid defense
just street entertainers blowing their bubbles into the crowd
Then skip down the streets yelling bubbles, bubbles should not be allowed
They are void--
On empty- without
Emotions or compassion...
We keep feeding them with ours-
They take greedily-slurping
The foam off the tops
Of life's abundance.
Pretending;To feel something.
They interrupt your life with
An emergency-
Always exaggerating...
This or that-
Grand-standing then
withering
Like a Christmas flower -
Nerve wracking.
Get you all caught up-
Like a fire spitting dragon
They have nowhere for
Their souls to reside.
So they often change
Bandwagons
Like a concerned
Mother cat they drop
Their problems off instinctively-
To the ones whom appear to be
vulnerable and underexposed.
He assigns his burdens
Out like kittens-
With a reverse
entitlement
As we are to be
Grateful we were
Chosen to adopt
One of his problems
He is programmed to
Say "mam"--- A lot, as if
This makes-the deal
Official
like some
Overpaid C.E.O
Executive who
Has no intention
On solving problems
Or reimbursing
Your stolen money.
So void -so empty -
So pitiable are
These empty souls.
Today I am not
Feeling charitable
Please find someone else
To adopt your kittens.
And your wayward soul.
Silently, I view your eyes.
Marbles, moving towards judgement.
So easy for you to surmise.
Where they came, where they went.
Haughty, you ignore my report.
They sadly sit in abject failure.
Icily, you give sharp retort.
Treatment of trash, forced to endure.
Revered only by ignorance,
you continue in your sin.
When did you spoil?
When did the pretension begin?
A pit of incestuous vipers,
you utterly disgust me.
Overpaid and overfed,
worth of service, less than free.
Doing more harm than good,
braggart of your lame degree.
Vomit forth your opinion.
Giving no order without a signee.
You wouldn't last a day on my box.
I would never clear you.
I only oversee true compassion.
Heroes born into the job they do.
So I beg you retire, already.
Put yourself out to pasture.
Your friends already graze there.
In my mind, you couldn't exit faster.
-Angel Fatale-
Clogs
I always wore clogs with solid socks when a boy
bought a pair today, not made of wood and leather
but of some plastic stuff. I have tried them on
walked up and down in the living room into the yard
I do not think I will use them often.
They are a clumsy looking pair and had nothing to
offer but sore heels and the childhood is distant as ever
I put them in the outhouse a nice home for mice,
spiders and other mysterious things that lurk in there.
The clogs were made in Germany, and it surprises me
how the Germanic people can make products
then here in low paid Portugal.
I think the reason is that Portugal has too many
Overpaid bosses and never mind the Indians
Oh mother nature! Why is the sun’s wage overpaid?
Considering its strict principle of full execution
being its major peculiarity, especially when handling a task.
It discharges dominance which makes weather’s thought go blank
to thrill climate in rejecting any form of negotiations.
Exhibiting such zeal and dedication
without an iota of sympathy
gives comfort no certainty of operation
but with the advancement in human intelligence,
freedom has been served from such anger and energy.
A more-brawn-than-brains game; they are overpaid to knock the opponents senseless.
~12/9/15
~SPORT One Liner #4 contest by Silent One
(World War II)
"Bloody Yanks," he said.
"Crawling in like cockroaches,
gobbling up our women."
His words hung heavy
in the thick smoke.
"Aye," said the bartender.
"Overpaid, overfed, oversexed."
"And over here!" the old man growled.
The young couple danced snug,
barely noticing
as he slammed his glass down
on the counter,
slid off his stool,
and stomped out the door.
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