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Vernon Waring Jul 2015
TV weather people
I find to be a pain
With their doomsday reports
Of drenching rain,
Of raging winds
And threatening skies
And temperature's
Escalating highs

Easy on the eyes
Always gabby
They give more advice
Than the current "Dear Abby"

"Keep your pets inside
During a monsoon,
Grab an umbrella
If the skies reflect gloom,
Apply sunscreen
And avoid the sun's glare -
Boots, jackets, coats, gloves...
Always be prepared!"

And forecasters' eyes light up
When a storm is due
And if there's snow
They'll remind you
To get bread and milk
And a load of rock salt
And don't forget to shovel
Your snowy sidewalk

Their do's and their don'ts
Are a pain in the ****
I advise all of them
To keep their mouths shut!
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
The demons of drugs, drink, and excess
Seem like malevolent strangers
Purveyors of madness and mayhem
Symbols of doom and danger

The demons that overwhelm us
The demons that we hate
Threaten us at every turn
They lurk, they taunt, they wait

We should look deeper every time
We fear the demon's flaws
For they may not be hiding from us
They may not be so strange after all

We should look within ourselves
And heed that urgent call
For the demons may be staring at us
From that mirror on our wall
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
Someone's staring at me
right now
here on this subway.
His eyes have not left mine.
He looks crazy and nervous,
a young guy,
a twitchy-looking young guy.
I have a feeling he's going to jump me
or rob me,
maybe shoot me
or stab me.
He's probably looking for money
for a fix.
He's going to follow me off this frigging subway car
and then he's going to slit my throat
and throw me on the tracks.
This maniac drug addict
is going to **** me
and buy some ****** or crack
or whatever these ******* scummy losers buy
to get high
and he's going to leave me on a subway track
with blood streaming out of my neck,
my mouth a pool of blood.
He's waiting for me to get off here
at the Spring Garden stop.
Well, forget it *******,
my wild-eyed doped-up piece of slime.
I won't get off here.

Wait a minute.
He just got off here
and the door closed.
I see him running up the steps
probably to catch a bus
or **** someone on the street.
Thank god he's gone.
I was sure he was going to knife me.
I had it all figured the hell out.
I even stayed in this ****-ridden
rat hole of a subway car
and now this means I have to get off
at the next stop and go over to the other side
of the station
and take another subway
back to the Spring Garden stop.
I have totally ******* up.
I talked myself out of getting off at my stop and
now I'm totally messed up.

I've got to stop thinking like this.
This paranoid crap is taking its toll.
It tricks me,
confuses me,
frightens me.
I have to be calm now,
just get ahold of myself.
I'm standing up
to get off at the next stop.

Now I'm by the door.
What's going on here?
I just noticed
two guys sitting over there
just a few seats down
on the left
and they're looking at me.
One's got a mile-long scar
on the side of his face.
These guys are trouble.
The other one just put his hand in his pocket
like he's got a gun or something.
Holy Christ!
I've got to get off.
Maybe my mind's just playing tricks on me.
I don't know what to think.
I'll just stand here by the door.
The stop's coming up.
Christ! They just got up and
they're walking toward me
and now they're standing behind me.
I can see their reflection in the door's glass.
I can almost feel one of them breathing
on the back of my neck.
I'm trapped now...nowhere to go...nowhere!
The door's opening and I step out
into the dark.

I'm a dead man.
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
He's honest.
He's forthright.
He makes no amends.

The only things he ever lacks
Are friends.
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
Suppose
my nose
proposed
to doze
and caused
a pause
in my breathing?

It certainly chose
an unfortunate pose
and one not worth
repeating.

Better a nose
stays on its toes
and helps take in the air.

The job may be boring
but it still beats plain old snoring.
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
peter hated the house on mckinley street
in his eight-year-old brain it was a hot mess

since his parents moved there
all he heard were complaints and yelling

his mother was always moaning about the small rooms,
the lousy closet space, the faulty plumbing, the leaky roof

and the mice

they were everywhere - in closets, in pantries, in drawers,
behind the heater, under the radiators

they were in nooks and crannies, behind the refrigerator,
in the laundry room, even in the crawl space

they were almost always in hiding, rarely seen in daytime
except when they were found dead in a trap - also a rarity

traps were set methodically, enticing hors d'oeuvres were created
laced with cheese and peanut butter but still nothing worked

his mother would religiously check the traps every morning
and every time she'd mutter "those little ******* *******!"

the sly moves of mice to avoid the guillotine snap of a mousetrap
as they nibbled around a flap of cheese amazed everyone

besides traps his parents bought sticky cheese pads where the
tiny monsters would get their heads and bodies stuck permanently

one time peter observed a black mouse lying - and dying - on
a cheese pad...he pushed a second pad over its face

"i suffocated the little ****!" he exclaimed and when he told
his parents they bought him a gift card from the lego store

but every now and then one of the lilliputian invaders would
make a live unscheduled appearance

one october when the nights began to get colder his mother saw
a gray mouse climb up a cord leading to the microwave

she almost had a heart attack right there on the spot and there
was the time his father was looking in the refrigerator and

heard a strange scratchy noise behind him - he sensed
a sudden descent; a baby mouse had scurried off a shelf and

fell into a small trash can so his father immediately picked
up the can and hurled it out the back door

ultimately the parents decided to move to a swanky apartment
house and the night before peter had his last "mouse dream"

it featured a giant white mouse's head that was the size of
a billboard so big so menacing it scared him awake

finally he fell back into a gentle state of dreamless slumber...
and when he woke up his parents were taking down pictures

he looked out his window and saw a moving van pull up and
for the first time in a long time he was happy
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
A poet's canvas is a blank white page
Waiting for outbursts of rapture and rage
Waiting for verse set in rhyme and meter
To set the stage, to reach the reader
To strike a chord and play a part
Engage the mind and touch the heart
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