Don't take it personally
The reverberating silence
When you every a room
All in your head
Kids don't just bully
As you pick rotten fruit
From my hair
Asking me
What did I do
She is a low life skank
Trailer trash honey
Dressing all up
And taking your money
But I would trip her if I saw her
And spill my coffee on her dress
And make her into disheveled mess
And yes darlin,
She done you wrong,
So I wrote this song....
Your wife should not napalm your life
To sleep with all your friends
That was no way to make amends
It makes her just a hussy
And a low class ****
And there is no makeup or outfit That can dress that up
You can’t pull that kind of high jinx
And expect any man,
to ever fall for you again
So she will be alone, just wait and see
And we can sing about it and someday laugh you will see
Love you Cowboy Poet, this was not your fault . (C) Artimus Susan Manley 10:55 AM 10/30/23
He passed around his bottle again
For any who entered he called friend
Never a stranger there in the house
Of that joyful man and gentle spouse
People with no names were welcome there
Warm yourself, eat and let your head clear
Move on down the road a better man
Faith renewed that there’s a greater plan
Gone twenty minutes or twenty years
He’d still welcome you home without fear
Share a hug…story…a shot of wine
He was not just a man, but friend for all time
I cut off the chicken legs of my dusty house
I live in this tin with a little grey mouse
Each year on Halloween I put candy out
And catch me some kidniks to grind into grout,
households lurch
creak unmoored
hulls rocking
the twang of whip lashed rigging
as electric wires stretch
pull up clods
yards of plantings
where once roots clutched
bricked-up aluminum
long jacked-up boards
swirl and bloat
bed-springs shiver off
unwinding sheets
the dumbfounded foaming
of absconding pillows
bedrooms fall out
of plunging submarines
chests and draws
shedding a put away sundry
then the roll and billow
baffle and muddle
the face-up exposure
of everyday innards
sweeps by
riding the backbones
of the up-turned
the bowled over
hard to fathom
that a river of storm clouds
could move all this
manifold clutter
the cheesy and cherished
dumping down clumps
into wet clay models
of any new address
I lived there, listening
In the turmoil of the trailer park
For many years, through tears
Time passed by as I watched people
Move in and out, in and out
Never staying there for too long
I wonder where they’ve all gone
The moments ticked on, moving
Across second hands, along the lines
Of goodbyes and lost ties that leave
The heart feeling like it has a gap
Where the blood might leak out
I drifted to sleep at night
After whispering prayers
Huddled behind my quiet peace
There was a silent scream
Echoing through my soul without control
Not once did I dream
Of the laughter
Laughter that
Would come when
I let go of the past
Who are the fools
snickering and giggling
behind his back?
Why must they
constantly mutter
that he's destined for the rack?
Don't they realize
they grant him courage
he'd otherwise lack?
That their presence
guides his path
through winds he must tack?
And, no matter
his labored breathing
he'll overcome the dry hack?
Is it, truly,
they desire, only,
mere coins to fill their sack?
Or, does he require them
so he may assume
his role as rightful Jack?
The doers of today are the reapers
Of tomorrow but they must not stop
The learners of today are the teachers
Of the future but they have to sit-up
maybe when i wake
i'll take the time
to scrape off
the slime
that is
mine
no it's not ejacu
lation but
elation
from
one
' s
point of view turned in
to perception that
means to me
you don't
see of
that
which is right maybe
wrongly to the left
leaving me in
solitary NO
confine
ment
When we retired we were so inspired:
To live free and rest from our labors.
This mobile home park has lived up to the mark,
But oh, goodness gracious, the neighbors.
Jay the old peeper can snoop through the creeper
And tell if the ladies are bathing.
At times he's been caught and the women have taught
him new curse words in language quite scathing.
Denny got back from the hoosegow and that
is the end of his meth lab's production.
He'll have to report to the man from the court
with his pee to avoid re-induction.
Jen basks in the sun and we all see her bum
Though we tell her it's not necessary.
In England alone she's seventeen stone
And her armpits are ever so hairy.
A lady name Myrtle we call snapping turtle
(You never know when she'll attack you)
keeps her trailer quite clean but she's viciously mean
And if talked to she'll snap right back at you.
There are neighbors with tone, who have made themselves known
And we're so glad to know they reside here,
But an odd PhD and a master's degree
Can't compete with the felons that bide here.
The trailer sits alone, solitary,
very similar to yours truly.
It was created for traveling,
but it just sits there not hitched to anything,
never meeting its potential, never going anywhere,
but never in any real danger of breaking down either.
6 Second Trailer
OMG
Did you see it?
OMG
Its...
I'm...
Oh
My
God
It's a fantastic flick
This is...
OMG
The full trailer?
It's coming
It's coming
OMG
So am I
Did you see her...
His...
Its...
Oh
So sweet
Gotta tweet
Gotta sleep
Don't ya love it
OMG
Who wrote it?
The screenplay?
Who cares?
Opening?
Premiering 2015
Bit early, eh?
What, the trailer?
Ya think?
Yeah, but
WTF
YOLO
we don't in one place
we love to see difference face
we go by car
and very far
so we hook and book
we call it a bailer tailer
its our
TRAILER
Transfixing with emotional content
and images too vivid to ignore,
it came to conquer Earth from inner space,
insidiously seeking to present
reflections of daily experience
and threatening to blast preconceptions
by simply revealing through printed words
at spoken venues, in popular songs,
and in theatrical performances
the true depth of the human condition.
Author's note: This is an original poetic form I call the CENTENCE. It is a one-hundred-syllable, blank-verse, single sentence.
WAFTING through the open window
A DULCET floral FRAGRANCE
Adds to the TRANQUILITY
Bubbles in her BLISSFUL bath dance
An old screen door creaks open
He approaches, WHISPERS, “My queen,
Your royal carriage awaits.”
She emerges and dons her jeans
“My lord,” she replies ELOQUENTLY,
A LILTING quality in her tone,
“’Tis our picnic basket you desire most."
She laughs, emits a subtle groan.
Indeed, the old farm horse and buggy
Are prepared for the couple's ride
Through spring fields in LAVENDER SPLENDOR
So they open the trailer door, step outside
Tenderly she reaches up, takes his hand
He gently pulls her onto the carriage
This lord and his loving queen know
True wealth is found in their marriage
*For Andrea's "Beautiful Words" challenge.
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