Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jan 2017 Bob B
ryn
Love Astonishes
 Jan 2017 Bob B
ryn
He doesn't see past the horizon of his life
He doesn't indulge in the myth of the hereafter
He doesn't believe he is worthy of such a notion
He doesn't make it a habit to put pen to paper

But with her...

He envisions the future like he's lived it before
He sings of his plans that span several lifetimes
He romanticises his thoughts as soon as they're conceived
He converses in paintings and writes only in rhymes
 Jan 2017 Bob B
Brent Kincaid
Christ, religious people are boring,
Just like the nutsos in the street.
Half the time they start me snoring
So I run away in abject defeat,
Because reason can’t get through
A wall of defensive superstition
Which gives us back nothing but
Mumbo jumbo to every question.

If the neighborhood catches fire
It is only but a holy God’s will.
(It would be great we victims had
A place we could send God the bill.)
When innocent children die off
Is that what a loving God wanted?
That "God sees the sparrow" stuff
Gets rather quickly blunted.

What kind of wrathful *******
Lets genocide have a field day
And doesn’t make widespread disasters
Permanently dry up and go away?
If God created all of us people
In his own best saintly image,
He sure must be an ugly sod who
Needs to go back to scrimmage.

If a country had a dictator
As capriciously vicious as him
It would surely trigger worldwide
A call for a God with better whims.
For thousands of years now, it seems
People have been issuing prayers
To some kind of entity at large
That is constantly taking us nowhere.

Maybe it is exactly as possible
That this whole show is erroneous
And the big guy on a cloud is fiction
Made up out of fear and just bogus?
Isn’t this just some cave-dweller dream
To explain what folks found frightening?
Should we be running our world today
By ideas of folks afraid of lightning?
 Jan 2017 Bob B
Brent Kincaid
I’m not going to make money by
Creating some clever gadget.
That costs too much for advertising
To fit in my future budget.
I’m not going to write a book yet
Because they are hard to sell.
I decided against self-help seminars.
Sitting through those is hell.

I’m not going to learn hairdressing
So I can be a pricey hair ******.
I’m not going to write recipes to show
A hundred ways to use a blender.
I ruled out auditioning for **** flicks
I’m far to shy for all that.
I won’t be trying to make viral videos
Of adorable fuzzy little cats.

You won’t be hearing any hit songs
Written by me, myself and I.
I can’t carry a tune and can’t rhyme
So, right away I won’t even try.
I can’t paint and I can’t draw at all
So, I won’t be a world-class artist.
I won’t become a rocket scientist
In math I was never the smartest.

I'm not going to start some con game
And leave them all in the lurch.
Well, in a manner of speaking I am,
Because I'm starting a church.
I’ll spend tons of money on my home
And make a big flashy cathedral
Then spend lots of time bragging
How it’s all so very spiritual.

People will send me lots of cash thinking.
That will get them into heaven.
I’ll make more money selling God to them
Than owning a thousand 7-11s.
I’ll only need to convince my followers that
I have the get-out-of-hell-free card;
That I am the path to understanding God
And that just can’t be that hard.
 Jan 2017 Bob B
Graff1980
America?
 Jan 2017 Bob B
Graff1980
Welcome to the age
of nightmare media
where you can find
the truth between
the lies they’ve
been feeding ya.
Welcome to your
internet prison
that splits your sanity
like a cracked prism.
Welcome to the age of you
cause you don’t care
what your violent leaders do.

No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do.

Pressure building
from the bottom up.
Cops keep shooting
our brothers up,
but when people
try to say
that their lives matter
you get *******
blame them
and not the system
that has been
intentionally broken
for as long as we
have been
our own nation.

No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do

You’ve been blaming,
the gays,
blaming the immigrants,
blaming the poor,
blaming innocent victims
for the problems you created.
I guess it is easier to hate
then to find the truth
and risk being hated.
So, you celebrate
how great it is
to live in a place
that keeps arming
our police with
military grade weapons
in case free citizens
give the rich grief.

No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do

Are we better together
or do we need to be separated
so that white privilege and power
can no longer discriminate?
I hope that you know that
I am still searching
for a better way
before America comes to
shoot me down to.
https://soundcloud.com/graff1980/america

This is the recorded version of this poem.
 Jan 2017 Bob B
Sean Hunt
STOP
 Jan 2017 Bob B
Sean Hunt
Stop
Be still
Mental movement
In the mind
Must cease
Now and then
And then again
Now and then
Until thought
Can be stopped
At will
We must learn
To be still

Sean Hunt  Jan 1st 2017
 Jan 2017 Bob B
Brent Kincaid
Don’t believe when humans tell you
Kitty fairies aren’t for real.
They exist and we can see them
No matter how you humans feel.
We, as kitties, use our brains
To protect and defend us all.
We can see things you can’t
And we can hear their fairy calls.

Kitty fairies think they’re clever;
That no one else can see them,
But we cats are on our guard.
Sort of like fuzzy policemen.
We stand prepared to whip them;
They won’t get by with a thing.
We consider them rather like
Nothing less than pests with wings.

But they messed up by coming
Into our own personal territory.
When we get one in our paws
That will end their silly story.
We might play with them a bit
For the first couple of laps
But after that, we will sing
The kitty version of ‘Taps’

So, if you see us sitting calmly
Then suddenly we leap right up
And chase around rather wildly
And knock over your coffee cup,
It’s because we can see them
Some flitting fairy on the wing.
That you can’t see kitty fairies
Doesn’t really mean a thing.
It's my last poem of 2016. I hope you enjoy it and share it around.
 Dec 2016 Bob B
Brent Kincaid
You’re doing it again
So get yourself prepared.
You’re moving into the future
So, do not be scared.
You’ll be a year older so
We’ll get out the old jokes.
You can take it because
It’s love from great folks.

We’ll sing the usual songs
And by all means have a cake.
Bring on your birthday cheer.
Let’s do whatever it takes.
Maybe go out dancing
And have a lot of smiles
Like it’s not the age the tires
It’s all about the miles.

And of course quips
About being over the hill.
Somebody always makes one
And it seems they always will.
But others will remind you
That you don’t look that old
As they check you for wrinkles,
And gray hair and mould.

Let’s have great good fun
And all at your expense
Because it’s traditional
And only makes good sense
We always make those jokes
When others had a birthday
So now it’s your turn as you’re
Having another birthday today.
I amended this poem because I made it about me originally and that didn't work. So, now it's written in second person.
 Dec 2016 Bob B
Graff1980
This isn’t Eleanor Rigby
but I still see all the lonely people.

Young man makes plans
to be better,
but it is so easy
to stop resisting
old temptations,
especially when it feels like
no one really loves you.

Why not do
what the drugs tell you to do
cause a moment of relaxation
is one moment
against a lifetime of rejections.

So, he picks the closest poison
bottles, cans, pills, powders, or joints
to do what everyone was expecting of him.

Each failure is etched in his skin.
One more lost cause to remind him
that he is a worthless *******
so bad that even his dad
and mom don’t want see him.

This isn’t Father McKenzie
praying over his non-existent flock faithfully,
but I still see all the lonely people.

Crippled vet who hasn’t eaten yet
with a small cardboard sign
asks for a sandwich or a dime.

Ten blocks down the line
there is a blind man with a book bag
using his monthly check for
the cheapest hotel he can find.
Until, he runs out of money
then spends the next week and a half
sleeping on the sidewalk.

Or the old lady just off the highway
with a medium size dog,

Or the young man just of the entrance
that takes me up to the Wal-Mart
where I buy enough food to get by
throwing left overs out
at the end of the week.

At the end of the month they are all still lonely.
As am I.
Next page