Two wheel bikes are inevitable in our cities
An increase in the number of cars sure ain't pretty
Only a few years hence
Much change will make sense
Cities of the future must avoid a lifestyle shitty
Feels like limericks are coming out of my ears
Or sometimes think they're coming outta me rear
But those ones are shitty
Not for transmitty
So I'll try not to post 'em but can't promise my dears
20/04/2018.
My 3 M’s
It’s time to change the minds dirty diaper,
To think crisply, cleanly, somehow riper.
How is this cleansing feat to be achieved,
A new process of thought must be conceived.
I’ve tried my hand at CBT,
Electro Magnetic shock Therapy.
I’ve consumed my share of SSRI’s,
Still I ruminate on the how’s and why’s.
Here’s a thought I thought all by myself,
I’m losing my grip as the Quack gains my wealth.
Why don’t you meditate on regaining your health,
Reduce of his drugs, with lies and with stealth.
Then once I am clean I can find my sense of self,
Come to terms with the shitty hand I was dealt.
"So my life’s not perfect", I say out loud,
So get of the couch and make yourself proud.
It’s hard to start off on any new journey,
When you’ve spent so long on a hospital gurney.
But anything worthwhile doesn’t come easy,
Use the power of will to travel your mind freely.
Movement, meditation and a life of moderation,
Are my 3 M’s for life and for your consideration.
At times I disgust myself but please show no pity
I'm totally in charge of my clever little ditties
It's only for a laugh
At times I may gaff
It's then I hate myself and I feel all shitty
It’s funny;
I can never tell how much someone means to me
Until they’re walking out of my life.
I take everyone for granted:
Write their stories
But forget their presence.
Praise their company
But forget to thank them for it.
I had best friends once.
Many, actually.
I had spend-the-nights,
Watching-movies nights,
Up-too-late-reading-shitty-magazines nights,
Talking-about-boys-for-hours nights,
Crying-in-an-unfamiliar-bed nights.
I helped pick out someone’s outfit,
And I pushed someone into a pool.
I played with someone’s chinchilla
Even though I was afraid to hold it,
And I played truth-or-dare-
Many, many, many times.
With many someones.
I helped someone name her cat
And went over to someone’s house
Even though I’d just gotten dumped by her brother
And it was awkward as hell.
I watched Twilight with two someones,
Drove a state over to shop with two someones,
Drank tea and ate whole fried apples with two someones-
Got ditched by two someones.
Decided I was done with all someones
When I had a somebody
Who cared to stick around.
Human nature ain't it funny
So caught up in the state of being
We lose sight actually lost not seeing
The mirror of life when clear isnt pretty
Ignorance is bliss truth always bitter shitty
The Lies We Tell and the secrets they keep
Stay out of hell but you sew what you reap
Let me get away fast something cheap
One dishonest tale leads to an Epic Novel
At the thought of you once upon a time I Marvel
Felt it on my skin rushing through my veins
From these beautiful brown eyes a terrible thunderstorm it rains
Where art thy sun when should the covering disperse
Should I keep moving make no mistake I'll grab my purse
Copyright © Alesha Roche' | Year Posted 2016
Constipation is an extremely shitty word
I don't usually use it, I usually use turd
Must keep it sophisticated
Some might be listening
To this conversation besides the Humorick herd
an editor's lament
I'm sick of shitty verses, mine and yours
Keep them far outside my office doors
In the postal drawer
I see eighty-four
Surely I will die if I read more.
I'm tired of lyric cruddiness submitted
By these would-be poets so limited
In talent and in vision
I cannot quite envision
What they thought they did when they did it.
Maybe it's high time we suspended
Publication of Top-upended
So many silly, horrid
Long epic poems, florid
Each time I get another I'm offended.
I go deathly pale from things like these
Send them to anybody else please
Blank verse or concrete
Crayoned or typed neat
Mail them to magazines overseas.
c.1978
This crappy old poem is from days when poets had to submit their rotten verse through the postal system. I edited a small journal and received 20 or 30 manuscripts per day. And I submitted my works here and there as another face in the crowd. The reality described in the poem is a condition that is even worse nowadays, when lousy poets don't even have to buy an envelope or a stamp to wreck an editor's day!
Traffic on a Saturday morning in the big city
Insanity describes it well or really quite shitty
There's mucho angst
Everyone's a crank
Each morning we need to take a loosen up pill
I was coarsely stopped at a junction today
With fixed alternatives thrown my way
To let pedestrians storm in my life when there is no sign of crossing
Or to be my own royalty and allow no shitty bossing
Many times, I seek peace and appear meek
Louder voices around me immediately read me as weak
When I interject and show the red light
Machetes they pick up; ready for a bloody fight
I clutch on to the whistle of my dignity
Blow it hard to save my endangered integrity
Rattling vehicles of harshness, they drive
Threatened by the uprising voice they try to shove me to the Archive.
The Runaway
out in the street
was sick of it all
packed my bags and left
the people were very cold
had to sleep in the shelter
grabage everywhere near cot
the smell of urine in the night
tossing and turning was there something I forgot
smoked a little weed I had in my pocket
nothing could numb the pain from humanities insanity
during the day I would go to the soup kitchen
never could make my belly full always growling
had enough of the shelter was fed up
so I then discovered the tent city
stole a tent from the salvation army
life was still so very shitty
would go fishing down by the creak
fish were scarce cause many bums would take a leak
but I choose to go it alone
wherever I lay my head was my home
until the day I met with a local preacher
noticing my life was being lived as a late night double feature
with head bowed down I chose to give my life to the Lord
promising to live on his every word
as I look back now those many years ago
I'm very thankful that I was willing to change my road.
Believe it or not, this word's in the dictionary
“discomfort from eating too much” nice imagery
“Crapulence” sounds shitty
Not really very pretty
A daily routine so we don't become big and billowy
Constipation is an extremely shitty word
I don't usually use it, I usually use turd
Must keep it sophisticated
Some might be listening
To this conversation besides the P-Soup herd
Over and over it hurts
When I think it can't get worse
It's like cycle, rinse hurt, repeat
No matter how hard I try,
I'm not complete
You were my idol
I wanted to be like you
Since you've wished me gone
Sometimes I turn blue
In every moment every day in the last 15 years.
I could end a drought with my large basin of tears
No matter how hard I try to get over you, you're there
You're the matter that made me
And in nearly every moment of every day for the last 15 years
I wished it wasn't so.
People think I'm strong,
but I don't
Part of me feels weak
That I couldn't complete what you wanted me to
Part of me feels weak
For listening while you continued to speak
When I could have just walked away
A little part of me thought that maybe..
One Day, ….maybe one day we'd be together again
But she's still there.
She's the hair in my food
And no matter how I cut it, or wrap it around my fork
She puts me in a shitty mood.
I’m an indecisive person
Ask anyone who knows me
I change my major every week
Grinding my teeth while I’m asleep
Cause I don’t face my anxiety
That’s what it is...
Sometimes I think I’m artsy
Is this a poem I’m writing?
Sometimes I think I’m smartsy
Go into bioengineering?
I just hate corporate America
Don’t want to sell my life away
But I know when I’m homeless
I’ll say, Dad, why didn’t I get that mba?
I don’t know why I am this way
Can’t separate dreams from reality
Don’t want to become some sad old fart
Just wanna die poor with some shitty art.
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