She made a livin by lovin an giving.
She made her hourly wages
On stacks of lost pages
She had written from her
Many different faces.
One for night one for day!
One to sleep
And for morning stay.

If I was a real poet
I would write about the world
Around me, the living problems
We share commonly.
I met your eyes on the way,
They prefer the pitter patter
Of small minded half empty cups.
I desire the beauty you write about
But I hate that we escape our world
With distilled words of selfish
Inward feverous double edged nothingness!
Oh, if I were a poet
I'd be humble
And facing tomorrow with hope
With fortitude of today, unflinching,
Uncompromising with no promises.
But every reader needs an escape,
And I'm happy to provide ignorant bliss.

Poets are lonesome cactus vendors
In whose palms grow hurtful ascenders
From having to peel colored wonders
To those who dread thorny fruits - the dwellers -
With too many cores inside.

© LazharBouazzi

Wake up every mornin'
Strap those work boots on
Alarm clock's alarmin'
Ain't no place like home
Time's already wastin'
Lord knows I want to stay
But the man is there waitin'
And I've got to have my pay

Gotta pay those taxes
Gotta pay my bills
Some folks live for workin'
I just work to live

Jimmy's got a good job
More than a decent wage
He built him a hot rod
Ain't ever seen the light of day
Yeah, he's got plenty money
Seems to have it made
Now he's got a second job
Saw him just today

Jimmy's lost his passion
Jimmy don't know his kids
Jimmy lives for workin'
Me, I work to live

I come from Alabama
Where all my kin folks fled
They left for a better life
At least that's what they said
And like a sheep I followed
Stayed within the fold
Now my life is mostly borrowed
On cards, and deeds, and notes

Need some satisfaction
I'm feelin' unfulfilled
Sick and tired of workin'
Gotta work to live