566 · Apr 3
Bored But Interested
James Apr 3

The sound of ice cubes
tumbling in a glass
broke the hypnotic haze
of the afternoon sun.

I pictured her drink
something layered,
a fruity, tropical concoction
to combat the stifling
Texas heat;
a nice contrast
to the deep amber
of my sweating beer bottle.

The ice fell again
and my gaze drifted
over the curve of fitted jeans.
and crossed legs --
the unmistakable red sole
of Luis Vuitton rocking
on a lazy right foot.

She looked bored
but interested.
I thought to buy her drink
but that seemed like an expensive order.

Based on a painting a friend did. I hope she's not offended by it.
529 · Mar 20
North of Jellico
James Mar 20

I left something in Kentucky
just north of Jellico
lost, now in the Cumberland

Youth is never wasted --
It's spent,

Our youth is spent in waste

When she took my hand and led me
over the rocks and into the stream
I wasn't sure if it was the cold water
or the feel of her skin against mine
that caused my stomach
to clinch and rise to my throat

More likely it was fear

As her body moved over mine
I felt a fearful, spiritual sensation

The sermon that morning
was on the evils of the flesh
and the sin of earthly desire

That preacher had never been chest deep
in a mountain spring
staring up at a noon sun
through strands of auburn hair
and eyes illuminated by water
glistening in the mid-day light

I left her at the mailbox
standing at the intersection
of the gravel road and her dirt driveway

As her fingers slipped from mine
I asked if I could walk her to church
next Sunday, too

James 4d

The stand of timber
on my great-grandfather’s farm
died an unaristocratic death --

In the Spring of 1987
the old man left;
quietly and alone, he released
back the breath given to him
at his birth.

His body, rested without a headstone.

Three volleys stilled the air
in hushed reverence broken by
the sound of taps playing in a
hillside cemetery.

When the salutes were rendered
and the flags lowered
black smoke rose to the heavens
as the land was harvested for the precious
rock that lived beneath.

Many veterans, especially those prior to WWI have their graves marked with a footstone, provided by the government. My Great Grandfather served before WWI in the horse cavalry, then lived until age 98 on his tobacco farm in Kentucky. The land was sold and since been strip mined.
496 · Apr 1
Broken Altar
James Apr 1

I feel the devil calling me,
a voice I choose not to hear

He's called before
when I was young

But even then I refused to listen

Growing up with an innate sense of right
and wrong
The path to righteousness was easy to find
but laden with snares and pitfalls

I've been caught in my share (more than) --

In the woods behind my house
about a mile hike
stands an old wooden church,
abandoned and fallen to ruin

I've stood on the weathered floor
and stared up at the vaulted ceiling
The only sound I heard
was the sound the wind makes
when it blows through an empty tunnel

When I was a child
I heard the Voice of God

Now I search for it
in the decaying wood
and broken altar

495 · Mar 10
Moonshine Bottle
James Mar 10

Sitt'n and sipp'n on a PBR
Right hand pick'n on a steel guitar
The boy's roll up, say it's time to go
Gonna drive all night to see one more show

-- - - - - - -

Gotta stop in town gonna grab my girl
Hit that dance floor with spinning twirl
Bebop bopp'n with a stand-up bass
Count'n my steps, baby, just in case

-- - - -- - - -

Take'n a break with a jack and coke
Saw another sweet honey, she was tugg'n my coat
She pulled me out and across that floor
Ten seconds later we out the door

- -- -- - - - - - -

Drink'n moonshine whiskey from a mason jar
Stolen from the trunk of her daddy's black car
Heads bobb'n with the drummers beat
Feel my toes tapp'n gotta move my feet

- - - -- -- - - -

Back inside I saw my girl
Look on her face, man she was really sore
I gave her a drink from the mason jar
She loved me all night in the back of that car.

- -- - - - - - - - -

Listening to some Rockabilly music.  "Pass the Bottle" by The Devil's Daughters...couldn't help myself.
398 · 2d
Lost Bottle
James 2d

I pulled the cork
from the last bottle of wine
and emptied it into a glass,
it filled just short of half
I savored the last drop
like it was my last meal
before execution
then searched
for a lost bottle of scotch

Just can't sleep, so I'm writing just to write.
377 · Mar 21
I'm Human
James Mar 21

When I first saw him
Standing on a street corner
He was wearing a sign around his neck
It was simple, white heavy stock paper
Written on with black magic marker.
I never got close enough to read the sign.
I walked passed on the other side of the road
Careful to avoid an uncomfortable glance.

Yesterday I saw a student in the library
He wore a sign around his neck,
The writing facing his clean pressed shirt;
A social experiment
To see how long people would hold
His gaze before reading the sign on his chest.

I observed this for an hour
And wondered at the awkwardness
Before I took my turn and stared into his eyes
For a solid minute, I thought about the man
On the street corner who I see every day
But have never looked at.

I reached out and turned the sign on the student's chest
“I’m Human,” is all that it said.

359 · Mar 22
Finding You Back Home
James Mar 22

I walked into the brewery and ordered up a beer
Sat down at the bar, said I was waiting for you here
When I finished drinking I walked across the floor
I saw a couple of old buddies from back before the war
I called over the waitress and bought them another round
They patted me on the shoulder, been a while since I hit town
It’s sure a lot of fun, I’m glad that I’d stopped in
But I’m looking across the room wondering if you’d come again

I settled with the waitress with her hand set on her hip
I reached deep into my pockets and found her a little tip
Then I walked out the door pulled my collar against then chill
Saw a couple street musicians playing in front of Macey’s grill
I handed them some money and they played a cheerful tune
I hung out on the street hoping that you’d show up soon
I listened to the trumpet and I moved with the beat
I watched the drummer keeping time tapping with his feet

The November air had started to get a little cool
So I walked down the street thought I’d shoot a little pool
I walked into the pool hall everybody started to cheer
They slapped me on the back and they bought me a little beer
I saw an old girlfriend from way back in the day
She put her arm around me and I knew I couldn’t stay
So I walked up Second Avenue and found a used bookstore
I stared into the window and thought I saw you sitting on the floor

I opened up the door and heard the bell ring
I got a cup of coffee and listened to Sinatra sing
I read a little Kipling and some Pablo Neruda too
I walked across the room and sat down next to you
I reached over and gently brushed my hand against your hand
You didn’t pull away even though you knew you can
I read to you from Byron and paused for a little while
You looked into my eyes and then I saw you smile.

An old sappy poem
James Mar 3

I felt you in my bed last night
felt your weight and your breath
your hair and your breasts
as they lay on my chest.

I heard your voice call to me in the night
the words soothed me and I slept
in your embrace knowing that our dreams
were merged, connecting us in a universe
set aflame and never consumed.

I saw you in the morning glow
through sun-filtered curtains,
the light shining on the curve of your mouth,
your lips calling me to your embrace.

I generally stay away from love poems, because I'm not good at them, but this came out.
320 · Jan 5
Strings of Melodies
James Jan 5

Strings of melodies dance in the air
With scents of honeydew and citrus
My tongue reaches out to catch the drops
As they pass over my head and my ears
Are enchanted with the sounds of viola
Plucked in a deep rhythmic harmony
And my thirst is quenched by the juices of
Sweet memories passing by.

315 · Jan 3
Patchwork world
James Jan 3

It’s a patchwork world
Full of patchwork people
Made up from pieces of last year’s lives

And patchwork families
Share patchwork time
Eating quiet meals from take-out dives.

With patchwork feelings
And patchwork ties
Too many husbands and too many wives.

A 2-minute drill poem.  Whenever I feel like I can't write I try to write a short poem in 2 minutes.  Sometimes they aren't bad.
James Mar 2

Sleepless nights slaving over syllables
written in invisible ink

my eraser is at hand
in case a word shows through.

I shouldn't care
it's not like anyone will read it,

No one will see the tiny glimpse
of my soul, exposed to the world

or hear the scream coming from my lips

I keep them pursed together,
no sound can escape

Fingers spell-out the hearts desires
while the mind extinguishes any sign
of weakness

281 · Apr 3
Peace in My Soul
James Apr 3

Peace in my soul
Peace in my life
Peace in the Valley
Freedom from strife

Peace to my brother
Forgiveness for me
Prayer for my enemies
His light I see

229 · 7d
Moved
James 7d

What is it about beer
That makes my poetry
Bearable, even good;
Something about how
The words flow across
The page, or move;
They sure seem to be
Moving.
Blurred lines shaped
Like letters
Forming words that
Move hte srpite
Adn t76554rrrtghgfvbj u I I ibvvvq2aesdftbuml,3w4drfrbuhlinjmok,pl

224 · Apr 4
Shadows of the Trees
James Apr 4

I keep this address for you,
hoping one day you'll find your way home.
I know you won't,
it's been too long;
too many years
have wiped this place from your memory
or maybe it's my memory that's faded
or maybe it's jaded
with dreams and visions
existing between the realms of imagination
and twisted reality,
my reality
where numbness isn't a curse
and I don't see your silhouette
in the shadows of the trees

Just some junk because I've got nothing better to write about today.
191 · Jan 18
Wadded-Up Poem
James Jan 18

"It was a good poem,"
the poet said to his poet friend.
"I think your best work yet."

The poet offered a smirk
as he watched his wadded-up poem float away.
"It doesn't matter, no one would have read it anyway."

182 · Apr 5
Cerebral Peace
James Apr 5

STOP!!!!
The person at this address has moved

He went to find his mind
it left a while ago

For a year he's been fumbling around
aimlessly without a brain

bumping into walls and stubbing his toe
walking blindly through cities with nowhere to go

Now he's left,
in search of cerebral peace

I'll let you know if he finds it.

168 · Mar 18
Sounds From the Bedrooms
James Mar 18

I hear sounds from the bedrooms
a mattress squeaking and
a toilet lid dropped hard on the bowl,
a closet door just closed
there are footsteps on the hardwood
I am afraid
that my peaceful morning
is about to end.

Why can't they sleep late on Saturdays
162 · Mar 30
1-Word Poem
161 · Apr 14
Pardon Me, Boy
James Apr 14

"Pardon me, boy, but isn't that
the Chattanooga Choo-choo"
People watched as we sang
on the banks of the Tennessee River.
We danced on the sidewalk with the setting sun
to the rhythm of clapping hands
and a far away sax, moaning through crowded alleys.

The city breaths at night
and pulses with the sounds
of street musicians, playing
for a few bucks and some coins.

The foot bridge is busy
on a warm Spring night
joggers dodge tourists
and the locals ignore them both;
children lick ice cream
and mom searches for the next wine bar,
while college students huddle under the bridge
and lovers, young and old
are moved by the mood of the city lights.

I  spent last night in Chattanooga, Tennessee
145 · Apr 16
Jazz IS Where It's At
James Apr 16

I was born in the Bluegrass state
and I love to hear the fiddle
strings hum.  Banjo pickers
get all the fame
and you can hear the clogger's heels
tapping through the holler
But when I'm down on the river front
and in the mood to play
I crave the pull of the slide trombone
and the sad moan of a saxophone
gets me in the mood
So quit sending me all these bluegrass toons
Scruggs and Flatt, and all that
Cuz, baby Jazz is where it's at.

144 · Mar 9
On the Rocks
James Mar 9

I don't care if my glass is half full
or half empty,
just as long as there is something left to drink.

130 · Apr 12
The LaMancha Goat
James Apr 12

I knew a man with a rowing boat
It came with a fine LaMancha goat

But the goat couldn’t row it couldn’t hold and oar
so I traded it to a man for a 3-month boar

But the boar couldn’t help, it didn’t have a thumb,
right about now I was feeling mighty dumb

So I swapped the boar for a hunting dog
but he jumped from the boat and was lost in the fog

So I walked back to town, to the local store
and I saw the old dog lying flat on the floor

I looked at the store-keeper and offered a trade
he gave me some flower, some beans, and his maid

But the maid was lazy, she had never worked in her life
so I took her home and I made her my wife

That didn’t help, she still wouldn’t cook
so I bought the newest edition of a recipe book

She opened the cover and looked inside
turned a few pages, closed it and sighed

I sat down at the table and waited for my meal,
that’s when I realized, I had made a terrible deal

129 · Mar 16
The Clown's Tattoo
James Mar 16

I hopped on a train and rode into town
Stepped off of the rail in sight of a clown
I saw his red nose and way too big feet
He had been bitten by a dog, right square in the seat
It's a good thing it wasn't on the other side, I said
If he'd grabbed you by the balls you might rather be dead
I looked in his face and saw his white tear
He pointed to his pants saying he got me right here
I could see his pants would need some patching
But finding the right fabric would take some serious matching
I bent down to look and examined the spot
And thought this clown deserved exactly what he got
Right in the middle of his rosy butt cheeks
Was a tattooed lady with really big peaks
I inquired about the woman painted on his tush
He smiled real big and started to blush
"Have you ever loved a girl so much that it hurt?
Well I did and she left me broke in the dirt
So I tattooed her likeness where I didn't have to see it
But I could picture her clear every time I took a shit."

We don't laugh enough
James Mar 13

Standing on a mountain top
looking for my home.
The rolling hills,
green with tobacco are gone,
cleansed from the earth.
Now I see bare slopes
and muddy ground,
peeled away one layer at a time.

I look for my home
but there is nothing here to see.

Thoughts of my great grandfather's farm in Kentucky that was sold to strip miners when I was a child.
125 · Mar 17
Floorboards
James Mar 17

Listening to the night sounds
My companions at night;
not tonight

Tonight it's
just the sounds of creaking floorboards
and the feel of the wind against the walls

The click of the keys as I type remind me
that I'm here, in the now and not lost in a dream,
a dream where the wind doesn't blow against the house
and the sounds on the floor are you walking
back to me.

Just writing to write because, well, why not
James Mar 6

Lawn darts and pop tarts
     and I'm still here
Skateboard ramps and Boy Scout camps
     there's danger everywhere
Bicycle races and bloody faces
     fist fights in the yard
Swimming pool slides and high dives
     look out "cannon ball"!!
water hoses and busted noses
     everyone survived --
Kids today think they have it made
     memories are all inside.

Growing up was so much fun...adulthood, not so much.
122 · Mar 13
Round White Balls
James Mar 13

Yesterday I hit my son with a golf ball
Today I hit him with a snowball
Tomorrow we're playing baseball

If you don't like the weather
wait 20 minutes

If you don't like getting hit with round, white balls
keep your ass inside
or learn how to duck and catch

Yesterday I played golf in shorts and today it snowed.
I also pounded my kids with snowballs, just because it's fun.
114 · Mar 9
Store-bought Eggs
James Mar 9

“Where’re you from?”
That’s usually the first question I get when people first meet me.  
I guess I am a little bit different,
after all, I was born on a hill-side farm, so steep
that daddy had to go out every morning and turn the cows around
so their legs wouldn’t grow shorter on one side.
But, that’s life in the mountains,
when every day is a hard-scrabble fight just to get by.
Most people don’t believe it;
don’t believe that there are real people still living
a hand-to-mouth life,
still, fight’n every day for tomorrow’s breakfast
and worrying if this year’s corn will make
or if a flood will ruin the sweet potatoes before the Fall harvest --
Worrying about whatever critter’s got the hens spooked
so bad they ain’t laid in two weeks
all while little Junior’s got the croup
and the nearest Doctor is more than an hour away
we ain’t got insurance anyway
and who’s got money to pay.
It’s work six days a week, sun-up to sundown,
but Sunday’s are for praying
and listening to the preacher lead us in “Amazing grace,
how sweet the sound,”
just so we’re reminded of how blessed we really are
while we try to hold our eyes open
because we were up all night with a sick mare trying to foal
and the two hours of sleep we did get
were interrupted by a wheezing cough from Grandma’s room.
But every other week we get a trip to town,
with a stop at the feed store and  Wal-Mart
so we can look at what-not while momma buys flour
and store-bought eggs--
until the hens start lay’n again.

I took this down to work on it a while back.  Hope you enjoy it.
104 · Mar 9
Summer Rain
James Mar 9

The rain on the roof, it’s hypnotic;
taking me back home
The tin roof on an old screened-in porch
summer nights we slept there,
escaping the southern heat,
feeling the cool breeze after a thunderstorm --
I smell the moisture in the air
fresh rain on the grass outside
Steam rising from the paved road.
The rhythmic sound sends me to sleep
I see my mother and my grandmother
shucking corn and shelling beans.
I catch nightcrawlers with my grandfather.
Tomorrow we’re going fishing.

James Mar 17

Love poems are for suckers
and memories are for fools

Words are
meaningless thoughts
that expire before they
enter the mouth
and exit the lips
with the same weight
as a helium-filled balloon
and as predictable
as the North wind that carries it

102 · Mar 21
Small Change James
James Mar 21

"Ain't seen Jimmy in a while."
"Jimmy? That dude?  He doesn't come around much anymore. --
Not since he got married." The guy talking was Bill, chuckling as he chalked his cue.
The rest of the room chuckled a little bit too.
"Yea, we told him not to do it."
"Shoot, look what it did to me?"
"Yea, me too, glad I learned the first time around.  Won't be making that mistake again."
“First time!  Damn, Pete, you didn’t learn the first three times -- Hey Bill, it doesn't matter how much you chalk that thing it ain't going to help."  Joe was the jokester in the bunch.
"Up yours, Joe," Bill replied, leaning over to take his shot
"Remember you got stripes." Bill was notorious for hitting someone else’s balls.
"Screw you," he said and missed his shot.  Everyone laughed.
"I need another drink.  Shooting pool with you guys is going to turn me into an alcoholic,"  
"Hey, get me one too."
"Yea, me too, Jack and Coke."
"Beer for us.  You're a good dude, Bill."
"Yea, I don't care what Jake said about you, you're a good dude."
"Every one of you can kiss my ..." his voice trailing off as he walked up to the bar.

"Not your night, huh, Bill?'  Grace, the bartender had been working here longer than any of the guys in the room had been coming.
"It's all in good fun."
"Sure it is."  She said.  "Here's your drinks."
"Thanks, put it on my tab, Pete got the last one."
"Already did, Sweetie,"  Grace called everyone sweetie, except Jim, there was some history there, but no one cared too much.

As far as bartenders go, she wasn't bad; wasn't bad to look at either; that's all these guys cared about.  She was quick witted and could take a joke too, a necessity if you wanted to make a living serving drinks in a private club like this.  
Bill took the drinks to the guy's and Grace leaned over the counter, watching the game, making sure her breasts were pushed up just enough. -- She needed the extra tip money.

The guys shot pool and joked with each other, calling names and telling crude stories. Grace laughed a little and flashed a little skin every now-and-then to keep their attention. It was slow for a Thursday.

"Hey!"
"Hey!"
"Hey! Jimmy."
"Hey, Jimmy we were just talking about you."
"Really?" Jimmy smiled, still standing in the door.  He was really a likable guy, but he didn't fit in with these guys.  He liked them alright and they liked him, but only in small doses.
"Hey, Jimmy, you in, I need a partner, twenty bucks a game."
"Yea, come on, they don't call you 'Big Money Jim' for nothing.

"Big Money Jim?  More like 'Small Change James'," Grace said, just loud enough for Jim to hear.

I think they call it flash-fiction, a cross between poetry and a short story
100 · Mar 2
The Baby Maker
James Mar 2

When I was eighteen I swore to be single
Free to play and always mingle.
And later after all my friends had settled to married life
The poor beasts chained to their wives;
I went home and dreamed in my head
Of the beautiful girl who would soon share my bed.

Each night, I swear it seemed
A different girl would come visit me.
They were all gorgeous, glorious and kind
But none of them would get very much of my time.
Because you see I was not interested in settling down
And buying a home on a plot of ground.

Until one night in a drunken mood
I accidentally started my brood.
She was not my typical fare,
But I took her home and treated her square.
We danced and played late into the night
Then she left, gone from my sight.

I admit, I thought of her from time to time
Which troubled me deeply, because I was in my prime
So another prize, I set out to find.
I needed a distraction to get her off my mind.
But she was sealed in my brain, different than the rest
And I saw her one day warming an egg in her nest.

Cautiously I approached her and bid her good morning.
She sheepishly smiled and said “glad to see you, darling.”
I wondered aloud at the roundness beneath her apron
And learned that I was indeed the unfortunate patron.
I must admit that I thought to bid her adieu,
But instead hurried to the Courthouse where we said: “I do.”

I bought a home for my new bride.
Close to town and a train to ride.
A little cottage with two bedrooms
One for us and one for you know whom.
It was a lovely place, painted a shade too bright,
And at times just a touch too tight.

Then one night in a raging storm
A lovely baby girl to us was born.
Her head was a little warped and wrinkled,
But her eyes were bright and I swore they twinkled.
A more beautiful story could never be told
Than the birth of a child, bare and bold.

As the seasons changed and our fortunes grew
So too did the size of our bustling crew.
After ten years of marriage to my blissful mate
The size of our home had risen to eight.
Our tiny white cottage, long forgotten,
For we had bought a farm only slightly downtrodden.

And there we lived peacefully for years
Wiping noses and drying tears.
Schooling and coaching our children along;
Dreading the day when they would all be gone.
Until one night my bride stirred me awake
And another baby, that night we would make.

James Mar 22

Don't stare at the sun
it will hurt your eyes.

End of motivation and inspiration

94 · Apr 9
A Tree To Climb
James Apr 9

Gone looking for a tree to climb
One where the limbs aren't too high

92 · 2d
A Writable Level
James 2d

My pencil lead broke
and my pen was dry
so I tuned the radio
to a Nashville Station
but this late at night
the only sounds that came were voices
advertising household cleaners
It was that or Late Saturday night preaching,
a repeat from last Sunday;
so I listened to a man
get grease stains from laminate flooring
and burned oil from a porcelain stove top
while I searched for a sharpener
to trim my pencil to a writable level

When I was a kid late night radio was mostly preaching or advertisements for household junk...sometimes polka music, yuk.
92 · Mar 8
The Banjo's Show
James Mar 8

The crowd applauded the fiddler
     -- as he rosined up his bow
and they cheered him steady
     -- until the banjo stole the show.

85 · Mar 6
Barefoot Upbringing
James Mar 6

Running barefoot through the pasture
feeling the fescue between my toes.
Ten years old, maybe a little more,
no worries, no cares, just a few chores.

It's summer in the mountains.
We catch crappie and smallmouth
with grubs from a rotten log.
The Cumberland River is wild,
an endless treasure of adventure.
Trout rule the streams that feed the rapids,
impossible for you, but we know their secrets.

Dusk is falling.
I can hear my mother calling

A slightly revised oldie.
79 · Mar 13
Flowers in April
James Mar 13

It snowed today
not a remarkable event
The weather does not impress me
Even as the grass turns green
and the azaleas bloom
I know they will die again next year
But today I wiped the snow
from the lid of my charcoal grill
opened a beer and lit the coals
The snow on my patio melted
uncovering the yellow film of pollen
and I was reminded that spring came early
and this year there will be no flowers in April.

Yep, my azalea bushes all bloomed a few weeks ago and today it snowed.  I wonder what Spring will look like this year.
James Mar 27

"Though my life may end over
the South Pacific Ocean, my
thoughts turn to the many
springs gone by and those yet
to come"

Unknown Japanese Pilot, WWII

A Japanese pilot in WWII scratched this poem onto the side of his plane. Following the surrender of Japan the aircraft was captured and is now on exhibit at the National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola Florida.  I saw it this weekend and thought it was pretty cool.  I hope you do too.
James Apr 11

Sorry, I'm just kind of excited right now
Two of my Tanka were published  today

My first time.

Link to Tankajournal's current issue, if you're interested

http://tankajournal.com/issue.php?id=8&issue=5
65 · Apr 11
Remember Me
James Apr 11

Hear my voice on a cool Spring evening
It whispers through the trees,
carried on the sea breeze across the coastal plain
to rest on your gentle lobe.
And see my face in the dusky haze
staring deeply into your brown eyes set aglow with the setting sun.
Feel my hands in your hair, my breath on your face,
my lips on yours when you look to the sky
and feel the morning dew kiss you softly.
Remember me when you close your eyes
and reach for me in your dreams.

64 · Mar 28
Fast Food Sunday
James Mar 28

No sleeping in,
everyone gets a bath
hair parted to the right.

Momma's got her best dress out,
black, with white flowers
faded and frayed at the edges,
no one will notice,
that's what she tells herself
running her fingers over the lace collar.
It was beautiful when she bought it
but that was years ago.
Her white pumps aren't too scuffed.
Maybe next month she'll get a new dress.
Maybe She said the same thing last month.

She never cries about it, but I can see the tears,
she tries to hold them back as I walk past her
to get last year's hand-me-downs from the dryer.

"Time to go," she says, grabbing her bible,
King James, worn and coming apart at the binding,
but a Bible should be well used.  
She gives us each a pat on the head with it
as we march past her,
single file down the broken wooden steps
and into the car,
it starts on the third try.
We'll get there on time,

and listen to the preacher tell us
how humility is found in poverty.

A revised re-post.  I've been asked to read at public poetry reading but have no idea what to read.  I thought this one might work.  What do you think?
57 · 14h
Not Enough
James 14h

"Not enough"
is never the right answer
when she asks,
how much have you had to drink.
Didn't the marriage counselor
say "always be honest,
never be afraid to show your true feelings"

I want my money back.

I could write a dozen variations of this and I'm sure the answer will still be wrong
42 · Apr 8
Dinner?
James Apr 8

She said, "do you want to go out and eat?
I said, "why don't we stay in, and eat out."

39 · Mar 30
Through Smoky Glass
James Mar 30

In the depths of my mind
I sit behind
a desk of smoky glass.
And in it, I see
a reflection of me,
drifting through my withered past.
The smile is gone
and the lines are clear
they point to my troubled soul.
The eyes are gray
with a ghostly haze,
no trace of the blue they hold.
The hair that is there
is not the same
as my once dark and thickly mane.
It's lighter and thinner
with streaks of winters
gone so long ago.
I sit and I stare
at the face, that is there
and I wonder is anything left?
I'm tired and I'm scared
because I never cared
about where the road would end.
So I traveled through
with nothing to lose
searching for salvation around the bend.
Now I face the world at a pace
that is much too fast for me.
I really want to slow it all down
so I can change the face I see.

Re-worked oldie

— The End —

 
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