Most Liked Work Poems (218)

I have a phone
I wanted a comb
I'm in a rush
just wanted too brush
I am late
my foot off the brake
blowing the horn
waving a finger
I need to chill
but i'm having a thrill
looked at the clock
damn I grabed the wrong socks
get to work the doors are locked
must not be late damn just realized
it's sunday morning.

Seven hundred miles drove all night
4am can't see the stars covered by clouds
6am must be their with two hours to spare
lay down close my eyes, knock on my door
hear a voice
driver open your doors
slide your tandems
take dock 76
lay back down close my eyes
knock on my door hear a voice
driver your wanted inside
you got a mess spilt your load
re-stack it sweep the glass
smell of pickles filled the air
five hours later twenty six broken jars
fifty two cases smashed

Now I'm in a pickle
no sleep weary eyes
was cruisen down a highway at 65
traffic slowed came to a stop
everybody's going home
I have 700 miles to drive
3 hours in traffic put me behind
can't take a break
must be their at 6am or get a fine
traffic is moving breaking free
takes a while get to 65

It's a beautiful day I should be okay
out of nowhere car changes lanes
cuts in front of me
hits their brakes
for an exit they must take
I can't stop with 40 tons
look in mirrors the coast is clear
swerve my truck to miss his butt
with that load of pickles

don't cut us off give us room
now it's 11am waiting for a new load
with no sleep and weary eyes.

don't stop light it up
here's a miracle cure
no hell no spells
no withdrawls guaranteed
millions of people are cured
you'll quit like millions of people did
smoke it up
black coat your lungs
smoke in your veins
don't worry cough it up
just tar in your heart
replace it don't be afraid
smoke four packs a day
you'll quit like millions of people did
now you got cancer but don't worry
we got a miracle cure
light it up
coat your lungs
smoke in your veins
tar in your heart
now your on your last breath
get some paper
crinkle it up
light it up one more time
now your eyes are closed one last time
air escapes your body
arm falls in that crinkled paper
that lit cigerette
burning paper
ashes you turn
see you quit and cancer free
like millions of people did
it's the miracle cure

When the black sky turns a brilliant blue
Reflecting on old glass in my windows
Set before the golden sunrise hues
Hear the rising notes of barnyard swallows
When the fresh smell of wet spring dew
Sweetens in the morning meadows
See how all the flowers bloom anew
Around my home in a mountain hollow
Know my deepest thoughts drift to you
And to our weekend dance that follows
After all the hard week in fields ensues
That starts where the hedgerow’s narrow
It’s such a prize living a hill farm virtue
Pulling stones from soil so shallow
But there’s none finer a place with a view
Smoothing good earth with my trusty harrow

There is no better feeling
That will send you reeling
Than a womans natural laughter

To catch her unaware
An entice her to share
Warms your heart then an after

As you look into those eyes
There seems to be surprise
That you've bought about some joy

For the reaction that it brings
Obviously plucked heart strings
As she realises its no ploy

Just a natural rendevous
On opposites sides of the queue
While waiting for an answer

Its a lovely sight to see
A stranger for you to be
Sharing with grace like a ballet dancer

I sometimes wonder and then I ponder, upon my brow I sometimes come to and think again. For I spend so much time in my thoughts and my wonders to pray and sleep till morning light. So now I sit to finish my thoughts and thus send them to you and then let them be yours. Then again I try and think for what have I done to let someone think the thoughts that are mine? Thus confuse and bewildered and then slightly amused. I send you this and so I now laugh ever so slightly just a chuckle or even less than a giggle. For you now have a piece of my mind and are now going like what? So thus the books are now flying and ever surprising at my head from many distances that can be. I am no Poe nor to I plan to be and my thoughts are merely close but not even near. Just a thought of the books that are knocking on my head. Then comes my slumber for tomorrow I work, to labor a day for very little pay. For the ideas of it already is spent for I work anyway. Yet I dream it to be lost and sometimes forgotten then I dream that I am awake again.

My heart is sad
so melancholy,
once again my
foolish folly.
I know that 1
does not make 2,
I wish there was
a me and you.
A cuddle and
my lips to kiss,
oh well I guess
I won't be missed.

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

the rig sails on
the captain at the wheel
steel billowed crosswinds
and Willie's gruff twang

come back...maybe not flip-flop
rigs riggin' is sailin', movin'
waving goodbye to yesterday
I'm a stowaway into today

ahead is clear horizon
aft is crewed distant past
the ropes taut, creaking
and diseal's low rumble below

port is where we're headed
starboard is starry shafts
stern relentlessly unappeasable
riding the waves bowed

someday I'll tighten up
swigging the anchor line
laying roots off of route one
but at present, rig's tackin'

we're decked out directly
hauling freight, liners for
what in life we're lackin'
so, harden up to the wind

crestin' hill, descendin' trough
this rollercoaster ride of life
keeps sailin' on to skyline
just the mate 'n' the captain

© agoodguy2have 2011-05-20

I used to be a writer; a little poetry by hand. A poet without the glitter; no audiance did i command. My messages were solely mine; a cummulation of my thoughts. Here and there little lines, and whatever comfort it brought. I was not the shakespear; i am who i am. These my writings, i shared, hoping if "one" would understand. Then my time was past; i wrote poems no more. Not even good poets last, muchless me, this simple bore. Yet you can make me great, reading my work through and through. Do so for this poet's sake; one who is infamous as you. Become a well known critic-: debate my work and its value. With comments from good to derelict; such helps my work shine-through. I am not the immortal; my body dead and gone. Make my work-:a living portal and byfaith a legend lives:- on!