Morning in wonderland

I sat on the steps in the yard drinking a morning beer
the dog was dead at my feet as I
reflected on the ruin that was my life.
A single raindrop fell on my lips it tasted salty,
perhaps a message from the sea.
High above among clouds a plane carrying 210 tourists
winged it's way home.
The dog stirred and yawned I wondered if the salt drop
was from someone peeing up there.

Mmmmmm...
At dusk when the
moonflowers show their
faces to the silver stars.

Mmmmmm...
At dawn when the
monflowers hide their
faces from the golden sun.

Mmmmmm...
You will find me
under the shadow of the willows,
dreaming of him as he recites
verses of poetry to me.

Mmmmmm....

Old age has its  advantages
because
I find it harder
to remember what it
was
I was trying  to forget

Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll  discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too.

There is a place in my garden
Where I let things freely grow
Never tasting sickle, rake, or ***
A place planted by God's hands
Not mine you see
Always fascinated how his garden
Is always much prettier than mine

©  2017 Jim Davis