Short Overpaid Poems

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...

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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....

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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...

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Charging nine twenty-five for a glass
Of merlot in this joint? Thanks, I'll pass.
I like Walmart's low rate. 
At just two eighty-eight,
I can drink the whole bottle. What class!

I don't have to own futures and stocks
Or hang out with some overpaid jocks.
'Cuz I've often opined 
That the best wine you'll find
Can be poured from a spout on a box.

Written June 17th for Francine Roberts' Bottle of Wine, (fruit of the vine, when.......) 
contest...

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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!...

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(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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