They say money can't buy happiness
but it sure can patch that hole in the roof or rowboat.
It can buy you a fat neck ring or your dream dress
it can buy you a tanker of gas -a new set of whitewalls
get you to a vision that you've never been to.
Tell me the truth, are you happy
with that naked old maiden's finger
or that dated-frayed dress
Are you happy only seeing your favorite dreamy place
forever turning from your face in a Highrise magazine.
They say money can't buy love or happiness
but it can buy a teaspoon of attention
or a bushel of silky pink ...
a bit of bling to cover chronic loneliness.
Tell me the truth, are you happy being broke all the time
debt hovering like a twitchy witchy blade
over a sweaty neck that's not worth a dime.
Money will buy your pills and A.C
Money will buy your Heat and pills.
With that being said:
money can't buy sunshine or time
it may get you an airy ocean front home
but someday that bipolar wind's going to blow
and money will never weave wings to the soul.
Categories:
whitewalls, happiness, money,
Form: Rhyme
A Quicky
I am on seven heaven;
I have been driven
To write.
I stay up all night,
Sometimes till daylight
Just for a quicky rhyme,
Writing one line at a time
While I’m still in my prime.
Depends on my mood,
When I have an attitude.
My writes can look like I brood,
Or ready to scream;
Or in a daydream.
I’m Aphrodite
In a sexy nightie
out of fashion
full of passion.
Or I’m a bird,
A tiny Hummingbird,
Mimicking Mockingbird.
Or a Thunderbird
Convertible that never stalls
with wide whitewalls.
Please don’t misunderstand,
A lot I planned.
I stay up all night,
Sometimes till daylight
Just for a quicky rhyme.
4/2/2020
Just musing
Had to add a little humor to your life and a little less bad reality.
Categories:
whitewalls, fun,
Form: Rhyme
Two-lane U.S. Highway in the Midwest.
A canyon of tall corn contains the shimmer
of the road reflecting heat
from the late sixties sky.
Sticky teal vinyl grabs the
bare backs of my legs.
Cast chrome projectiles jut
out from the metal dashboard
attempting to invoke space age
modernity.
Crossroads.
Quonset hut on one corner
dressed up as a diner.
A rusty 7UP sign announces good intentions.
Screened in porch serves as a dining room.
Dust flies and gravel groans as
our whitewalls pull up next to a
not yet faded blue Fairlane parked in front.
Picnic tables covered with paper cloth
serve nicely as the seating.
A woman, dark hair, poodle cut,
takes our order.
A Vitalis encrusted man wearing a white
t-shirt and gray slacks,
dungarees are for hoodlums,
cooks the food.
A mini-submarine shaped tank of
propane located outside
provides fuel for the grill.
The grill toasts bread for my grilled cheese
A bag of potato chips is unclipped from a display.
Paper plates and napkins soak up the grease.
Nobody can hear the changes
climbing the horizon.
Categories:
whitewalls,
Form: Free verse
my anonymity is stalking the streets
like a preoccupation. mornings, slowly I creep
into august daylight, filling beat boroughs.
passing the time: digging fake burrows:
motel rabbitrooms don't come with sheets:
boxes gloomy in the dinge; dead-end streets.
dark corners; alleys; clean and replete.
rowers; faces; kept random, entreat
to be shadowed and cut - copied and reprinted:
E. de Silhouette: silk-screen and tinted.
marionette hands are fire-flies nigh night
like acariasis-itchy eyes: broken from sight
watching the downpour:
downbeat and worn
like tire-worm whitewalls:
peeling and torn.
the blanched, arched faces
(trampled like elephant’s acacia)
are garnets staring blankly at me
between the tiny gaps of a wintertime fleece
a paisley studded blanket, wrapped knee-high round niece.
running tubes from great maple: palsied cold saps
berry's blood ulcer pours like paint with no cap
from a bucket it spills: unravels, unwraps.
It splashes my feet then runs red and abrupt;
silvery and smooth, sanguis from a cup.
Categories:
whitewalls, angst, social,
Form: Rhyme