Contributor Posts

I was quite young,
perhaps still a teen.
I went to a dance;
a high school one I mean.
I was Stag or Solo,
our friends would say,
I had no date
on this late Fall day.
The Boys were all
along the side wall
And Girls, sitting , on a chair.
The music started
or began to play,
when the Boys
started their foray
To the other side of the room
and ask a Girl, who was
sitting quite still.
"Would you care to dance?"
If yes, came from her mouth,
then to the dance floor you went.
If, no was the answer
you walked back in shame
as once again, "Shot down aflame."

A Goat, with big horns,
came into our yard.
It was a Male of
a questionable kind,
that was remarkable
with his reddish, black coat
with a luxurious shine.
Whence is your journey?
I asked of he.
I'm off to the City
where I'll soon live free,
to eat Blackberry vines
as my daily fare
While looking for others
with the same beautiful hair.

I sat on the hillside
with the Valley below,
checking the tree line,
whence the wind did blow.
I was downwind,
wind blowing towards me,
as I watched for movement,
within the shadows of trees.
I felt a quiver,
in the back of my knees;
was this the one
I had been waiting for?
Or just the wind playing tricks
with the limbs and shadows, for kicks.
The wind shifted on me
and was now at my back
as a huge Deer
with a big rack,
thundered away, like dust in the breeze
immediately after, I let out a sneeze.
It's alright I yelled at the Deer,
I'll be looking for you again,
Next year.

Alone on a hillside on a Fall day,
hoping a deer might come my way.
I sat with my back to a large tree,
when the Sun rose, shining on me.
I struggled hard to stay awake
but not on this day, a nap I did take.
I'm not sure of just how
long I slept by that big tree.
When I awoke an animal was looking at me.
Rubbing my eyes, using the back of my hand,
thinking, at last it was the promised land.
No such luck and I'm unsure of how;
I was looking into the eyes of dairy cow.

A silver pathway to the stars,
be sure to turn left at Venus and Mars.
Travel this path, which is very long,
humming "Stairway to Heaven", a song.
A dream is the only place to try
flying through the bluest of sky.
I finally awake on this beautiful morn,
going back to the day I was born.
Remember that place? No, not at all,
but was told it was a table out in the hall.
No doctor present none you could see;
it was a midwife that delivered me.

This writing craft;
I love it well,
but at this time,
It's a living Hell.
My brain is bereft
of new words to write.
If there is grey matter left,
will cause me to mumble
but not to cry,
for I need some answers,
If I am to try
to keep writing this drivel,
by focusing on thee,
not what is now
worrying me.

Your writing is crazy,
you crazy, old lout.
Don't be so lazy,
give a loud shot.
Let your old mind,
run free as the breeze.
It is not kind,
listening to you wheeze.
You reach for a word,
eluding this prose.
Keep in mind, all flowers
smell not like a Rose.
Do what you do,
don't just suppose.
Get off your rear;
at this I arose
and out to the garden
where everything grows.

The quickness of wit,
The sharpness of tongue,
Being physically fit,
You were the one,
Who drove me to drink.
No not in a car,
But that sharp tongue.
I went straight to the bar;
To the bar for a drink,
Which I did very well
On this my journey
To alcoholic Hell.

Alone in my reverie
of forgotten times.
Recalling the adventures
and the not so sublime.
What can I say about
those old days of yore,
other than I regret
that I never kept score.

A drink from the bottle,
a swallow of Gin,
makes me understand
what a fix I am in.
My head is all fuzzy,
with breathing so shallow.
Perhaps it would've been best
if I just didn't swallow.
I don't like Gin,
so it shouldn't be hard,
to drink moonshine whisky,
straight from the jar.
A Mason jar is the one
if I still can recall.
Pint was the size
and the best size of all.

It is very cold, out on the street,
as I walk alone, the Sun at my back.
All bundled up, to keep my self warm.

I walk past a house, with windows of glass,
seeing the Sun reflection, as I pass,
when a bright flash of light, with a blast of heat,
comes from the windows, reflecting the Sun.
I pause for a moment, to soak up the rays,
reflected on me on this very cold day.

The words come forth
from my childlike mind.
Some are cruel,
some are unkind.
Nevertheless, out
the words come,
some are witty,
others are dumb.
Why do those words,
from long days gone bye,
fall to the paper,
with nary a sigh
nor a yell?
Please tell me now,
if you can tell.