Work Poems (218)

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

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

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

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.

Everyday I drag my feet
For a job I no longer like
Stressing, boring and thankless.
My boss is a rude, miserable man.
The staff are set to robotic mode

I'm different and feel I don't fit
Someone take me away from this awful place
Take me to where nature is full
Where my heart can beat normally
Where I can smile truly - not this fake rubbish I do
WHere I can find serenity in a day - I wanna be me.

The temper of the sea controls his life
His relationship with it is just like a wife
It nurtures an soothes when it needs to be
Or angry an wild to descend on thee

Early he rises before the dawn
To confirm his fate before the morn
The stars are out,the wind is low
He's well prepared its time to go

He eases his boat into the black tea
The ripples reflect the calm of thee
The engines they start with accepted ease
His jacket on so not to freeze

His light bounces off beacons to see
His mind is set in the direction to be
He sets his dash to operation mode
An skippers his boat along the wet road

Using the channel as his watery path
The ocean an swells he meets at last
Splinters of orange pierce the sky
For beyond the horizon the sun does lie

He charts his coarse to hunting ground
As the sun emerges from its worldly round
A smile appears on his face
This is the wife that wears the lace

He spends all day chasing his catch
The ultimate aim to fill his hatch
The suns intensity always rising
Utmost respect is not surprising

Tides they move an winds they change
All apart of the fishermans game
Its time to head in an prepare his catch
Ready himself for the next batch

Although his journey is mostly the same
His love for the ocean is no pain
The individual beauty that he sees everyday
Illuminates his life in every possible way

As the painter put paint on the canvas with the brush.
The picture that is painted is a beautful sunset.
With a Pencil in hand I put my words to paper.
My words can paint thier own picture.
I write what I see from my heart.
That is how I preceive the world around me.
I'm an artist inmy own way, not like the painter.
Only I paint with words that have feelings.
The feelings of love, joy, sadness.
What gives me the most joy is when my words paint a picture of you.

It’s too bad about Harry
We knew it couldn’t last
He drove it way too fast
Gave it too much gas
He called it his own cherry
And rode it like a mule
Until he blew his cool
And played it like a fool
Now everyday we have to face the music
‘Cause every night we hear the same old song
We’re rockin’ in at sundown
And rolling out at dawn
It’s too bad about Harry
But the show must go on.

***

It’s too bad about Harry
But maybe for the best
‘Cause everybody guessed
He couldn’t pass the test
It’s quite a load to carry
It really takes a crew
For all that we’ve been through
We’re gonna miss him, too
But easy come and easy go is the way of things
Those who remain are who belong
He drove it like he stole it
But he’s gone, gone, gone
It’s too bad about Harry
But the show must go on.

the digital pickpocket, digits in hand
will steal your bits, one at a time
cunning and sly, in a manner offhand
more subtle than mere common crime

brush with you in that bustling crowd
the beautiful camouflage of my web
Artfully, my intents so skillfully i shroud
opportunity, like water does flow and ebb

i wait at the end of silken line woven
with scarcely a move of perceptible note
for the mark of you, so carefully chosen
but once i strike that's all she wrote

you're mine now, to play as i please
and watch you as you wriggle in vain
from your credit card i tightly squeeze
every ounce of money i can easily gain

take into account and remove on the sly
is today how The Parish Boy's Progress
with Fagin at the back to watch and spy
the pickin's too easy to not transgress

© agoodguy2have 2011-03-09

DO I REALLY WANT TO DANCE WITH FRANCE’

What kind of dance and how is it done?
And does she want to dance with just anyone?
She asks me questions and the truth will be told
For I cannot be asked to change now, I’m too damned old

This is what I am and will ever be Miss city of lights
And I’m done trying, in a windless sky, to fly any more kites
I’m too old for the hunt and weary of any game
And don’t ask me who we should blame

Perhaps a universe that forces people to lie
Or maybe even to say a sudden “good-bye”
This dance was new to me, but now it’s grown old
And I care not to witness sorrow unfold

All the women, all the time, all the times when I thought I had the time
But the clock shows it’s too late and you may be missing he sublime
Well listen lady, an alluring nature and a need for answers will be done
Because I want answers as well and cohesive answers for every one

If you truly want me to be the shoulder for you to cry on
You’d better do a simple task, and soon---- lest I be gone
But fear not, there will be other stars to wish upon
For I’ve lived enough summers to know whenever I fall I eventually rise
And that I don’t dig women on the internet only to find that they’re really perverted guys

So if you want me to dance I will but you must follow my lead
Let your body become a willow in the wind which you need
But when we are no longer just dancers and should real life try to sneak in
You’d better know that I invented the concept of sin (C) 2011....~free! CEE!~