Memories of 1987, wondering what happened to the friends.
Thought we were friends till the end.
People began splitting up,
to take it to the next level in a pick up truck.
All the fun was gone.
It was all done.
Found my best friend with someone I thought I loved.
I learned it wasn't from above.
Time to grow up and get on our own.
Lives changed and we knew it and live to the bone.
Getting first jobs,
watching out for the snobs.
Living in a new path,
wondering about the rath.
Time for a change.
It felt very strange.
Media-produced wars
won’t let good defeat evil
Media coverage of arrests
never lets the fuzz do their jobs
Media-coverage of politicians
portrays the decent ones as snobs
We go to great lengths to protect the First Amendment
but its implementation doesn't protect us
I once ordered my pencil
“Write me a poem”
My eraser is missing
And I’m all alone
The pencils were kept
in a box made of leather
a major step up
from the days of the feather
then came the ink pen
with blotters and blobs
pocket protectors
for multi-pen snobs
next was the ball point
so smooth and so slick
to calm school day angst
with their click-click-click-click
now it would seem
we have no time to waste
no need to write it
just quick cut and paste
we can now write a treatise
while resting in bed
alerting AI
to steal from the dead
and if it reads badly
somehow sadly insipid
our main line of defense
AI stole it from ibid
Her ability to be true to herself frightened teachers and snobs
She had a pet python named Tang, his nickname was Sobs.
Always be the real you was her motto, her mantra and her song.
She despised mean people; if they were around, she would not hob-nob.
They say he’s a loser. What do THEY know?
The snobs he works for know nothing at all.
He’s common and some people think he’s slow.
Dyslexia put around him a wall.
The teachers felt kids slow to read were dumb.
But he could fix things, and wow, he could sing!
Did anyone offer him even one crumb
of opportunity for anything?
He works outside and comes home to a wife
gritty, but feeling that he’s doing fine!
His wife, job, small house and kids are his life.
The wealthy on the hill don’t even shine!
They drink or pop pills for their void to kill.
The “Loser” has hours of sweetness to fill.
April 26, 2023
Withdrawn from the contest as this is not what the sponsor meant us to write about.
12/21/22
You sow what you reap
On either side of the creek
Every single week
Another cheat
Taking from the poor or elite
Reality isn't always sweet
I had to punch them in the mouth, knocked out a few teeth
Over every little thing people often squeak
A world full of sheep
I hope you can swim because it gets deep
Can't find any peace
I struggle to sleep
Yet I'm so f***ed up it's beyond belief
How ironic that there is little to any relief
The area wasn't sealed well so water started to seep
Continuing to leak
Like secrets that people rarely keep
You can leave a message after the beep
The path I take is steep
I've had to make a leap
Differentiate myself from all the fakes and creeps
No need for an ice chest
All kinds of stress
For time I'm pressed
It's been quite the trek
So much I digest
Little to get off my chest
Oh well, if I'm the one to die next
Quickly they express concern
When it takes an unexpected turn
The bridge I let it burn
With hogs
Always at odds
Too many snobs
The same can be said for all these facades
They're so quick to talk about gods
Midsummer vehemence stows heat for later
Solar film ominously watch hot arc
Tilt tracks trajectory, power cater
Stashes post sizzle to supply light dark
Socket slit subservient incubates
Arrow of assurance inserts cable
Voltage their pairing impressive creates
Self derived to electric capable
Autonomy admonished with a switch
Loins bearing in luxury breed evil
Informed about squalid impoverished
Ignore affluent vantage for reprieval
Overloaded homes groan under panels
Tainted rich roads tune rigid channels
16th January
Wealth rotten wattage
I've posted a piece, called "mean girl," that's longer than the poetry section allows.
In the "Short Story" section.
I know I could take things out - to make the piece shorter and force it to fit in the poems section - but that length seems arbitrary. *shrug*
Here's the URL:
https://www.poetrysoup.com/short_stories/mean_girl_10557
If you bother, I hope you like it!
Beer Sonnet
I have a bottle of German beer in the fridge
and naturally cloudy, first brewed in some small town
in Bavaria in 1624.
They didn’t make the beer clear and decided to call
the brew Dunkel (cloudy), PR, yes it existed it worked
now it is a world-famous beer.
It also cost a bit more, which never fails to attract snobs.
I opened the beer dislike the colour me, a Budweiser man
of the type brewed in the USA
A band of clouds was, obscuring the sunset it was Dunkel
a sentence not spoken but sensed even a child could get.
I drank the beer, let the tomorrow keep its secret.
Spare me from those self-righteous snobs
Who think they have all the answers to life,
Leaving no room for alternative explanation
Or different interpretations, creating strife.
They are so full of pride and continually preen
Looking down on everyone condescendingly,
While believing they alone possess the truth
They treat all who disagree disrespectfully.
They are akin to those folks who "know it all,”
Who are unwilling to consider any other way
And, who will argue their point vehemently,
Sometimes mouthing off just to create a fray.
I have found it’s best to avoid them, if possible
Certainly not to engage them in foolish debate,
For wasting one’s time in frivolous discussion
Will never help their appetite for argument sate.
written January 28, 2022
You might have blisters on your hands from all your manual toil.
You may be climbing up a pole with an electrical coil.
Could be a produce vendor shucking husks from the cob.
It’s just a job.
You might have permanent employment, or only work from time to time.
You may have ring around the collar from industrial grime.
Could be working in a hotel kitchen spearing kebabs.
It’s just a job.
You might regard it a profession, a career, or a chore.
You may be forced to punch a time clock when you pass through the door.
Could be an undercover agent, or a thug with the mob.
It’s just a job
You might be laboring like Sisyphus for minimum wage.
You may possess a golden parachute for late middle age.
Could be widgeting the fittings on a thingamabob.
It’s just a job.
You might be entry level ready for the corporate sphere.
You may be hoping to retire in by the end of the year.
Could be cleaning up a crime scene where the vic was a slob.
It’s just a job
You might be licensed by the state to practice criminal law.
You may be framing out a condo with a circular saw.
We all need to make a living, even trash-talking snobs.
It’s just a job.
Trapped
My life is in three parts
30, years as a seaman until it became unbearable.
30 good years in the deep hinterland
a place of contemplations and trying to write,
walking with my dog in the woods, there was so much to see.
I feel imprisoned.
My house is sold, I have nowhere to go.
Living in a building of snobs who rather wait for an elevator
when the transport lift is free.
Surrounded by nice middle-class housing and planted trees.
My years at sea is no longer obtainable, my life in the upland was a dream
And here I live inside a nightmare of all I dislike.
The worst thing that can happen to any man has happened to me
The loss of the future.
Daring people with an imperfection in their stars
I was hit back by jerks who left me with many scars.
They are often harmed as a piece of their giving regards
I had no idea they are used to look for power and starves.
These disastrous people are without snobs.
You'll always be unable to haul them out of their snarls.
Written: August 14, 2021
perhaps we are effete snobs
though we fete our snobbery honestly
we lie and cheat our way to A's and B's
leave for fools those 'gentleman's C's'
I am dancing with you,
At your amused demands.
Wearing your favourite bright blue,
Holding your two hands.
Upstairs I saw him stand,
A love like yours, is hard to find.
That’s where my heart lands,
A life with you, I wouldn’t mind.
My heart snobs for him,
I am dancing and smiling.
But you have no clue,
You are not the one I am admiring.
The lights will get lighter,
Only when you come near.
I will hold you tighter,
I have nothing to fear.
He is happier than ever,
You love all my flaws.
She seems to be his forever,
Now, I intent to pause.
-Aishwarya Adhav!
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