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 Dec 2016 Bob B
Brent Kincaid
When I’ve gone to my reward
And finally my tale is told
Folks will gather and hopefully say
He died of being old.

When under the influence of drink
I might have died of driving my car
Or that time I hit on a local cop
In what I thought was a gay bar.
I could have died taking some drugs
Some stranger gave to me one night
With some of the junk going around then
I would have gone down without a fight.

And when I’ve gone to my reward
And finally my tale is told
Folks will gather and hopefully say
He died of being old.

I tailgated, I walked dark streets late
I had a smart mouth, unwise and loud.
I ignored good advice to my misfortune
Because I was too callow and proud.
I might have bought the whole farm
By sneaking texting while I was driving.
So many times I stacked the deck
Against myself ultimately surviving.

And when I’ve gone to my reward
And finally my tale is told
Folks will gather and hopefully say
He died of being old.
 Dec 2016 Bob B
David Swinden
Today a review with the Doctor took place
She looked on unknowingly smiling face
She now needs twenty four hour care
For her to stay at home would not be fair
He suggested I look at some care homes
Soon it will be an empty house, all alone
It’s out of my control and nothing I can do
But remind Mum “I will always love you”
I want her at home, no other place to be
Now all I can do is write my feelings in poetry

22/12/2016 © David Swinden
 Dec 2016 Bob B
Bill MacEachern
Like a grain of sand
On a desert plain
Or hand held fan
In a hurricane
Tears go unnoticed
While crying in the rain
Analogy
 Dec 2016 Bob B
Brent Kincaid
I’m still waiting for my Christmas present
The one you promised for so long.
Don’t keep me waiting like a poor peasant.
That would be rude and oh so wrong.
I’ve got my mind decorated for the season.
The mantel hung up with stockings
Please don’t make me wait for any reason.
Holding out on me would be shocking.

Holiday hotline
I’m making the call.
Ready for Christmas
The best time of all.
Holiday hotline
Too excited to dial.
I’ll wait a bit longer
But just for a while.

I don’t really need some kind of wish list.
There only one thing that I want.
You’ve got my heartstrings in your **** fist.
I’m fainting just to watch as you flaunt.
I’d write to Santa if it would do any good
But I am pretty sure he already knows.
Honey please, my heart’s not made of wood,
As you wave what I want near my nose.

Holiday hotline
I’m making the call.
Ready for Christmas
The best time of all.
Holiday hotline
Too excited to dial.
I’ll wait a bit longer
But just for a while.

I’m just like a little kid on Christmas eve.
I pretty sure I couldn’t really sleep.
You’ve got some great tricks up your sleeve.
I bet it wouldn’t help me to count sheep.
I want to start in unwrapping my present
I have little doubt I’ll like what’s inside.
The anticipation has been very pleasant.
Now is the finale to a **** yuletide.

Holiday hotline
I’m making the call.
Ready for Christmas
The best time of all.
Holiday hotline
Too excited to dial.
I’ll wait a bit longer
But just for a while.
 Dec 2016 Bob B
Mike Essig
on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.
 Dec 2016 Bob B
Brent Kincaid
I know you are a liar
With a suitcase full of lies.
You’re a peddler of snake oil
To those who are unwise.
You only deal in falsehoods
No matter who you hurt.
To me you’re two feet lower
Than pocketful of dirt.

You’re a gold-plated tinhorn
Not really worth a hoot.
You’re like a old plow horse
Too miserable to even shoot.
Half-deaf and selectively blind
You’re an stremely unfunny joke
And not really good to anyone
Especially decent moral folk.

I’ve seen guys like you before
They make me want to hurl
I could tell you immediately
Not to leave you with any girl.
You are the kind of criminal
Only beloved by a nut.
Someone should take you aside
And kick you in your crooked ****.

Your evil twisted lying self
Make me lose my religion.
I hate it every time you make
More suckers into pigeons.
I can’t stand to see your face
Let alone to hear you speak
And I am sure your followers
Have minds that are weak.

They’ll find out in a year or two
All the stuff we have foretold
When fans as well as the rest of us
Are freezing out in the cold
And all his cronies are safe
In the corporate welfare he creates
While we honest people pay the bills
And starve at his penthouse gate.

I’ve seen guys like you before
They make me want to hurl
I could tell you immediately
Not to leave you with any girl.
You are the kind of criminal
Only beloved by a nut.
Someone should take you aside
And kick you in your crooked ****.
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