Littleman Sucks
Littleman Sucks!
Anything else?
Poetry - FRANKE - These are just 3 of my semi-recent poems, I will post more new and older ones later. Peace, love and celebrate learning! :-)
'EPITAPH' -
Gently rocking against the currents of time,
this vessel gave way,
and with it
I.
'ON THE BUS' -
I sat next to you,
plopped down,
feet tired, becuase
I saw the open seat.
I noticed there were many standing
but I sat down next to you
because I saw the open seat.
Adjusting my position,
walking backwards in the seat
comfort
for my back;
sitting next to you.
Take out my book,
reading -
passes time,
passes distance,
leisurely.
Setting my bag on my lap, rest
my elbows on the front
look up wondering...
Why had no one sat in the empty seat,
the one,
next to you?
Fools,
Idiots,
Morons all...!
Probably too proud to sit too close,
to a total stranger,
or fear,
or loathing for difference,
whatever trips the trigger and
motivates the "invasion of my personal space"....
Idealisms,
fantasy's held by all,
fools,
heightend by arrogance,
claiming ownership over something that never exists.
You cannot buy and you sure as hell cannot sell,
even if you could,
who'd want it?
Hypocrites,
probably all weekly church or temple or some other religious worshippers -
love thy neighbor,
just don't sit too damn close, eh?
Morons,
let your feet ache,
mine feel fine.
But, what is that damn odor?
Hiding behind the cover of raised book,
sniffing in all directions,
the location of the smell will
not evade,
not to the left,
not in front,
not to the...
it's on my right
right next to the once open seat,
the open seat I had so smartly grabbed,
next to you.
It stinks like trash,
entertain motion,
decision negative,
why?
why not?
Trash begets trash,
Human's beget human's,
what's the difference?
Garbage has no pretensions,
Human's...
chock full.
I'll stay where I am,
peaceful,
feet and back contented
mind at ease.
I read,
whilst my nose screams.
'THE PRISON GUARD' -
Circling the lake,
digging a path of conformity,
the blue herron takes each
step in exact symatry with it's last.
Trained by nature's instinct,
reflecting military precision.
Glaring out into the water,
it's feet
wading in the pond's murky bottom...
wieghting and circling
circling and waiting.
The rain does not dampen it's
parade,
for it is hungry and no weather will allow
it to ignore this pang
or
fogoe it's most basic
driving force.
A need shared by all,
desired more by some,
constantly craved by a select few...
the power is reflected in its march.
Focus, desire and instinct will not be denied;
all strike fear in the muddy
brown
waters below.
A prison guard making it's rounds
on it's cell block.
The herron marches on,
waiting,
for someone to step out of line.
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