As a caboose is to a train,
September is to the summer.
The train finishes with red,
the summer also finishes with red.
Red from the hot days,
red from the painful sunburns,
red from barbequing over hot coals,
red showing off the long pretty sunsets.
Like a bear sleeping through winter,
I would love to sleep through the summer.
When the hot summer is over,
when September ends you must wake me up
Oh yes,
I want to see the pretty fall colors.
The trees are dressed in golds, oranges and rusts,
the squirrels are having fun playing tag,
as they hide their nuts for the winter.
The very hot weather is gone until next year,
a cool breeze covers me like a soft blanket.
As September says good-bye until next year,
winter will set in with cold winds.
Old sweaters will come out ready to wear,
as a new one or two will be bought.
What a magical time of the year,
holidays with family, friends and food,
celebrating one year out and a new one coming in.
Still unwritten not quite, filled in
every word has pinned itself to story
like a sewing machine stitch
down a runway path to somewhere;
Turning points and zig zag threading
let the seams tell of the glory
Pages of my life sealed inside a book
like bookends at a fairground
holding steady until the rider mounts;
Still unwritten not yet ready to wear,
this garmented padded book of tales
isn't finished yet, ...
Until a dried rose gets pressed
against the pages of my life,
my eulogy stands told
in my book, of life.
Don't kill yourself
I beat my chest
I decided I will not be nothing
Lesser than who I am
There is no other way of existence
I know
I cant be a photocopy when I am the original
I have been watching the world in silence
I see how troubles never end
I see how my people are used
I can't with hold my pen for humanity sake
I hate to be perfect
The life I live dont deserve it
Cos am not inline with vanity
So when I beat my chest
I was ready to wear the lenses of a chosen soul
This is difficult to kill
Don't kill yourself
The world will never end
But can only transform
We either can live or we die
So why dying too young for nothing
When you can be the author of your worth
I once said I hate to be perfect
Cos I don't play a game of perfection
I only involve
I only exist
I am only just a blood body and a soul
So if I must be far from your understanding
Don't forget the rain falls on everyone's roof
So don't kill yourself over
What is possible to live without
'Twas the night before Christmas
On the village square.
Carolers were singing.
Everyone was there.
My daddy was a baritone
But his falsetto filled the air.
Mama shrunk his boxers;
They're not ready-to-wear.
He asked Santa for some new ones;
He didn't dare go bare.
So, on Christmas morning,
Santa left a spare.
Now daddy has a pair
That couldn't give a care.
He's back to singing bass
Thanks to his Duluth underwear.
November 29, 2019
Nostalgic memories when I was young
Of taking long trips along the Maine coast
I loved to go to the beach and have some fun
When life was simple and fun was foremost
It was a long ride along a windy scenic route
While watching for the landmark of the dinosaur rock
My parents laughed, my Father sang, it was a hoot
I knew we were there by the many seagulls in flock
I ran to the changing room, ready to wear my new suit
It was bright purple flowered with a matching towel
I felt like a model knowing I looked stylish and cute
I walked down to the waves, ready to swim for a while
I walked along the beach looking for colorful seashells
Climbing up and over large rocks looking for beach treasures
Admiring pretty pink rose bushes, taking in all the beauty and smells
I spotted a large blue iridescent seashell, huge in measure
It was still partially stuck and buried deep in the salty wet sand
As I dug it out, and turned it over, I saw it held a tiny sea creature
I decided to not keep it that day, and gave the little creature a hand
I threw it back into the water, walked on looking for other shell keepers
1/18/19
TOO LATE
If you do not include yourself as a sinner redeemed
even if you look to the law and break them all
or even one. If you do not look upon the son
as the one who saves your soul from the second death.
If you wiggle and squirm shouting agendas until your blue
in the face, armed with a suit of armor and a tie.
If you buy into the mob’s mentality of immorality,
keep your birthday suit loose and ready to wear.
If you pinch your fellow man until he’s black and blue,
unrelenting from the uterus to Timbuktu.
If you can look in the mirror with a polished sneer
and see something good in your pufferfish looks.
Don’t worry (pat on head) Hush (stroke on back)
although when you close your eyes of lead
the prison bars that divide you from the light
with brazen clarity, might cause enlightenment
too late…
Kim Rodrigues © 2018
We run a mobile washing machine van,
To help all the people with none.
We wash really fast, have it clean, dried and ironed,
Ready to wear when we’re done.
We visit the aged, we visit the flats,
We visit the homeless and down.
We leave everyone looking beautiful again,
Beautiful all over the town.
It isn’t so hard, doesn’t cost very much,
When we park the crowds start to swell.
Giving all of their jeans, their shirts, shorts and socks,
Giving all of their foul apparel.
But what’s really interesting is the lack of forethought,
The crowds become a little bit rude.
They hand over their clothes to wash there and then,
Then they all stand around in the nude.
A sweet reality, The cowboy image
A laborer wore what he could get
ready- to - wear,
would make city men quit
hand me downs
and second hand clothes
discarded garments
by men who stuck up their nose,
in a ranch or range
they'd stay the same
so Still, so proud,
this typical cowboy
could easily fit in with a crowd
but their sense of self dignity
kept them off the ground
where as city men
always fell down,
filled to the brim
in honesty
a cowboy
suits were for the rich
and poor hearted
the origins of the cowboy
was never truly started,
for in my mind
this wonderful man
so moral and true
has to be a dream
This cavalry issued
every silent night
where he fights to stay awake
while city men turn out the lights
The cowboy needed to know how to ride,
rope, saddle, and bronc'
then they had to use their bare hands
like a real man to build shelter
for the animals in which they keep
then as the sun rises
the cowboy catches sleep
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