Once in a while I wish I could dial
The day back to right where it started.
I’d then reconcile with things that did rile
And left me despondently-hearted.

It isn’t the norm but some days just swarm
With episodes rank and annoying
And in such a storm, it’s hard to transform
A dejection into something buoying.

Still, all things must pass and greener the grass
We will spot on our side of the fences.
We’ll relinquish the crass and begin, smooth as glass,
With a fresh start when morning commences.

When you walk into my classroom
Man, you'd better be prepared.
If your poodle ate your homework,
You might be a little scared.

'Cause I'm a pistol packing pedagogue.
My Colt is on my hip
And my trigger finger's itchy
So it's time to get a grip.

Better not be disrespectful
And forget it if you cheat.
No one messes with my lessons
'Cause I pack a little heat.

Yes, I'm a pistol packing pedagogue.
But do not be alarmed.
See they're paying me a bonus
If, inside my class, I'm armed.

It's a crazy world we live in
But I thank the NRA
And our president, for making me
What I've become today.

That's a pistol packing pedagogue.
You shouldn't be too shocked
For at least my gun, like this idea,
Is less than halfway cocked!

If Washington came back to life
I wonder how he’d feel
To be pictured on a quarter
And a dollar bill – surreal!

Abe Lincoln, too, would bust a gut
If he became alive,
To see his visage plastered
On a penny and a five.

And Alexander Hamilton,
If he could live again,
Would love the play about him
And his picture on the ten.

Had Andrew Jackson ditched his grave,
He’d likely argue plenty
About his image front and center
On our nation’s twenty.

Ben Franklin, though, would be real proud
If he came back to earth,
To find out that a hundred dollar bill
Proclaims his worth.

McKinley’s portrait graces
Money that we rarely use.
(I’ve never even seen that bill –
Five hundred smackeroos!)

Poor Jefferson, despite his wealth
And all he got to do,
Unfortunately got his mug
On the elusive two!

The pictures on our currency
Have long been set in place.
Thank goodness or our current prez
Would swap ‘em for his face.

This poem doesn’t want to get written.
It’s fighting with all that it’s got.
Apostrophes, commas,
Their daddies and mamas
Are joining to give it a shot.

I’m dragging each word that’s resisting
And plunking it down on the page.
So every letter
I’ve forced, with a fetter,
To take its place up on the stage.

This poem didn’t want to get written.
Its protests were ***** and loud
But the pencil I wield
Made hostilities yield
For the poet’s compulsion’s unbowed.

Dear United, tell me why
You will not let my peacock fly.
I’m really quite a worry wart
And Dexter gives me such support.

He also can do double duty
Gracing others with his beauty
When, because he is a male,
He spreads his most amazing tail.

It isn’t true, as some have said,
That if he’s spooked, his feathers shed
Or that he might get in the way
Of drinks you’re serving on a tray.

Now peacocks really are unique
And if we could hear Dexter speak
I’m sure that he would plead his case
And your concerns he’d thus erase.

However, if you don’t concede
To give me what I surely need,
My other pet can fit in coach –
It’s Fred, my hissing cockaroach!

a little poetic license on the spelling

This is how you write a poem:
Let your feelings flow.
Follow what your mind pours out
Wherever it may go.

Choose your words most carefully;
Try to not repeat.
Watch the rhythm but don't fret
About iambic feet.

Rhyme if rhyme is what you love
Though dangers sometimes lurk;
If your rhyming words sound forced
Your poem will just not work.

Anyone can write a poem;
Trying has no cost
But reality assures
We're not all Robert Frost.

I watch the morning people
Freshly showered and caffeined
As they head into their day
While somewhere all the fates convened…

Deciding who would sink or swim
Or who would rise above,
Whose health or job would suffer
Or who’d find that one true love.

Each daybreak holds such promise
But as hours tick away,
We realize most of life takes place
Where we have zero sway.

I watch the evening people
Trudging slowly home from work.
There they’ll prep to face tomorrow
Where the fates already lurk.