I laid asleep in the deepest dream
Till the alarm shattered my mind
How quickly came the mornings sounds
Get Up! Is it really time?

I look and see I'm started late
The clock it must be broke
How can it be. Did I set it wrong?
Is someone playing a joke

I quickly arise to meet the day
Prepared for a shower that's hot
Then I recieve a shocking surprise
As I find the hot water is not

I begin to dress in double time manner
It was time to be headed out
Then I turned around and took a step
And my cat shrieked out a shout!!

My heart now racing along with me
I find myself in the kitchen
At first it was eggs and bacon
But due to time now I'm switchin

I'll now have toast from the toaster
I'll make it a double stack
Up it pops in its alloted time
Crispy and burnt and black

Forget the toast I have no time
But caffeine is a must
I find no sugar no creamer no spoon
Looks like coffee is also a bust

Out the door at last I go
Coffee! Man I NEEDED that!
Then low and behold I look to see
Out of the four one is flat

Can you believe because I cannot
BLEEP and BLEEP and BLEEP!!
I call the boss ,"Sorry I'm sick"
And I go back to sleep.

RLB

SBN.
Why do us poets
always let these jerks
who do not even
have an atom
of creativity
decide the value
and level
of our creativity?

ES.

Given that us
but meek poetic folk
have a humbleness
to our line of yolk
we permit these ignorant jerks
a liberal latitude
to openly express
their aimless platitudes

SBN.

Why do us poets
fall for the trends
and applause
it occasionally brings
knowing full well
it is all merely ephemeral
and what is permanent
is our depression so dismal?

ES.

We are cajoled
by the transient ovation
which resounds with much
brevity in its adulation
thence follows our
despondency of wretchedness
that descends into
a despairing grimness

SBN.

When will us poets
ever decide
that we do not care two hoots
for cheap popularity
and that our creations
are too valuable really
for some **** to **** on them
and make and mostly break them?

ES.

Oh for us true poets
to be admired with a fervent zeal
by those jerks who've
not a scrap of poetic appeal
unto us they can
dollop their excrement pile
for we shall surpass them
with our flash penning style

SBN.

So let us take in our hands
our own poetic destiny
lets write on time's shifting sand
and ensure our poetic integrity

I have reached the age
where being alive
is my only vocation,
and I am at one
with all living things.
So do not ask me
to destroy myself
by discarding one I love.
In loving another
I am cherishing myself.

Everyone I meet
is my mirror;
everyone I trust
is my peer.
Everyone I love
is my salvation.
And the only loss I risk
is my fear.
And this is thus the key
to serenity.