Stop Being Angry About Everything

The boss man made a dollar

And paid it to the state.

The workers wanted their share.

He told them they’re too late.

They said he was a liar

And a lousy bum.

They set his house on fire

And cut off his thumb.

The boss man made a dollar

And paid it to his staff

They say he was arrested

And all his workers laughed.

The boss man made a dollar

And gave half here half there

Now both sides are angry

And pulling out their hair.

The workers want their dollar

And so does the state

And both sides will holler

Pay up and do not wait.

The boss man earns his money

And then he earns some more

And if he didn’t make that money

His workers wouldn’t have a job.

The government wouldn’t have taxes.

The cities would have no revenue

And the regions would be depressed.

And the workers would be angry

That the bosses took their money

And ran off to somewhere else.

Look, simple rhymes don’t cut it,

And neither does simple logic.

Don’t be an idiot. Think things through,

And stop being angry about everything.

That is my job. You can’t have my job.

Limber it up Some, Son

When it comes to rhyme like many a thought

If it were a crime, we’d all get caught.

The problem with it like we often see

Our thoughts like to quit where rhymes would be.

It is the conceit that sticks in your head

And your rhyme receipt is only bread

Instead of the crunch of lettuce right here

A prisoner’s lunch, bread and water.

Now you could have beer if this were a brunch

And then cause a stir also a punch.

But you had to stick with a silly word

Now your rhyme’s a slick meaningless turd.

But I mean, goddamn, look how bad this sounds.

You’d think that you could loosen up, right?

Whiskey in the Morning

I want to drink whiskey in the morning.

I think it would start the day off fun.

If I drank whiskey in the morning,

Boy! Could I get things done.

When I drink whiskey in the morning,

I can find the words to say

What it is you mean to me.

Because I drank whiskey in the morning,

I could be what you want me to be.

So I will drink a second whiskey this morning.

And I will make that call to my boss.

After that third whiskey this morning,

I won’t be at a loss.

Unless you count my job.

I told my boss he’s a dick. And took another shot.

When I drink whiskey in the morning,

And my bottle is half full

I drink straight from the bottle.

And then, I drink whiskey in the morning

Until I drink the last drop.

Then, I get in my car

To get some more whiskey in the morning.

I was only halfway out of the driveway

When I heard someone yell stop.

I think it was my wife.

My vision is pretty blurry.

But I need some more whiskey this morning,

So I am sure not

Going to allow

Whoever that was

To take away my fun.

But I need some more whiskey this morning!

At least that’s what I told that cop.

Asshole!

Taking me to jail.

It is not like I am drunk or anything.

The other car jumped out in front of me.

That’s all.

My Sack of Birds

When I look in my sack,

All I can find is lack.

But what is this sack?

And what is this lack?

The one I carry on my back?

To the next camp.

The next meal.

The next time to pack

All the things that I need

In the pack on my back.

Or could it be my other sack?

Could it possibly be my sack of birds,

Where I keep all my favorite words?

The words that scratch and peck and sing

Some speak some chirp some take to wing.

All the birds that you pack

On your back on the hill

All the birds that you need

For the words that you kill

When a word’s all you had

For your tent

And your quilt

And your sleeping pad.

And what is this lack?

And what is this sack?

And what can I find

In this pack on my back?

October Poem 44: Two Revisions of a Poem From Last Month

In these two revisions I tried to work with rhyme. In version #1, I added rhymes to the end of the lines, and in version #2, I added rhymes inside of the lines. Both versions follow the ABABCDCDEFEFGG rhyme scheme.

Version #2 has much more subtle rhymes because they are not where you expect them, but version #1 makes use of some slant rhymes (words that almost rhyme), so its rhymes are not all that blatant either.  I am not sure which of the two versions I like better.

Which one do you like better?

If you want to compare these two versions to the original, you can follow this link:  https://therichardbraxton.wordpress.com/2017/09/14/september-poem-25-the-words-spoken-rocking-on-the-water/

 

#1: Words Spoken Rocking on the Water

 

Two fishermen anchored deep and boating

Surrounded by silty beaches, scrub land,

Thick brick walls in dollar bills, and smoking

New dams. And eddies. And dead rivers. And

Great many anglers. Allies puffing through

Just lit one idea and lit another.

The light edges to end one subject. To

Start another. To find no one other

Extreme at study from search and use of

The poles and hooks and tackle and what all.

Of drifting fish, dreaming in among the

Floating ice that keeps them. Bumping the walls

And breathing in the liquid air they rend

Pulling through their gills numbing to their end.

 

#2: Words Spoken Rocking on the Water

 

Two fishermen anchored in a tin boat

Surrounded by silty beaches, scrub brush,

Thick brick walls in dollar bills, and smoking

New dams. And eddies. And dead rivers. And

Great many anglers. Allies puffing herbs

Just lit one idea and lit another.

The light replies to end one subject. To

Start another. To find no in-between.

Extreme at study from search of catfish.

The poles and hooks and tackle and bucket

Of drifting fish. And dream in among the

Tickle of ice floating. Bumping the walls

And breathing in the liquid air like smoke

Pulling through their gills numbing to their end.

September Poem 30: Ghazal In the Southern Summer Sun

Memories of earlier days running through the grass watching the hoppers flee

Your trundling steps. When did they all go missing in the southern summer sun?

 

The ants working hidden in the fields, the tall grass as their hunting

Grounds. Biting, stinging, and killing in the southern summer sun.

 

Their hills of red clay stand out against the browning green of the grass warning

Like a stop sign the dangers out hiding in the southern summer sun.

 

Their smell slightly spicy as they make their way up your shoe and into

Your socks. As you were caught unsuspecting in the southern summer sun.

 

The prick around your ankle could have been a burr. But another up your leg and

Then the burning and itching. Again, you are running in the southern summer sun.