I have nothing I didn’t earn,
But it took me forty years to learn,
The lessons my wise old Father taught me,
All the gifts of life and love he brought me.
There’s nothing lost in a fight but pride,
And nothing to be gained in taking sides.
Be a clown or wear a sad frown,
The value of everything is going down.
Looking so far forward, they think I’m backward.
Now I’m writing things close to awkward.
Smashing, splashing, is it all a dream?
Waiting for the boat to come back upstream.
Alone with nature, finding peace,
Scribing and thinking, looking for release.
The peace that will never, ever come,
I’ll keep looking anyway, my face is numb.
My heart is sick and all because,
My wise old man is almost lost.

I started the story with "Years ago", then it made me think.
The things I used to do each week, began to make me stink.
The high barstool, the flies and lies just put me out of kilter,
So I settle for a coffee now and forget about the filter.

Lies, lies, the wonderful lies and all to get a drink,
Ignoring the scorn on my mother’s face and not bothering to think.
When at last, my good friend said to me, "you’ll have a heart attack",
I settled for a water then and tried to forget the black.

Then the lass who tried in vain, to break me and abuse me.
Kept me under the spell of her and tried her best to use me.
Then one day I looked down at the face, of the child I hold so dear,
But I was just out of the shower then and heading for a beer.

It wasn’t months but more like years, before I lost the notion.
I watched my friends and family too, all drown in legal potion.
Now I sit and write and think, but not about the *****.
Now at peace, and I figured out, when I drink they all lose.

Concern turns to worry,
Worry to fear,
Fear to dread,
Dread to torment,
Torment in the mind is no less than others.

Then
others
become
concerned.

Arise, go to work,
Best shoes, clean shirt.
No boots, nice tie.
No tools, learned to lie.

Sales, sales for sale’s sake.
Why be a builder when you can be a snake?
Office, coffee, ***** looks and sneaks,
Hide from bosses between the breaks.

The weekly crush, looking back, taking measure.
Silent heartbreak from a dismissive gesture.
Nothing lost and nothing gained.
Gimme a shovel, this work’s a pain.

Work? What work? Sitting typing?
Listening to clients always griping.
It’s my fault, they say, for telling the wrong lies.
A P45 and no goodbyes.

I lied to them but never to you,
What? You’re leaving me? Bully for you.
I’ll stay here, make lots of cash.
There’s nothing left but a square of hash.

Work? You work?
What’s that? Tell me!

At least I have my own brand of poetry.

Don’t lie
Don’t cheat
Don’t cry
Or no treats.

Every action rewarded by belt or praise.
Which is right?

Too much praise or too little belt?

I took my glasses off to see clearer.
No dice.

Life, ah sweet, beautiful life.
From the sunny days in happy company, joking, laughing, being thankful.
To the rainy days in grey misery, fighting against the wind.
The anxious wind that howls around my ears and bangs on the door of my psyche.
Begs me to let it in, coaxes me to move over and make room.
Sometimes I feel surrounded, it takes all my energy to hold the door.
So I lean my shoulder against the thin, weak portal to depression.
Praying to a God I don't hear to give me strength.
Today the sun is out, warming my skin,
But my bones are still cold.