Once I thought
the 'Generation Gap'
was a pile of crap
Yet today
I think it's here
to stay...
Too much bourbon will make you think
everything you write is a masterpiece,
too little and it is all just a pile of crap.
The art of writing is to find the balance
where the two can co-exist.
Forever lost, forever found
The mysteries become unbound
The veil and shrapnel are removed
The pieces now can be construed
Inflammable the history’s beat
What is written must never repeat
I say to thee forget to plead
The course can change and so it must
The way we live is not for lust
Accepting change and being hurt
The purpose of my little flirt
You will feel pain and feel it rise
What will you do if not subside?
You will not care and you will rise!
You will deep breath and realize
That nothing here is worth the lie
This pile of crap will always die
But push us deep and you will understand
Why it is we! That rule this land!
Our eyes are closed yet we are not blind
We feel how you will bring demise
And thus we do what was done before
We pick our tools and hone our tone
To war we march, and change expect
For all that rule this tiny land!
Footprints cross snow covered grass
Our cat will creep and drop its ****.
From which a giant turd descends
6 inches long before it bends.
Scratch, scratch to cover up
Nowhere near this pile of crap
Sniff, sniff wander round
Walk away this smelly mound
Cats they are a unique breed
Warm and cosy what they need.
Curled up in a special place
Snoring softly in their space.
Night time sitting, look on guard
Watching others in the yard.
Meow, meow, meow they scream
Wake us up from pleasant dream.
Climb on bed in early morn
Push and shove to make us yawn.
Feed me, feed me, give me food
Feed me now I’m in the mood
Stomach full and washing done
Lift up leg, start licking bum
Then curl up in their favourite chair
Lay down and sleep without a care.
They plod and pose and look serene
With love and comfort rarely seen.
For all their faults they make amends
And in return they are our friends.
Words blended with honey, dripping,
completely gullible, I continued sipping,
drinking in all those little deceptive lies.
and never once questioning the alibis.
Conniving sweetmeats slipped from a tongue
became fetid droppings, as offensive as dung.
Crafty candy-coated lies were only a fallacy.
Liars should be exposed for cunning chicanery.
Go on thinking you're getting away with the deceit
until the day you feel a fire flaming under your feet.
Then you'll realize you've been exposed as a fraud...
another pile of crap left behind in a stable yard.
You've been warned about the price you'll pay
if you don't stop prevaricating nasty things you say.
Stop lying about everything and telling tall tales
or you'll be an outcast, slimier than garden snails.
6/25/16
Sweet little lies
I'd left it on the table
beside a pile of crap
Fairly sure I'd left it there
really quite certain of that
But sometime a little later
when I went to get my phone
I couldn't find the fecker
the thing had only gone
Confused as hell I panicked
ran up and down the stairs
Perhaps I left it in the car
So then I searched out there
This awful fear pervaded me
a realisation dark and grim
Some scumbag had robbed me phone
I felt stupid, somewhat dim
Only one last chance I thought
a small chance you'd agree
I'd phone my own number
perhaps that was the key
Imagine how daft I looked
standing in the hall
The phone gripped in my hand
was mine after all
Meander and Great Gander
Writing poems and playing a guitar
My soul never scare or leave a scar
Even though some say I'm a rising star
Love hearing me play from off way far
Poems of my personality are an extension
May remove all of your **** retention
Reading my poems is always so much fun
Until off to bathroom body will have to run
Lately, have you ever heard of humoristic
Like a humorist who has gone ballistic
Behind poems and jokes likely will lurk
Something about a jerk who went berserk
If politically correct and into it must meander
Look at grunting goose behind a big gander
Who cussed after causing a meager mishap
So person behind would step in a pile of crap
James Thomas Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
PS. I'll drink to that
And should've bought a cat.
Also, ho-ho-ho-ho-ho
That was I who told you so.
Hopelessness
I broke his heart,
he broke mine,
now we're even, but still i cry.
I cracked his icy heart,
he broke mine clean in two,
i said, "i'm sorry"
he said, "screw you"
Now he laughs behind my back,
while i try to ignore the pain,
the pain where my heart should've been,
the pain keeps coming like an oncoming train.
I have nowhere to go,
i'm lost and broken,
broken beyond repair,
thanks to the words he's spoken.
he said, "you're a hopeless cause,
a worthless pile of crap,
your a wannabe emo,
now go jump in a pit."
i did what he said ,
i went that extra mile,
i jumped off a cliff,
and now i cease to smile.
my life is a lasting dream
i struggle to gain even
a sense of reality
--mush
the dream eats what i learn
without becoming what it
ate
sickness is health
ignorance is wisdom
my life is a lasting dream
--mush
poke a pile of crap
and you'll end up with
a smelly finger
mold the same pile
into something
beautiful and you
end up with smelly
hands
my life is a lasting
dream