Just A Simple Thank You
I want to thank each one of you
For reading all my rhymes
I have 10,000 readers
In only 6 months time
I appreciate all your words
And the kindness of your hearts
The sharing of this passion
That some would call an art
I remember not to long ago
I would throw these words away
Thinking that this passion
Was somehow just a faze
I want to give a special thanks
To those who friended me
You helped me tell my stories
And you share this love with me
Carl Joseph Roberts
I wanted to just take a moment to thank you all.
Your kindness has allowed me to share my heartache.
Your words of encouragement helped heal my heart.
Your poems inspired me to keep writing and posting.
Many of your poems touched my inner soul.
You helped me laugh, cry, and feel sorrow.
You encouraged me to push forward in my writtings
Your words and poems have inspired.
I know that we may never meet in person
There is however a bonding friendships that will last.
Thank you for reading my poems
I hope to have 10,000 more reads in the next 6 months.
If however I only touch but one then this is worth it.
A simple thank you my friends and fellow poets. ...Joe
Long before the sun's rise
The old man rises up:
Pulling on worn overalls
And pouring joe into his cup
The rooster's crow is barely audible
Half a mile down the road.
The man stumbles into his rusted truck
That still carries a heavy load.
Only needs one pair of boots,
Being such a simple man
Sure enough, they're the same pair
He wore fighting in Japan.
His laughter is now silenced
By the hard life he has led.
Thoughts of death and love and loss
Are churning through his head.
Each day passes by,
No different than the last.
His bitterness remains
As he grumbles about the past.
The sun rises one day
Without the presence of the man.
But no one to notice or mourn
They only care to sell off his land.
rip t - 18.03.1997 - 23.05.2013 ♡
(james blunt // carry you home)
on my 14th birthday
you gave me a porcelain envelope
and told me not to open it
until you weren't in my life anymore
i thought that your words were absurd
as i thought you would always be in my life
14 days ago you left
you left me to fend the world off on my own
i spent the nights crying diamonds into pillows
tearing pages from my notebook
blasting music through earphones
and sobbing uncontrollably, at times
i spent the days composed,
as if nothing was wrong,
when i wanted to rip the world apart
because something great, you, was gone
i smiled, laughed and did well on tests
(teachers don't care if you show up to class
with wine stained eyes, you know)
i was busying myself with unimportant things
and so i forgot about the lonesome envelope
i found it yesterday buried under dead flowers
dried up pens and crumpled sheets of paper
i collected the letter (and my feelings)
and barricaded myself in the bathroom
turned the shower on to drown out my tears
sat on the ledge of the tub
carefully opened your delicate letter
and began reading
. . . i remember sitting on the roof
with you. you had your notebook and were
scribbling with that blue pen of yours, and every so
often you'd tug your long, loose hair back
and i remember looking at you
and wondering how someone can change with someone
because when we met that night
your eyes were red and you were drooping sadness.
after four minutes with me and my guitar, you were laughing
and you were happy then, you were carefree
and i wondered how i had changed your mood
was it the sad love songs? or the little drawing
i drew for you, in the middle of your leatherbound notebook?
if i'm gone from your life, know i will never forget you as you
were my first real friend . . .
don't worry, t.
i have you tucked away at the
bottom of my heart.
if you think hard enough, there was a time when
i was telling you something important and i said that it was
from the bottom of my heart.
so the time i told you i loved you,
it was from the bottom of my heart.
and now that you're gone, i will love
you until the end of my days and i promise
you that no one will replace you.
i will always love you
since
i still have the shoelace you gave me when i was 6
the flower you gave me when i was 7
the crayon you gave me when i was 8
the card you gave me when i was 9
the toy truck you gave me when i was 10
the g.i. joe you gave me when i was 11
the card you gave me when i was 12, confession letter attached
the list of your flaws when i was 13
the envelope and 3 roses when i was 14
and the kiss you gave me 18 hours before you died.
i'm sorry i wasn't enough
to make you stay.
(4.40am | j.g.)
You can find Old Blue Joe down on the corner every night
Playing his guitar like he's picking a fight
He'll play your request but it's the blues that run his life
In fact the blues is the only way that Old Blue Joe gets by
He's gotten used to it but he still don't like to lose
If he had a choice it's not a choice he would choose
He knows that he's one of the unfortunate few
That's been on and seen the other side of the blues
The other side of the blues...
Takes a bite out of life
The other side of the blues...
Darkens more the darkest night
The other side of the blues...
Doesn't care if you like
The other side of the blues
Old Blue Joe's on the corner he's always been on
Still playing the saddest of the saddest song
Through the blues, the youth he feels he should warn
Not to make the same mistakes the same way he has done
It's raining now as he plays but he'll never stop
The drive to keep on strumming is all that old Joe has got
Growing the bitter blues is this blue mans crop
Fertilizing it daily until this life is naught
The other side of the blues...
Doesn't care what is lost
The other side of the blues
Knows the price and pays the cost
The other side of the blues...
There is something that is wrong
With...
The other side of the blues...
Tell Smokey Joe
I'm Jonesin' for a cigarette.
You know the kind
the kind you roll on your own
Makes you feel like a beatnik
An artisan craftin' your own buzz
Lifting us out into the here and now
With crunchy papers and willow wisps
It's time to do nothin'
But I can't do it on my own
We need something to bring us down into today
Where I can stop and feel my breath rushin' to my head
...............................................................
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Did a something so utterly secret he knew
Must be kept quiet, and never revealed
Until he was at least one hundred and seventy-two.
He kept it all hush during school.
He did not tell Harry or Percy or Joe.
He handled it all rather cool,
Just to make certain nobody would know.
Marvin kept very quiet at dinner,
But as he was heading to bed,
His parents, they noticed his silence,
And that was when young Marvin said:
"I did it! I did it! It's all my fault!
I filled Grandpa's Cinnamon Sugar with Salt!
I put Dad's eyeglasses in the commode,
And flushed 'til the porcelain all overflowed."
"I ate all the ice cream, and I didn't share.
It tasted so good, and I didn't stop there!
I fed all my Goldfish, and now they're all dead.
So, I'm guessing they do not care for Paddington Bread."
"The TV won't work, and its buttons keep sticking.
I pushed all the ones that seemed ripe for clicking.
And then it went poof, and I'm guessing it died.
And I could have fixed it, but I never tried."
"I scratched my whole name into the old backyard tree,
And now I'm quite certain it doesn't like me.
I'm the one who ate half of Mom's Popsicle pie,
And I blew my nose on Dad's favorite tie."
"I unplugged the Fridge, so the milk has gone sour.
And then I turned all the clocks back a whole hour.
I put paper paste in Mom's special shampoo,
And you'll never believe the things I didn't do!"
"I fed Mr. Pond's dog that prune pudding Mom made,
It ate up every drop and then peed lemonade.
So, just to make sure that you're both quite aware,
I'd be very careful where I walk around there."
And that was when Marvin heard something quite new,
A small bit of wisdom he never outgrew.
The room shuddered and thundered from up here down to there,
And rattled the windows at every which where.
His Dad towered above him as high as the sky,
And the living room quaked like the forth of July.
His Dad snapped, "Marvin, go to your room!
And all Marvin could sense was his impending doom.
He heard his Dad's thunder. He heard his Dad's rage,
Each smoldering billow that rattled his cage,
And then he boomed with the nit of a gatling gun,
"You're grounded until you're eleventy-one!"
and that
was that...
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
................................................................
"You can learn many things from children.
How much patience you have, for instance."
~Franklin P. Jones
...............................................................
There are only two ways to truly know someone: sleep with them or take them bowling.
Phoenix Aime was the woman of my dreams. So, I took her bowling.
Paid for a game. Rented shoes. Got the little, sticky bracelet thingy that said Slippery Joe Lanes.
That way if we got in some sort of accident on the way home,
the guy at the morgue could identify us as bowlers. Anyway, here's the bulleted list of what I knew about Phoenix up to that point:
• She looked like Diane Keaton circa 1972
• She talked with great pretension concerning craft beer
• She only patronized two restaurants: Denny's and IHOP
• She was eight years older than me
• She kissed my sister once on a dare
• Her shoe size was 7
• She was perfect or a near synonym
The bowling alley was empty save a World War II vet in a wheelchair and his wife at lane six,
and they were barely there. Country music played over the loud speaker. And I felt cozy. Predictable. Like a payment plan on the QVC.
That was until Phoenix said, "I forgot something. I'm going to go talk to Mack real quick."
Mack worked the front desk, according to his name tag. Talk to Mack. She just talked to Mack. Mack was sleeping with her. I untied my shoelaces. Oh, Mack, love your red polo with blue tiger stripes.
I pulled my sneakers off. Oh, Mack, I love it when you dip your finger in nacho cheese and feed it to me. Slid my right foot into bowling shoe. Halfway in with the left, and my socked foot struck something plastic. A stick of tiny deodorant. Like unsavory truck-stop-to-truck-stop deodorant. Oh, Mack, I love it when you deodorize -- so hard. Pull the strings tight on the left shoe. Oh, Mack, rub the deodorant until your underarms are SO CHALKY AND WHITE.
"You okay?" Phoenix asked.
"Yeah, what do I look like something's wrong?"
She carried a seafoam green bowling ball with a Virgin Mary insignia. "It looks like you triple-knotted your shoes there."
And I said something dumb like, better safe than sorry.
"Sorry about leaving you all alone. Mack holds onto my balls for me," she said. I bet he does. "I hate talking to that guy." What? "He's a vegan."
Now, at that time in my life, I was a vegan. And had planned some stirring remarks about the processing of sweet little piggies into cancerous hot dog machines on the way to pick her up. Thought she would think me full of passion, "on fire" for a cause, you know? The wise thing would have been to say, oh well, I'm a vegan. But instead I asked, "What do you mean?"
"You know serial killer's get a last meal before they're executed, right?"
"Right." Where the hell is this going?
"Well, have you ever heard of someone on death row requesting a last meal that didn't involve some sort of animal product? Gacy had buckets of chicken, Bundy had a medium rare steak, even uh, shit, what was his name, McVeigh, Timothy McVeigh he had two pints of mint chocolate ice cream. Dairy."
"I'm not sure how this refutes veganism."
"Nobody is a vegan for their last meal. Nobody. I'm not going to subscribe to a diet that I can't follow until the very end. Live every day like your last, that's my motto."
"That's your motto." I said. To be a great listener, just repeat the last three or four things anyone says to you and raise your eyebrows a little bit. (Examples: "My dog died." -- "You're dog died.", "I never ate breakfast burritos again." -- "Never ate it again.", "I love you." -- "You love me.")
Over Phoenix's shoulder, over by lane six, the wife wheeled the World War II vet up to the lane. And he tossed the ball. Good team, I thought. Want to know someone take them to the bowling alley.
Phoenix removed a glove from her pocket. She had her own ball. Brought her own badass, jet black bowling gloves. And if her carnivorous tendencies hadn't already put a chink in the Golden Days of Josh and Phoenix, that glove did.
She typed her name first on the scoring computer. Didn't ask if I wanted to go first. That's fine. Approached the lane, three fingers inside the Virgin Mary. She brought her bony arm back with the grace of a ballerina tucked away stage right in the shadows. Mary cut from grace slid down the lane with a spin.
Strike. I couldn't really see the pins from my angle. But I recieved a transmission via the "yes" and arm pump. That was two marks against her, and I was going to three. I'd call it strikes, but well, the whole bowling skew.
Here's a bulleted list of what a "yes" and arm pump immediately taught me:
• She takes bowling serious.
• If you take bowling serious, when do you relax?
• She'd never relax.
• My life would be tucked shirts, matching belts and shoes.
For six frames, I picked up fours and sevens. Phoenix, though, nothing but strikes. I threw a gutter on frame seven. Like a normal human being, I shrugged. Made a face out the sides of my mouth. Kept it light.
"I thought you were a grown ass man," Phoenix said.
"Me too."
What happened next, I willed. I'm not god or anything like that. At the time, just cosmicly pissed.
Her step stuttered. 7-10 split. "Mack!" she screamed. "Floors are slicker than a used car salesman's hair."
From across the alley,
"Sorry, Phoenix, baby. I'll bring you some nachos. That make up for it?"
"Ain't gonna knock down two pins is it?"
"So, uh, no nachos then?"
"Actually, go ahead and bring those."
She lined up. Back straight. Legs together. She rolled her neck. "You're about to see how it's done."
And I didn't. She broke it down the middle. Field goal. In that moment, that holy moment, I was knowledge plateau. Vindicated.
For about 10 seconds.
Mack swaggered over, nachos in hand. "Phoenix, sweetie, you okay?"
"Do I look okay?"
"No, that's why I asked."
"Just give me the nachos."
"Ah crap." Mack had gotten his pointer finger in the nacho cheese.
"Let me see it."
And right there, right in front the Virgin Mary seafoam green bowling ball, she slurped the cheese off his finger."
Frame seven, a good as time as any to call it a match. The wife of the World War II vet kissed her husband's forehead. Handed him a ball. As I walked by, hand on shoulder. "Struck gold, dude."
Amazing Mike was full of gifts
that he would share all day.
But Average Joe would stay at home
wasting himself away.
Amazing Mike and Average Joe
were always best of friends.
But Joe was always searching for
the means to an end.
One day came when Average Joe
sick of life's displeasure
Took a razor from his drawer
and slit his wrists with ferver.
Joe had asked "What am I?
A break of unseen monster?
Or am I some strain of cancer?"
He never got his answer.
Joe didn't wait for death of age
counting his days as "few."
Average Joe, now sick with sleep
and so he bid "adieu."
"Adieu to you Amazing Mike
whose fortune ne'er rots.
Enjoy your life, the gifts for granted
for life loved me not."
Sitting in a coffee shop,
enjoying the spring day.
Men and women rustling about,
taxis driving side by side.
Oh, there goes a man,
with his arms glued to his side.
And just a few steps behind him,
is a woman dressed for success.
Men and women walking,
as if they have a train to catch.
No lost looks on any faces,
besides a few that are sitting on corners.
Dirt is dancing beside,
all these quick moving feet.
This seems like one big race,
one where everyone refuses to be beat.
Although there is no trophy,
nothing to be won.
No one is a statue in this city,
there is always a place to be;
for in this city,
sleep is a very uncommon thing.
The day is flying by,
as I sip my cup of joe
for I’m the only person in this city,
who has no place to go.
hello veil over a trench coat, i’ve come here to recite a few breaths and hopefully get you to take those sunglasses off (for my pride’s sake). just drop them around your ankles like your most comfortable pair of undergarments, kick them onto the beige bedroom rug and make me feel like a day early welfare check in a bread line full of starvation. slide me a napkin with a phone number from across the church pew. smoke my mind like a cigarette in the recovery ward waiting room. i bet you could slap the what teh fuck off my face as swiftly as the day is long,
and it’s long.
and as teh world economy comes to a screeching halt and married men jump out of windows because money is some sort of commodity i will never truly truly truly understand, crying babies and damned good womens remind me of you. grandmothers and the aunt everyone loves to hear drunk at christmas is your smile. your scent isn’t like my fuckin relatives. that would be gross. and luxury automobiles and the adromeda galaxies in one corner of the paint job you happened to look a little too closely at is just a speck of your complexity misdialed like a phone number in a crosseye white pages disaster-
say i was to rush to this decision.
say i bent, hands on knees, puffing.
say joe camel between my pointer and middle finger kept both of them occupied for once
say i was running up to tell you that i don’t know you
but i think i should
i should
