My iPad is almost dead
But I have 13% in my head
It can't be time for bed
The warning light's in the red

No time for perfect rhyme
For meter, patterns in time

     .  .  .  

I erased over half my poem, but with now only 6% remaining and the breath within me draining, the cruel irony is apparent the problems I have are inherent.
In the words of Robert Burns, "The best laid schemes of mice and men .  .  ."  0% remaining!

There was a poet who was lost
His world was covered in grey frost
He poured out his heart
Suffered for his art
He is now found, but at what cost

I once read an essay that made perfect sense
It gave an alternative to cure expense

It was a proposal that was quite modest
I wish I'd have thought of it, to be honest

It was from the early eighteenth century
It would empty the full penitentiary

Babies are free until they are at least one
Then they are fat, tender, and ripe in the sun

Parents can sell them to the politicians
They will use them as part of their nutrition

It is a win for everyone, you can tell
After all, we're already going to Hell

Sell the babies for politicians to eat
Use the money for a superfluous treat

We should kindly thank Mr. Jonathan Swift
For solving all our problems with this great gift

I guess an old bicycle is like an old wife
they both get tired and worn
and they both lose their luster

                   Wait!
I could never toss out of my old bike
I guess they are not similar at all!

When the day is dark, sleep, blink, read poetry - breathe!

When the day is dark, sleep, blink, read poetry - breathe!

B
R
E
V
I
T
Y

Is bliss!
Yes?

Blue ridges rolling
To picturesque blue skies and
Islands laced in sand

As if I am the famous Manti Te'o
I don't need to see your true face
Loving you! Though you, I don't know

Just tell me were to go
My heart will meet you in cyberspace
As if I am the famous Manti Te'o

Your true face, no need to show
It's the thought of love that I chase
Loving you! Though you, I don't know

You might be a catfish to my woe
But your texts are full of love and grace
As if I am the famous Manti Te'o

Let your secret emails flow
You might be from some other place
Loving you! Though you, I don't know

Love is blind, when you don't show
Today, weird cyber love is commonplace
As if I am the famous Manti Te'o
Loving you! Though you, I don't know

I am a cereal killer
Devouring Life is a thriller

Snap, crackle, and pop
I make the flakes drop

Stalking salubrious crunch
Murdered for breakfast and lunch

My appetite for Trix is voracious
For my Lucky Charms, I am gracious

Mud & Bugs haunt my soul
Desecrating Grape-Nuts whole

Yea, I'm Nut n' Honey and Cocoa Hoots
Krispy Kritter Krave Fruit Loops

I'm a cereal killer
Yet a community pillar

Can't comprehend why it's a crime
Unrepentant, I'll massacre cereal every time

Some people's career
Others' human connection
Others' addiction

O' elder Oak, how thou growest so old?
What ancient yarns thou could spin from each limb.
Wars, drought, what visions thine gray bark doth hold.

Ole Pennsylvanian wood, were thou sewn by him
Whose king's debt owed, founded this sovereign land.
Thine story hath gravid weight, not a tale told grim.

As a youth, thou were a knight's castle grand
Or a dark dragon with fiery breath.
High in thee boughs, thy mastered the farmland.

As years passed and our kinship reached its breadth,
Thy cannot help but to lament the time
That thou spied on thy joyous play. Now thy death
Looms long. To Heaven thine branches doth climb.

Piper
Best bro I've had
Sweet, black Goldendoodle
Respect, laid back philosopher
Cool dog

The chiropractor
Manipulates my weak spine
Like you do to me

My wife I'll love, for years to come
But if she would ever pass or leave me
I'll audition a new love, no three
I'll challenge the ladies to a game of fun

I'll make my own game of "Chopped"
They'll cook, I'll taste and evaluate
I must chop one, I won't hesitate
From three to two, they'll be cropped

I have a sophisticated palette or taste
Burgers, pizza, steaks, potatoes sweet
Chefs are ecstatic, pleasant, and neat
Yet I need to stay slender in the waste

Who am I trying to fool or trick
Women won't compete to feed me
If I want to eat, there is one solution I see
"You will have to make a phone call, Slick"

             I've "been chopped!"

Chuck it out the window
Hide it
Under the seat
Change the cd before we're caught
Kicking it to Milli Vanilli

Do not utter a syllable
For the reaper lurks at the door
Dim the lights as our eyes are widened  
Sit in a desperate, huddled mass
Feel the shivering, helpless creature on the left
Hear my traitorous lungs exhaling, surrendering my position
My heart pounding, screaming at my body
Ordering me to run, to fight, to ****
"Do not go gentle into that good night,"
As Dylan Thomas so elegantly stated
Yet it is not a time for romantic visions of heroism
Beowulf's idealism will not save us here
Sobbing, shivering, ***** stained American Eagle
Sweat drenched Under Amour Tees and hoodies
Feet ironically quivering in red and orange Nike Shocks
A 243 pound lineman blubbering under his breath
He wants his mother, his daddy, his pillow, to go home
Another boy, Darrel, clenches his fists, readies for attack
Cassidy sits silently, emotionless, statuesque, frozen in time
And I . . . What do I do? . . . What do I do?
Do I flinch like Sir Gawain in the face of death?
Or do I . . . . . . What do I do?
God, may I never discover the answer to this evil query
God help us stop the violence consuming innocent children
Render CODE RED obsolete
Yet, CODE RED will parish not
For society feeds on fictional fame
Fifteen minutes that Warhol never could have painted
Now it will be duplicated like so many Campbell's Soup cans
CODE RED    CODE RED    CODE RED   CODE RED  
And . . . What will I do?
What will I do?