I met another
Could be
Maybe
What if
Beautiful
Interesting
Kind of young
Woman
With kids

Too bad I am
To well done
Burger burnt straight through
Can’t trust my feeling
Even when I am
Sharing them with you

To many let downs
Rejections
And heartbreaks
To many good poems
About painful mistakes

But she looks so good
That I almost wish I could
Eat her up
While she devours me to

I got a boatload
Of excuses
Like I like my life
Like I like being on the road
Like my dad needs me at home
Like I enjoy my sleep and freedom

But the biggest one
Is that I am just too tired
I don’t want to get my
Hopes up in a twirling parasol
Just to have the umbrella break
And let me get rained on
Again.

It’s the most bountiful time of the year.
All retailers are crowing
The profits are growing
They smile ear-to-ear
It’s their greatest time of the year.

We people are hocking,
To stuff our kids stockings,
Wth jewels we bought all year long.
We want to make sure
That we can insure
We don’t take a parental step wrong.

It’s the bankruptingest time of the  year.
No one quite gives a ****
That the whole things a scam
To sell clothing and beer
We go further in debt every year.

We’ll fight to pay rent
Nearly thirty percent
Goes to pay all the interest off.
We take extra jobs
Like all working slobs
All year we don’t dare get a cough.

It’s the most co-dependent of times.
It’s all about image
And holiday scrimmage
As if we’re not a victim of crime.
And pretending we saved one little dime.

Time drifts
Moments just pass by
How I long
To grasp time
Bringing it to a standstill
As I struggle
With dreams
At a crossroad
Autumn’s chill
Holds me back
As dreams are
A young one’s game
Opportunities have
Gone away
Dare I pursue
The unexpected paths
That have opened before me
Even if time is
Elusive
Extinguishing
Faster than I’d like
Afraid of making
The wrong choice
Feeling life
Slip through my fingers
As I linger
Feeling
A bit dazed and confused
As the future
Becomes the present
Time drifts
As I stand still
Lost

Kelly Rose
© December 23, 2016

You are not blazing a new trail.
You just failed to notice
that you had doubled back
on old trampled grass
that others had treaded
before you ever headed
in that revolutionary direction.

If you asked if I would skinny dip
You would have hit it on the nose.
But that was back when I was still
Rather attractive without clothes.
Now I don’t go around naked
As long as it is in my power.
I’ve gotten so fat and wrinkly
I wear ****** even in the shower.

I’m not kidding around a bit
When I talk about this aging stuff.
I not only don’t look so ****
When I walk around in the buff,
There are certain types of clothes
I do much better to avoid wearing;
Me in sweat pants or leggings
Is not a sight I enjoy sharing.

I’ve begun to look a bit like
Laundry that is not quite dry.
I’m not much surprised by this
Because I understand why.
I have been around a long time
And have enjoyed my ice cream
But it makes one into a pudding
And makes other people scream.

It’s just not a good idea these days
To show of what time has done.
There are such things as hotties
But I know for sure I am not one.
You know those Botox babies
You see on the Hallmark Channel?
Notice how they don’t look like
Their faces are made of flannel?

Well, I’m not into all that stuff,
That reconstructive surgery.
I don’t expect to look today
Like an escapee from a nursery.
I just make wardrobe choices well
Bearing my current self in mind.
I look upon some of it as wise
And some of it as me being kind.

Some will call you names
Let them call you what they want
It doesn’t make them right to shame
It doesn’t make them strong to taunt.
It just makes them bigger fools,
And for that we all grieve.
That they don’t play by the rules
That they profess to believe

Some days bring us rain
Other days will brightly shine.
Sometimes the cookies burn
And others will come out fine.

We all know people who cry
If other people get more than they
Who find fault with almost anything
Some other people have to say.
It seems to be a lifelong thing
Said by overgrown adolescents
Crying because someone else got
What they wanted as a present,

If we never learn to count the ways
That we have had good fortune
How can anyone ever clearly tell
The butterfly from the cocoon?
How can we not look at the moon
And then enjoy a starry night
If we spend our time in tears
That somebody else isn’t right?

Some days bring us rain
Other days will brightly shine.
Sometimes the cookies burn
And others will come out fine.

I am under no illusion
You will forget me soon
My memory will fade into
The space inside your mind
But while you are alive
I will return
I will arrive
Now and then
Like a shooting star
From a far
Passing through
From me to you
But what about
When you too
Disappear
Who then will see
This sudden streak
Through the night sky?

Sean Hunt  Dec 25 2016

With the day after Christmas
We return to the normality
Of me not looking at you
And you not talking to me

With hands deep in our pockets
Holding tight the spare change
Where we don't lose what little we've got
Or give too much away

Where all that is seen
Is the blind destiny
As I climb over you
On the rung of what's in it for me

With the day after Christmas
We're back to where we were
Not trying to be
Such good boys and girls

Where a grudge I unwrap
And think bad about you
Wait a minute that
Was the day before too

Where we take peace on Earth
And good will towards men
And pack it away
For another year

Where the Government
Sends us back to the war
With no earthly idea
Of what we're fighting for

Where we don't listen
To the cries of the children
As all of this happens
The day after Christmas

The ‘Big Swallow’

My friend needs to put an end
To her dreadful thirst
It never gets better
Only gets worse
Some of us are missing
A major
Metaphorical
Mechanism
A floating valve
That rises to the top
And then insists
On a Stop!
Closing  off
Further flow
Down below.

"I know it's back. I can feel it;
The pressure behind the eyes..."*

He's sixty. Missing front teeth
Make his grins cartoonish

And contageous. Some days
Colleague, others

Father.
Now, hammer-steel

Eyes well up. Hands like
Shovels pretend to scratch the

Bridge of his nose.
Devil Cancer. Ugly, old *******.

When he passes on, Valhalla
Awaits.

Don't tell me there's no battle
In this.