If life is a cabaret old chum
it's certainly
a comedy
(seen in the long-shot)
and then some
or possibly
a tragedy
(viewed in close-up)
definitely
not a whole bunch of cherries in a bowl
altho' the thought is very droll
there to be tasted never wasted
as movement is a sure sign of life
sitting on the fence makes no sense
hit the streets running
floating locomoting keep on motivating
think on your feet crafty and cunning
a moving target is hard to hit
tho' it will seem
it may be but a dream
and you can take it or not give a whit
in time you'll find what comes after
meanwhile life is what you make it
A word or two about my view of the politicians
we presumably put in positions of power
hobbyists bought and paid for under the table
catering to manipulating lobbyists by the hour
where saying nothing yet flapping their gums
offending no one when sitting on the fence
doing naught but wagging their tongues
and all the while protesting their innocence
dodging the bullet by ducking the question
avoiding the topic with digression
self-serving landing votes with glad-handing
fingers firmly crossed behind the back
conscience-free they sleep well at night
there's nothing (short of gun) can be done to keep them on track
those more than a few who are quite literally
caught red-handed with their pants down
making a mockery of you and me
should be tarred feathered and run out of town
Being in the mix of being Mixed
It's confusing, yet warm and cozy—like being lost is almost easier than being brown.
The choosing of which path to take—sometimes, I find it simpler to remain lost, avoiding the question of who might find me.
Sitting on the fence, being mixed is the truth I carry. The quiet indulgence in the in-between. Nobody knows for sure who from where.
I watch the journey pass—each exit, each departure, some people get off, others sometimes onto.
A glimpse of all—the beauty in both, yet never feeling whole with either.
So I linger where I know best, along for the ride,
never reaching any destination, just drifting in the unknown.
I used to search to be the best at both, master of each side,
but now I simply understand—
for me, being mixed is the in-between,
neither here nor there,
but forever caught in the space between.
Sitting on the fence I get entangled
in the barbed wire,
I lie on the heap of ashes
of my cherished dreams
wondering when a stray spark might
rekindle the flames of my dormant desires.
I'm sitting on the fence between future and forever
Watching the past and my life go by
There's a fine line between someday and never
But I know in my heart I've got to try
Never, ever give up on your dreams
Said the Angel in my ear
Remember there's a connection to all life streams
He said it will be a better year
So I try to make a friend or two like me
I try to make someone smile today
I try to make a difference and help the world to see
That I really listen to what you say
Never, ever give up on your life
No matter if there's a demon in your soul
Remember there's a reason for all strife
Angels and Demons have the same goal
If lawyers get de-barred and clergymen de-frocked
Does it naturally follow and make sense
That electricians are de-lighted and cowboys de-ranged?
Need some answers, no sitting on the fence!
Can a motorist be de-fined, or a balloon be de-flated
This silliness surely must stop
Do dead mailmen de-liver, are old ships de-ported
Better stop before I call a burly cop
Do musicians get de-noted, dry cleaners de-pressed?
Now hold on, I'm getting quite upset
Can models be de-posed, do tree surgeons de-bark?
Haven't heard any answers as yet
Do skirts get de-pleted, has your hair been de-parted?
This must be some kind of a plot
Artists quit by de-sign, symphonies de-compose?
I think about de-strings a lot!
Butterflies black and blue
Butterflies I see you
Pollinating as you do
Butterflies I see you
Butterflies orange and black
Butterflies please come back
Butterflies of pale hue
Butterflies in light blue
Zebra striped fluttering by
Butterflies in the sky
Painted lady, swallowtails
Sitting on the fence post nails
Butterflies pink and blue
Butterflies I love you
03/02/2023
You pick Again Poetry Contest
sitting on the fence
taking up permanent residence
because you like the view
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Our Life of Cheap pretense
We could watch through a lens
For its failures to yield us a half pence
Or deliver crisp commonsense;
One’s decided airs of pretense
A mere sitting on the fence,
As one feels not life as it is tense
Nor The Original Writer help his pens…
I’d start questioning the essence
Of A Talkative playing reticence
Of the-choking-with-diffidence
Enacting Mr. President’s confidence.
Every man to the nearest lens
For his rowed-like-a-boat pretense,
In glass and water mirrors
Picking all its unhelpful errors.
Hate
(From my archives)
Posted: 8/20/21
Hate,
is a horse
that only bucks down its rider.
It never affects
the intended cowboy,
sitting on the fence.
Tom
&
The flames of hate
burn only the dwelling
where hate is housed.
It’s flames seldom reach
the intended house down the street;
Being consumed with hate
is like giving power of attorney
to the hated.
Tom
EASTER THOUGHTS 2
FLOWERS, SHOWERS AND FLOPPY EARS - THE RODENT HAS COME TO TOWN
FROM EIGHTEEN MONTHS TO INFINITY - WE HASTEN THE TIME AROUND
LIVE OR STUFFED, WE DO NOT CARE - EACH TYPE HAS A SPECIAL FEEL
COMMERCIAL STORES DISPLAY THEIR WARES - SO, IT'S THE WRAPPER I WANT TO FEEL
WE ALL DON'T WAIT TILL SUNDAY - WE GUTS JUST WHEN WE LIKE
AT BREAKFAST, LUNCH AND DINNER - MORNING, DAY AND NIGHT
FROM YOUNGEST THROUGH TO OLDEST - SWEET TOOTH KILLS COMMONSENSE
FIT THOUGHTS AND DIETARY PROGRAMS - ARE LEFT SITTING ON THE FENCE
EASTER COMES AND EASTER GOES - AND THE EGGS THEY ARE NO MORE
THOUGH I'VE NOTICED HEAPS OF CHOCOLATE BLOCKS, IN THE SUPERMARKET STORES
William Hancock
04.April.2005
Being a middle child
Made my temperament mild
And not so demonstrating
But some would think off-putting
But it is not a popular place
When the world appears in a race
And sitting on the fence
Is one made for defence and not offence.
© Paul Warren Poetry
All the karmic forces came in and settled themselves down upon the fence
As the two parties arrived; with their arms full, of their grounds of defence
The learned judge cleaned his glasses and yawns; he’s seen all this before
As; the jury twiddling their thumbs, adjusting ties, already know the score
Fingers pointing: he said, she said, as each lawyer fighting the other’s case
Lord pages on pages of accusations think of the trees think of all the waste
The karmic forces: sitting on the fence heads turning like a game of tennis
Listening to the pains in the butts, each arguing their case, both a menace
It is mucky, the battle increased, the innocent was about to take the blame
The negative force smirked, but: in the end it was about to take the shame
Thus the judge ruled there were no winners so showed them both the door
Both parties departed the court room, and from there never met any more
Lessons learnt as long as evil exist others will always be there to be burned
As Karmic forces said their cheers, and wished the best to those concerned
Flashes of her keep running through my head.
Come out of your shell
Make her comprehend
So I said to myself.
Hold her hands,
Make her understand,
Intermingle her sense
And make her blend.
Let me stand,
Tired of sitting on the fence,
Commence what you intend
And stop all these pretence.
I've been all by myself
In this monologue defense
Tell her how you feel
So I loudly said.
My hands and feet go wet,
Beating on my chest
Saying to myself
That all will be well.
Hence, she firmly said
"I understand your plights
but my hands are tied
Sorry! This is my stand".
I remember seventeen
living somewhere in-between
I saw the world as black and white
Sides were chosen then to fight
Now that I am sixty three
The world in gray is what I see
Gray in not a somber sense
It’s that I’m sitting on the fence
I can see both halves of whole
Healing a divided soul
Now the path is not so clear
For me to stumble, now I fear
Thinking back on seventeen
I was so innocent and clean
Conviction set the world I knew
Unlike a lifetime in rear view
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