Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member

Members

parttimeboy
Bigender    some words in more or less an order

Poems

Will Mercier Aug 2012
Everyone wants to just stick it in the hole,
And pound the pin in,
Ask them to tie some nylons with their hands,
And they're all pinkies.
Kids these days,
Can't even play an F chord,
Three string chords
And verse chorus verse,
It gets worse every year.
Thank the lord above, that guitar geeks are born periodically,
To make that thing neigh, like a Bad Horsie,
And prove, a three piece garage band can still rock the block.
For every one hundred and fifty parttime power chord players, hiding their lack of practice behind digital effects,
And excessive distortion,
There's one Jimmy Hendrix or Dimebag Darrel born.
I see the brows furrowing now,
As you wonder, how does this geezer know about Dimebag?
Just because I prefer the feel and vibration, of a classical guitar in my arms,
Doesn't mean I don't Listen to Sabbath,
and I was a Dime bag fan in the seventies.
Power chords are fine by me,
It makes my tutoring sessions, much easier,
I don't even bother trying to convince them that there are more chords,
Unless, they have that thing about them.
That little floating sign that says
"You are special",
Or the eight year old,
Who mysteriously has thick callouses on his fingers,
Even though he never picked up a guitar before.
What I'm trying to say is,
There is nothing wrong with the kids these days.
I hated learning my scales too.
Rock and roll is here to stay,
As long as the next Hendrix isn't
Aborted.
This isn't meant to make anybody feel bad. If you have gone through an abortion, that is your own choice, and I'm not judging nobody. Just saying, you never know who that child may become.
Peace and Love to all.

Will
eligibility predicated upon mandatory fingerprinting

Courtesy anticipatory anxiety
breeds palmar hyperhidrosis
(i.e. hands adrip
with profuse perspiration)
honest to dog truthfully
most inconvenient malady

holds Earthling (yours truly)
in precarious emotional balance
me silently screaming
against ill fated physiological disorder
also upending prospective
employment ambitions (parttime).

Qualification to acquire said voucher
(essentially to help pay rent)
slips thru slippery fingers (mine),
thus wet out further ado, the extent
I broadcast sweaty plight
less for empathy than to air lament
anyway syndrome already expounded
by garden variety generic gent.

Accursed genetic unpleasant quirk
(vis a vis polyhidrosis)
thwarts virtual, social, and political
(yes folks I sought storied government perch)
ambitions toward gaining traction,

to experience cosmic consciousness,
hence moost every digital,
interpersonal, practical (joking) aspiration
figuratively dashed into
bajillion pieces to no avail.

Even as a wee lad
scores of decades yesteryear
I distinctly remember
abysmal introvertedness where
psychological torture
wracked psyche there
boot for the grace of dog,

this muttering kid felt queer
son of a gun ousted joining foo fighters
as a third musketeer
despite qualifying as rightful heir
thus in the least sought trappings
indicative of very important person
while entombed within recycled bier.

Subsequently, mine lifeless being cremated
ashes scattered to four winds
inert matter repurposed courtesy Gaia
physical earthly dwelling irrelevant

speculation abounds since time immemorial,
what constitutes purpose of existence
a chicken and egg thing
where copulation (pertaining to humans)
triggers hormonal secretion

poised to unsuspecting strike haploid
female reproductive cell, or gamete
if bonafide ***** deed done dirt cheap
attains crowning glory
fertilized **** results

reputedly engendering conception
though uncertainty when nascent embryo
considered greater than inchoate
amalgamation of cells.

Ideally biological processes
merrily humming along
once gestation period complete
viable organism (**** sapien) born
oblivious to nothing else except
except basic needs and wants

until adequate mental,
physical, spiritual development
necessitates progeny to fend for her/himself
wherein adult autonomous species
enroute to secure a place to call their home,
which onerous cost
eased courtesy housing choice voucher.

Aforementioned county program
synonymous with section 8,
though methinks the latter term
evoked non-positive connotation
within mind of prospective landlord.
jeffrey conyers Jun 2018
If loving you was all it takes to make you happy.
We forever are.
For the purpose of it lives within the heart.

But like many has said before.
You can't live off of love when all the money's gone.

If loving you was just a parttime thing.
Then we forever are.

But love is a full-time thing surrounded by memories you create.