Newest Work Poems (218)

Oh hello welcome to the morning sun
Snick hug the night with them Light

At the moment all the meanings become whisper
The heart is steeped in the Sea Lance and pleasure

Eye reaction of sacrificed sleep yesterday
There is no doubt and I become Gabrha ?????

Oh hello big that wobble as planting
Zaza is not monkey at the time of Bakur

Welcomed by your spiritual self-aware
The preparation of the grade on the vine bird

On mud-will days when malls about
All shake with trays
A shopper taps the wares
Warily ... lest someone cares

He wakes to the trill
Of a pneumatic drill
Puts on his boots
And climbs the hill

A quiet smoke
A quiet lunch
A quiet bloke
Waiting for the crunch

What is writing?
A series of coor
dinated muscle move
ments and electric im
pulses acting through mere
utensil comprised of but
wood, plastics, staining
a sheet of average
lined paper. A graphic
representation and
replication of vibra
tions of larnyx from
air forced through
then received in pho
nemes by the ear. Yet
what magic in use
unconsciously that makes
each sentence so unique.
Writing puts down the
words we all speak
so meaning we may
later seek.

the container sits on a dock portside
just waiting to be taken for a ride

I always try to think inside the box
what's there, bound where, be lamps or locks

commerce of manufacture from nation to nation
a whole community's labors creation

sits in steel boxes stacked six high
multi-colored presents for people to buy

the container ship sinks lower in the port
as the boxed goods are stacked of every sort

green boxes, blue boxes, yellow and red
electronics, wheels, maybe cheese spread

from my neighborhood to yours and back
then onto a truck or maybe train track

stuff circles the globe every day of the year
on container ships bound for some faraway pier

eventually boxes are stacked in some store
and people buy things from your distant shore

the global economy keeps spinning around
as nation to nation we are all bound

© agoodguy2have 2010-04-26

I have been alone all my life.
But have never felt lonely till now.
I feel fear of what I do not know?
The air is so thick you could cut it with a knife.
I am supposed to be strong.
A leader.
I know what I have been groomed to be.
But after this long.
I cannot help but to wonder what is to become of me.
I am not the youth I once was. I am the woman you see.
In a job position made for the young.
Where youth is all one expects to see.
To be thought of as old when I feel so young.
Hurts like being stung.
I cannot change what I feel is to come.
But the fear I feel makes me want to run.
To where I do not know.
It is sad when you reach the end.
And nowhere to go.

I can still see my Grandmother in her old faded housedress
bent over the old wringer washer
lifting out piece by piece, each garment,
and running it through the wringer,
of her new washing machine..
Down in the musty cellar
Times were so much simpler then..
Folks were grateful then,for the little simplicities in life,
Which seemed to make life easier...
Now everything is rush rush and I just don't have the time...
No time to simply throw the clothes in the machine,
And toss them in the dryer...
Isn't it funny, how spoiled we've become..
Not as if we have to wash them on a rock at the river..
Now we rush off to the gym where we think we need to get our exercise..
Whatever happened, to everyday tasks, like cutting the grass, weeding the garden,
It used to be enough to keep us in shape...
Whatever happened to toiling away in the kitchen, to make a home cooked meal..
Instead of driving through the drive-thru..
Maybe if we all went back to a simpler time..
We'd be happier and healthier, and appreciate all that we have now..
Just a thought.. let's walk.. not run.

the day drones on humming like
the monotone of a tuning fork
a clock ticks slow somewhere
that clocks still actually tick
and the afternoon scrapes on
without a grease of a care

let's get to the end of it
i feel so cubed in here behind
drab business fabric walls
that time discretely slices
a million light years apart

contemplate the time and wait
for the workday to terminate
if only for today so i can
release my soul to the air
flying my sonic imagination

high away from procedures
and scintilla of policies
through canyons of colors
to rise like leavened bread
and grow into something holy

there is much of life's water
slipping past my boat, spoons,
buckets, oceans of life, of days
with names that i don't know
that somehow feel my presence

i run to the ramparts of the day
jump over the stones and flee
a spirited dash to the forest
my chains clanking in the dirt
a melodious tinkling sound

© agoodguy2have 2010-04-23

lay down your art
a riff, a stroke, a line
cook up another
meal, an idea, a deal
what we do is who we are
the vision that we see

direct the traffic
design a sign graphic
a brush to a pallet
tap chisel with mallet
read a star chart
it's all our art

drive that big combine
survey rod to align
sing an off Broadway show
read news on the radio
sweep it all apart
it's all our art

in oven cook a hen
behind pulpit say Amen
wipe a window clear
ride upon a steer
teach kids to be smart
it's all our art

dry clean those suits
polish those boots
pound that nail gun
clown around have fun
hawk hot dogs from a cart
it's all our art

build cars on the line
dig coal down in a mine
fly a jet across a nation
make something your creation
stethoscope the heart
it's all our art

function follows form
and art is the norm
not really soul deep
but how we make our keep
the worth we give to others
that's our part, our art

© agoodguy2have 2010-04-14

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Hell has broke free and I face it head on.
Determined to see, and I chase till dawn.
A glare in my eye, pride by my side.
A stare in my eye, deprived not to die.
A fearless road warrior chases in the night.
A tearless road warrior paces in the highway lights.
The demons from hell, begin to surround me.
The creations from hell, sin all that is around thee.

Hell has broke free, and I face it head on.
Demons refuse to see, and they create a dead bomb.
I got 10 gears, 18 wheels, and 80,000 pounds of super boom.
I got led steers, thicker than steel, and am wound for super doom.
A fearless road warrior chases in the night.
A careless road warrior dazes, gleamed at the sight.
The demons use snow, ice, wind, as a deterant.
Its very cold, unnice, dim, but I can get through it.

Hell has broke free, and I face it head on.
Demons lurk at me, scared and sing they're death bed song.
The wind has pushed, the ice has built, the cold is intense.
Maybe I win, the night has quilted the light, the bold are inmense.
Another tired night passes, but what shall come for the next?
Another might laugh, but what shall come other then a bet?
Another nice day, slept away, for glory or pride?
Another Trucker away, kept okay, for life and you will survive.
Keep the demons down, and the sparkly up,
For another day will bring luck.