(another rediscovered little gem from years gone by….)
Sometimes we is us, and us is we,
Unless we really have to pee,
Then us is us, and we is wee,
Until we go behind a tree,
Us can be two, and sometime’s three,
Or maybe more, haha, teehee,
Sometimes so many we’s, it’s us,
But then we have to rent a bus.
(Found myself perusing ancient lists of things I’ve written, and often completely forgotten about, both the piece and the reason for writing it. This is one such.)
Some things suck,
passing the buck,
runs of bad luck,
splashed by a truck,
slime and guck,
people that don’t give a fuck,
those things are Yuck.
But then there’s some,
your dear old mum,
your favourite chum,
the taste of plum,
a place to cum,
a rhythmic drum,
a guitar’s strum,
those things are Yum.
(If any of this leave you pissed,
well go ahead, make your own list…)
No one thought about
Me very much.
They passed me by
Without a touch.
And if they looked
They saw the sign
That I hold up.
That job is mine.
It tells you stuff
You need to know.
This path isn’t gritted
When there’s snow.
But I’m just a post.
It is my station.
I don’t have the
Important information.
But one day someone
Saw my sign above.
And decided that
What I need is love.
So they knitted
A special scarf for me.
Which fits all
Around me quite snugly.
And now it’s me
They notice most.
Not the dirty sign
But the bundled up post.
It’s ever so delirious,
Enticing and mysterious,
Not knowing who is serious,
Or which one has the nerve,
It’s a dangerous position,
Two bodies headed for collision,
Each one making a decision,
Will they go forward? Or swerve?
Regardless of belief or cause,
Be it Anti-War or Unjust Laws,
Free Enterprise or Communist,
Today’s the day to raise a fist!
And help improve our situation,
With some old school demonstration.
It likely will not help or harm,
If nothing else, just raise alarm.
So rouse the rabble! Make ’em care,
About what’s happening out there.
Though young,
I’ll give that to you,
I experienced World War Two,
Then the 50’s,
Rock n’roll broke through,
The 60’s,
Well, really, who knew?
The seventies,
When things got real,
The 80’s,
Money the big deal,
The 90’s,
Began to pick up speed,
After 2000,
Well all you really need,
Is to plug in some technology,
Everything’s easier,
You’ll see,
That is unless of course you’re me,
Or friends of mine,
For it seems that we,
Are now cast aside,
Just “used to be”,
No thought,
No care,
Not even a thanks,
And now it seems,
Even our own banks,
Despite the fact,
That they are founded,
On capital OUR hard work grounded,
Will e’en give us the time of day,
For now, head down,
They seem to say,
That the bottom line is what they mind,
Efficiency’s left us behind,
So when we manage,
Despite our age,
To show up at the teller’s cage,
We meet an unexpected clash,
When we’re told that they don’t deal in cash,
Don’t be surprised when we are pissed,
At the fact society has missed,
The chance to do what we’d expect,
And temper progress with respect,
Instead of bowling forward,
On a selfish ride,
And casting those that lag a bit behind,
Aside.
Keep hearing things that I didn’t say,
And that way,
Rather than working things out,
We’ll never know what the other is talking about,
We’ll talk round in circles,
With increasing frustration,
Assured of our stance,
And our participation,
But never quite grasping what’s happening between us,
With me being from Mars,
And you being from Venus,
For just like the tango,
For which it takes two,
Communication’s hard work,
For me and for you!
With fight or flight extinguished,
He lies there with nothing.
Only the oblivion of sedation.
But I wonder, what does he see
In between morphine drips?
Are his dreams filled with impressions
Of smoke and firecrackers,
Abstract spatters of red paint,
And half remembered panic and fear?
Does he feel the same terrible
Deep black sadness that I feel?
Or does he just lie there with nothing?
Three weeks past the vernal.
The sun shines faithfully,
But barren winter lingers.
Stubbornly prolonging dormancy.
Still feeding on the decay,
Of the previous year.
Not a blade of grass grows,
Nor any flower blooms.
Skeleton trees stand naked,
And leafless in the wind.
Predominant brown denies green.
The flight of spring, delayed.
Though more likely cancelled.
The Allegiance Of Children
Cast, as in iron,
Unwavering, strong,
Yet so delicate,
As we prove,
When we wrongly,
Abuse it and force them to
Choose recklessly,
In so many ways,
When we act selfishly,
When the need to be right
Supercedes what is best,
And our actions uncaring,
Put them to the test,
“Do I have to choose mum?
Do I have to choose dad?
Do I have to keep secrets,
I shouldn’t have had?”
We use them as pawns,
In our pathetic plays,
Then they’re left with questions,
For the rest of their days.
Random Misanthrope 