Last Commented Work Poems (218)

You push to the enth spitting out what I gave
Clock starts at eight, ends about five
Your recall's so bad
Cause it's all about you.

Whips in your hand and your 4 inch heels
You batter the meat to help in your feel
Always forgetting what they gave in the past
It's all about you while you crow's nest the mast.

You get thirty gives
To your Eighty five takes.
Yet the gives never seen
Your despair is all fake.

It's all about you as you superimpose
Your delicate mind upon those of brown nose
Push away others while brown will comply
As they live in the realm of your misguided lie~


~Bentlee~

The alarm clock crowed its monstrous notes as I struggled to find it’s camouflaged position.
Like a cap in the wind it tumbled further away in the blankets as I tried furiously to reach..
A clunk on the floor advised me it was wounded as it turned into a tweet half accomplishing my mission.
Stumbling thru my bedroom doorway I peeked thru cloudy eyes and cursed thru mumbled speech.
Why didn’t I take that veterinarian course-oh yeh! very long and costly and too darn demanding.
Will have to shave and shower, comb my teeth and brush my hair?….and try and find my keys.
This routine for company, corporation and state often seems obscene and never ending
I will be like a walking Zombie until I reach the brown box in the line and say large double double Plezzzz….

I see them go by
The hottest women
They wear their hats
They wear their smiles
They wear their expensive ski outfits
They live in a world of plesure
I live in a world of low wages
I get jealous of them
jealous of their beauty
jealous of their joy
jealous of their families and friends
I get to ski for free
I have to ski alone
I don't have anyone to share it with
I eat my pretzel m+m's, combos, cheese, and summer sausage
I drink my free mt. dew and hot cocoa
I sit and watch for them to fall
I stop the chairlift and help them up
I wish I could be doing what they are doing
I watch the kid bounce the chair
I grow weary of the rich people
I look at my watch as the minutes slowly tick by
I feel grateful for having an easy job
I see it is time to go
I shovel some snow on the ramp
I drive home on Blackjack Road
It's twists and turns are dangerous
Five deer walk out from the woods and I miss them
I call in today to find I can have the day off
I wonder when the snow will melt and I will be done

Already is still dark
And almost sunrise
Alarm rings to warn me
Descend into the mines
Shake loose some salt
Deep inside the earth
Of my middle class world
Drudgery of modern life
Lifted by unquenchable thirst
For good literature and wine
Untangle my free time
Free my simple agrarian mind
Learn the meaning of rest
Taste the fruits of idleness
Where is the sanctity of pleasure
When dreams board a runaway train
Travelling too fast
Out of control
Jump off and roll away
No! Fear says "Hang on"
Or face the consequences
The tender truth awaits
So sinks another sunset
Its glow reaches my soul
Will I too be pulled down
Will my spirit sink
Into the night of tired dispair
Where escape is out of reach
From reality....but whose reality?

he stands amid the dusted rays
of beams from smudged, windowed days
casting light on the words below
pressed flat upon papered page

he's been here since before sun up
stained and smelling of turpentine
surveying the thoughts he's pressed
quickly he hangs the page to dry

then re-inks the typeset laid to table
and inserts another piece to press
pulling at the screw pressed platen
repeating process his labors express

his desire to enlighten the world
not just his neighbors informed to tell
ideas and thoughts carried on back
ancestors haunched with ink and quill

before them criers cried the street
events be known upon lips aloud
spreading ideas throughout the land
difficult to speak beyond the crowd

and unbeknownst to him and kind
someday in future ideas are spread
with something called electricity
through wires and waves on into head

to reach to you my heartfelt soul
ideas with emotions and feelings said
until now, thoughts sweetest aspirations
words spread like jam on slice of bread

words, like feelings toil quietly
carry your touch and feeling along
to distant lands and distant times to
give life's meaning, therefore prolong

what the publisher and writer wish
to convey to all able to read or hear
that thought, like life, is precious
held close at hand, the mind made clear

© Goode Guy 2011-08-09

When I shop I never say no
If a receipt they want to give
Many a poem I wrote on these
When paper is not near
On way home 'Phoenix' I wrote
Could barely fit it on there
How sad it'd be if poem not born
Not here in existence

in the shop with hardware and bits of wood
can make almost any man feel useful, good

a screwdriver, a drill, some papered sand
away from day-to-day, simply out of demand

just tinkering around with piddling things
the easy satisfaction messin' 'round brings

no major renovation, or building earthworks
just little improvements, near anonymous perks

unsqueaking a hinge, maybe unstick a drawer
fittingly better is what tinkering's for

whether it's the thing of attention being repaired
or the man doing the labor, it's hard to declare

so too, it can be with words on page or a screen
to ensure understanding, say exactly what you mean

a glued letter, word oiled, or nailing a phrase
brings the writer satisfaction of all he surveys

so I continue to tinker a little bit more
on a few couplet lines, with no guarantor

that I'll illicit from you, oh diligent reader
understanding or joy, from this rambling meter

but that is a small sideline to most our tinkers
it's time tinkering matters to meandering thinkers

© agoodguy2have 2011-05-23

Distance won´t keep us apart...
Turn on that weird radio station!
i will be there with my art
Fulfilling you with inspiration
i will sing an unknown song
Waiting for your lovely ears
Maybe in Hong Kong
Countless years...
i have a southern heart
Full of imagination
Trying to restart...
Any happy situation
Please be more kind!
Consider my daily battle scar
i will enlighten your mind
Because i am a bright southern star

The game of life
Everyone is playing it
I'm going backwards
While everyone goes forward

Everyone is graduating
I'm just starting
Look at the marriages
I'm just graduating

Look at their cute little kids
I just got my first divorce
They just bought their house
I just got my first youngster

I can't play the game of love
Nor the game of life
It's all going by
I wish it wouldn't fly

Their life is perfect
I'm on my second marriage
Starting over
I need a redo

Big bad job
I just started
Big new home
Third marriage
I'm a little whore

Can't play the game of love
Nor the game of life
It's all going by
I wish it wouldn't fly

tattoo of a dove tells of true love,
one of a dagger bellows the hurt endured,
two of spades a gamblers life,
three blind monkeys tell of three dumb signs,
four of spades tells of great good luck,
a pot of gold shall reveal a green irish man ,
tattoo me up tattoo me up a story shall be told,
fading will tell the story of old and color shows us all the new hype,
bart or donald marked shows that a bad boy doth exist,
punky brewster or matilda on the wrist a sign a bad girl doth exist,
from cartoons to fish to the man on the moon these tattoos take their place as each and every one doth use some space,
when asked watch their face a smile can be seen from space as the
picture is a book a story to be told for good.