Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
island poet Apr 20
I buy my paintings supplies from the only store in town


I buy my paintings supplies from the only store in town, Jack’s on Bridge Street, the hardware *** toy *** anything-you-need store.

I buy my painting supplies by special order, delivered by ferry,where they get crazed at the colors I select, Vermillion, Drunk-tank pink, and the marvelous, quite scandalous, ***** Gallant.

My easel resides on my front porch, never moved, only when a wipe down is necessitated, or rain storm torrential makes it essential,
to avoid  warping wood.

From the porch, I paint the view, from my house on the hill, overlooking the channel separating our tiny isle from the mainland is deemed magical amazing, for this same scene painted repeatedly, but  differently,
a thousand times, a thousand changing ways.

Almost every home, only for the year rounders, has its own version, so my obituary, will be both in the town newspaper and forever before their eyes.

I do not sell my paintings, the ones supplied, gifted by my island.
Unasked, I notice that someone walks past my porch, my existence thus a daily-verification, in every season, but for the winter, but then, my presence is marked, publicized, nonetheless, duly reported,
by Jack’s delivery boys.
Dez Mar 26
Dear paperclip
You never slip
All day you hold
Documents untold
No one ever stops to thank
The one who is of little rank
But I shall stop and pay my dues
To the one who is now my muse
So thank you dearest friend
For all the help that you lend.
Skip Cope Feb 3
I have to come out.. I won't offer lies..
there's something I just can't disguise,
my tastes are different than other guys..
I'm simply in love with chicken *** pies!

It started when I was quite small in size,
when mom shopped for her weekly supplies.
She worked all day and thought it'd be wise
to make *** pies one of her regular buys.

Loved 'em then, and this truth still applies-
Don't give me fried chicken wings or thighs,
don't serve a burger with greasy old fries,
don't cook fancy foods and don't improvise..

There's one taste sensation I dearly prize!
The best frozen meal you could ever devise!
If you want to impress or want to surprise,
just cook up a couple of chicken *** pies!

Now that this poem has reached its demise,
I'll pre-heat the oven and say my goodbyes.
Gabriel burnS Jun 2017
A pack of wolves is
Sometimes preferable
To a pack of cigarettes
Makes for a coup de grâce
A merciful death
And I’m fresh out of wolves

— The End —