"chauffeur" poems
Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur
Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous
Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur
Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious
Amorously arduous ardent raconteur
Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous
Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur
Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous
Sorcerous sabbatical apothegms chauffeur
Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous
Futurity fatidics fornication kithe
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts
Empirical emulation scenarios blithe
Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts
Agile articulation acuities lithe
Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts
Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe
Numinous syntactical paradigm *****
Emanate imminent perdition tithe
Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts
Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous
Apex crux axis ****** matrix torrid
Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous
Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid
endearingly engendering amore
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Sometimes...
History gets written
on lazy weekend afternoons
with mounting passions
dripping sweat
and throbbing pulses.
The first sight of you
and confusion set in
Was it the sight of raindrops
glistening on your naked back
or the sunrays deflecting
from your bare skin...
I didn't want to find out
I cared not
for all of a sudden
I found my palms sweating
aching to feel your
all consuming wet embrace
Was I blushing furiously ?
Could you read my thoughts ?
Was the ferocity of my thoughts so obvious?
Suddenly I no longer cared...
I wanted you to know
I wanted my brazenness to
spill over your naked soul
I wanted my desires
to embrace your
sensuous breaths.
Such chemistry as this
could only be mutual...
My steps no longer hesitant
I rushed to you
my eager fingers
caressing your bare back
I could feel my pleasure
as I mounted you
Then with a sinking heart
I suddenly realized...
this was an affair not meant to be
I would never be able to
taste ecstasy's unparalleled heights
This was it...
I could feel my frustration
as it hit me all
of a sudden those
...frenzied heights
could never be mine...
I would have to
hire a chauffeur at the earliest...
and watch with dismayed heart
...as a new affair unfolds
before my very eyes !!!
( Oh !God !When would I ever learn to drive ???)
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 11:36 PM UTC
Of Nannies ‘n houses ‘n Pink Flamingos
Cars ‘n clothes ‘n foreign lingoes
The rich hate the poor, the poor hate the rich
Did you see “Her” today?
Boy, she sure is a *****
How did they get here, a chauffeur you say?
‘Cause Mom and Dad are Always away.
They remembered her birthday
Or so said the staff
A party, a clown
Just make her laugh
The rich hate the poor and the poor hate the rich
Did you see “Her” today?
Boy, she sure is a *****
He stood on the corner outside a shack
Schoolbooks in hand, his lunch in a sack
He remembered his birthday
Or so said his mom
His dad wasn’t drunk
Just tired ‘n run down.
The bad hate the good and the good hate the bad
Did you see “Them” today?
Boy, they sure did look sad.
All the dreams and the dollars
Or missing of such
Builds a foundation or makes us a crutch
Better built on kindness, compassion and love
Understanding that all are the same from above
We all hurt the same deep in our heart
Forgotten, abused, life plays its part
Dressed up in spangles, bobbles or beads
A yard full of flowers, garbage or weeds
Under the crust is a person who bleeds
The bad hate the good and the good hate the bad
Did you see “Them” today?
Boy, they sure did look sad.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
If aliens were real
and came down from outer-space
picking me up at sunset
from my car, or place
I'd try to be so polite
and chauffeur them the globe
while stressing emphatically
ain't gonna be an **** probe
We could go to diner
go dancing, under strobes
let me stress right now there Yoda
ain't gonna be an **** probe
They may argue all they want
but they're still just xenophobes
and unless they all look, just like Taylor Swift
ain't gonna be an **** probe
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
I took a hearse to prom.
Not the most conventional way at all.
Not the sort of carriage a prince
Should take to a ball.
My chauffeur drove me.
He was dressed in black.
I suppose a hearse is better
Than my mum’s old Cadillac.
I drove alone to prom.
Said I’d meet my date there.
Besides, she’d be late with all
Her make-up and her hair.
I just had to suit up
And get my tie to sit real still.
Then my father looked me over,
And said; ‘I think you fit the bill.’
So I sat in anticipation
As I drove there to the prom.
But who’d have thought in two minutes
Everything would go wrong.
My father’s an alcoholic, see.
As was my chauffeur.
Because they are the same man.
The man who drove the hearse.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
Always____**
Days
Months
Up to our loved ones
necks
Getting callbacks
and lookbacks
Will I be
most likely rejected?
Until dusk to Dawn
The full moon turned
What will be expected?
Shoved mouth to mouth
brewed into the
Starbucks
With any luck
It's hard to make
a buck $
The Dawn Lightning
Striking again wetter
Ridiculous remarks
and kicks
in the pants
He shoved
me into a romance
But we never
ended up where
I wanted to go
France
The editorial the
Mediterranean
Slim chance rainbow diet
The villas of the exotic
flowers riot
Vacationer in vineyards
Grassy bear
Mr. Griswald
Vacation despair
Party pushovers
The sour cherries OOh!
La Wee Vacation,
The push and shove
What's up
Doc_____*
The jilted Jump always
a stump
What-what
about the
President
Trump
Shoved me right
into
this poem
sonnet
Documents of
Vacations places
of memories
The Jack ***
Surrounded by
screwdriver
Or meeting the
screwballs_______
Or goofballs
Sesame Street parade
Big bird feast
His face climbed
Mount Everest
Dry mouth lips
((Frenchie Vermouth))
He's the
right fielder
The field Mr. Costner
on her left dreams
The toast all shoved
around the town
chauffeur
Don't shove me
inside
your world
vacation
Big problems not
like ordering
the best pizza
in Brooklyn
Memorial day
shoved into a soiree'
Unbelievable traffic
American Major
problem leagues
Upscale love signs
and graphics
To resolve this
Vacation big shots
The London
Hotshots
Society
At the worst time,
I had to do
Political speech
Don't shove
me or leave me
If you're not
going to please me
And not your
payroll to
tease me
He's next on the move
pushed to be shoved
I rose
I suppose
He shoved me
He gazed upon me
Like another ticket
to his vacation
He dazed with
his eyes
not to be loved
But all yummy
To take a bite
Apple strudel
pie
But dark ends
of petal
flowered bright
The last word
struggling to
feel shot
My payroll got me a raise
My own vacation
to myself big praise
to love me
Not to be pushed to
love someone
A vacation is to be
with someone that
treats you
on a pedestal
Don't shove me this
is my portal
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur
Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous
Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur
Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious
Amorously arduous ardent raconteur
Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous
Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur
Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous
Sorcerous sabbatness apothegms chauffeur
Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous
Futurity fatidic's fornication kithe
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts
Empirical emulation scenarios blithe
Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts
Agile articulation acuities lithe
Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts
Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe
Numinous syntactical paradigm *****
Emanate imminent perdition tithe
Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts
Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous
Apex crux axis ****** matrix torrid
Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous
Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid
endearingly engendering amore
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
She bore three kids,
Cooked their meals.
Washed and cleaned,
Paid the bills.
Morning game shows
Brought her thrills,
Daytime dramas
Gave her shills.
She juggled schedules
Without a care,
Her kids' chauffeur
Going here and there.
To softball and soccer practices
To see them in a play,
It went on day after day.
The hurts and pains
Wouldn’t go away,
The wrinkles too
Were there to stay.
She moaned and groaned,
She pined all day
Of throbbing joints that ached.
Her hair started turning gray,
She's getting old, a big mistake.
Her rich husband said one day,
This life is not for me,
I'm going my own way,
I'm stifled, need to be free.
I'll give you child support,
You'll have alimony too,
The love is gone,
What else is there to do?
He went away
To start a new life,
She's on her own
To toil and strife.
He up and left her,
Very happy now,
He found himself
A trophy wife.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 5:35 PM UTC
startle cracks
and curtain calls
my eyelids back
diaphanous dropped
and veils up
dewy bloom spotlit
monkeysuit chauffeur
denigrated daily
scratch behind his ears
you're doing OK
just mistook
vehicle for passenger
relax in seat back
let clear and present ever
steer biospheric lit
allow etheric hum
up the bony ladder
to outlook attic
bindi blinds lift
pretty bitchin'
46-bit binoculars
these holy puppet
hands have got
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
Being around you was hard
I was constantly reminded of how good you are for me,
Too good to be good for me, too perfect for words and better than all I need
I knew it from the start
I know that I don't deserve nor feel deserving of such goodness
and I'm nothing more than a piece of **** to your rainbows
and that's okay,
because some things that are too good should remain untouched
You're a perfect guy
The type of guy that
when I think of how good you are
I'll do anything to fit and meet those standards
You're an ideal guy
The type of guy that exists in modern world
But lives in mysterious way
And I'll be your faithful chauffeur and companion
You're a dream guy
The type of guy that
when I dream of you and wake up,
I desperately try to fall back asleep to be able to see you again
But I don't need a perfect guy,
I don't need an ideal man,
I don't need a dream guy because I am not dreaming,
I don't need a perfect guy because you wouldn't fit in my imperfect life
Nor do I need an ideal man because I am living in reality
and what I need is a real man
A real man that will never ever leave me
and you're not that man
You are not man enough to love me
Not even brave enough to fight for me
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
On a busy downtown corner
As the traffic passes by
Stands a man with a cardboard sign
Can't seem to look me in the eye
But he's going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've got to show him
How much you care
At a big bank on wall street
With its fancy marble floors
Walks in a man in a business suit
As his chauffeur holds the door
But he's going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've got to show him
How much you care
Every face that I pass by
I see you on the cross
Bearing all our guilt and sin
Not one of us should be lost
I'm going to take this message
Of love that I've found
And somehow share it with this world
So help me God
In a courtroom with its wooden chairs
Sits a little boy and girl
Their mom and dad are fighting
Their little eyes so scared
But their going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've got to show them
How much you care
On the third floor up in ICU
With a bandage on his head
He may not make it till tomorrow
Was the last thing the doctor said
But he's going to live, forever, somewhere
So help me God
I've Got to show him
How much you care
Every face that I pass by
I see you on the cross
Baring all my guilt and sin
Not one of us should be lost
I'm going to take this message
Of love that I've found
And somehow share it with this world
So help me God
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
As the exhaust spewed its mourning glum
onto the whimpering porcelain snow,
the chauffeur looked up and desperately prayed
for an Academy Award winner.
"Novelty tears shall spout at all times!"
And the thespian will charge through those double doors,
beginning his craft from the moment he hears the ***** *****
singing the deceased's pleas towards the golden gate of Heaven
and crunching through an audience of bawling admirers
of a man he barely knew.
He was chosen to give the eulogy.
Designated to speak on the behalf
of man he never thought to glance at twice,
besides the intervals of days spent
despising the realization of his existence,
resenting the scars created in surplus quantities,
stomping down the darkest layers still oozing from the coffin.
For a handful of hours, it must all become a waning spark for the
method actor giving the most crowd-pleasing breakdown of his life,
delivering a perfectly tailored recital
cloaked to all the front-pew viewers
as a heartfelt elegy.
"Just a few hours," he thought as the double doors creaked,
and the scene will end with him sliding into his car,
a dead weight off his shoulders,
driving victoriously into the sunset.
A new set of tears rolled with the end credits,
along the face of the son,
liquidating the thespian with their bleak sincerity.
They were drops of remorse
for a bond that was never born,
with an abortion in a wood encasing
for all those people out there in the dark.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
the desperado cowboy-poet awakes
anxious, needing-ending relief,
the craving greater than great,
he begs-raggedly, with Raggedy handily Andy words,
to all and anyone in the aroused surrounded vicinity,
give please give, of something to write
the bay, soothingly plays the would-be author,
"place me, look my way,
have I not droplets endless
from which you've drunk exquisitely,
so many more to fair share"
the birds twit and flit,
raucous caucus demanding
to be seated
by the tablet's keypad
to gain entry
to one more congressional natural tribute
the sky and sun organize a
joint session, extraordinary mission;
"we are the first of your day,
thus primarily,
we win the primary,
deserving in your recording of our
nomination as the first day's
sound and light show victorious"
sorry folks,
got a better tale to tell,
natural in its way,
titillating, and quite suitable
for reputating Au Naturel humanity
and it's a quirky, say hey tale,
morning coffee fresh,
a first word report from an
untelivised convention
of a different kind of congressing
awoke to find the:
*chauffeur in bed with the cook,
the Poppy, beside the sleeping Nana,
the poet, eyeing the lying next to him, tango dancer,
the classicist eyeing the sleeping moderne,
ditty ditsy Ogden Nash astride a Shakesperian sonnet,
the thinning gray line defending his bedded half,
from an invading horde of unionizing blonde tresses,
the republican with the democrat,
the conservative with the liberal,
heated discussions, non-neutralizing negotiations
conducting and watched by
peeping tom skies, clouds, birds and waters
pretending to fly flow past*
wow
now that,
is quite interesting
deserving worthy of a
disrobing disputatious disreputation,
very newsworthy and why not,
a poem all its own?
the bay waved goodbye,
the birds disbanded in silence,
quietly disenfranchised.
the sun and the sky hung around
pretending to be UN neutrality observers
wearing cute blue and white helmets
looking every where but not,
at the line of demarcation
the beggar, by his new impoverishment, enriched,
another love poem writ,
niched and pitched
one more itch,
so very well scratched
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
I appreciate the way things fall together. However, most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.
Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?
We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.
We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things, it didn’t work out and they needed to leave left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. I went straight.
About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
Mine Jane
O' mine jane;
How I canst not waiteth
To seeith thine face.
Mine Jane
O' godly jane;
Ourn bones shalt locketh
Inside, between ourn hand's.
Mine Jane
O' darling jane;
When we do meeteth
I shalt removeth thine old stain's.
Mine Jane
O' angelic jane;
Douse me in thy slaver
Showeth me that amour, thou hath written on paper.
Mine Jane
O' **** Jane;
Bringeth thine leg's closer
Maketh me beg, pull the blonde on mine head, be the chauffeur.
Mine Jane
O' goddess jane;
Throweth me down, back to the ground
Jump on me, childplay.
Mine jane
O' Filipino Jane;
Calleth mine name
I'll yet back louder, us both bursting in hott flame's.
Mine Jane
O' masterpiece jane;
No word's, hush love
Taketh me again.
Mine Jane
O' mine Filipino rose;
Who careth what other's think
The whole world already knoweth.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
He drives with flair..
millionaire billionaire
and such people
on money's stack
all the time behind his back
he drives those racers and pursuers..
the chauffeur.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
I am her chauffeur,
I take her here and there,
We spend a lot of time together,
You could even say we’re friends.
My job is to take her places,
I know where she is and where she needs to be,
I never know why though,
I never see her outside of my car.
I have only seen her reflection,
She has only seen the back of my head,
I wonder if she even looks at me,
I wonder how tall she is.
She has a lover,
She talks about him all the time,
I know a lot about him,
Maybe even more than I do about her.
I like to hear her speak,
Sometimes I drive slower so she doesn’t stop,
I can only see her lips move,
I can only imagine how beautiful her eyes are.
She sits in the backseat,
I’d tell her to sit in the front,
but then she’d think I’m odd,
Why do I have to be so insecure.
She is the highlight of my day,
Her words never leave my mind,
All my thoughts are of her,
It is turning into an obsession,
She doesn’t know it,
But I love her,
More than that piece of meat she calls her lover,
More than anyone ever will.
She doesn’t know who I am,
She hasn’t even seen my face,
I only know her by her words,
Yet it feels like fate.
Through the rear view mirror I see,
A past that I had only dreamt of,
A future that will never be,
A secret and unfulfilling love.
I am her chauffeur,
And I am in love with her.
Pt. 2
She chooses the radio station we listen to,
I keep it on even when she's not in the car,
I learn all the lyrics to her favorite songs,
I'll sing them to her some day.
Today I took her to the park,
Tomorrow I'll do the same,
Only she'll ask me to come down with her,
And things will be different.
We'll have a picnic in the sun,
I'll set the blanket while she holds the basket,
She'll laugh at my jokes,
I'll watch her smile.
One day I'll tell her how I feel,
Her love for me will be just as real,
As mine for her has always been,
And things will be different.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
This is something I wrote to be read at my Cousin Rene's funeral.
Oh My! I'm zooming down the Spanish coast... dipping my toes in the Med.
But you might find me on a Cornish Campsite drinking Pina Coladas instead.
Or it could be me, arm-in arm with good pals in pre-war summers... painting Withernsea red!
To all of those who saw me through the darker days I am thankful that you helped & guided...
Oh My! ...But I'm better now... I'm free... it's been a trying time, but once again... I can be me!
And there's something else I've just realised. Do you know what? I can see!
The last few years haven't been kind to me. Apparently I hadn't been making much sense.
I knew inside what I wanted to say... being with me must have made people nervous... tense.
But now the pressure's lifted, for loved ones and for me.
I was ready - went on too long. Now I'm on the 'other side'.
From now you’ll hear me on the wind in the trees and my whispers, in the surf and the tide.
I'm pain free, light and frothy again, teetering on heels... I’m a dizzy apricot blonde... No need for me to hide...
I might even drop in on you as I'm told you can... to say a quick thanks for all who helped - or tried...
Oh My!... and yes....people to thank? It's like an Oscar speech...
there's a list....but amongst all one stands out... shines like a star...
My Chef... my Chauffeur... my Ears.... my Eyes... my Angel... my Wingman... My Ken!
By my side through bad times, the good times and all those difficult bits... Not the now - but the then...
My Multi-tasker, My Carer...My Rock... My 'Rock & Roller'...
I remember we used to jive way back when...
And as the old song goes, I'm sure ... We’ll meet again!
Oh My!
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
I appreciate the way things fall together, however most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.
Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?
We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.
We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things it didn’t work out and they needed to head left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. But I needed to keep going.
About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
O but my quest for love
(or at least some hot ***** ***
has been a hard road, harder than gravel,
but finally I was pretty
sure that Eros' arrow had scored
a ******* bullseye
as I re-read the fifteen page email
of concentrated vile **** and obscenity
from the fabulously gorgeous teenage triplets
who were enamoured of me
and my open crotch photos;
certainly the accompanying attachments
of filth and sisterly depravity boded well
for our meeting, a picnic in the park.
My wildest dreams were exceeded
as I saw them waiting in their half-nude beauty
and, after a few bottles of champagne
and a crate of oysters (their treat),
they carried me off, cackling like sex-mad hens,
to their waiting chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce
to take me to their promised penthouse pad
for a nuit d'amour never to be forgotten;
"Where are we going girls?" I enquired
and how I screamed when they answered Scunthorpe.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
I thought I hummed a happy song,
but without a woman I was wrong.
A belief I was too blind to see.
Women are the best thing,
a man could ever have.
(she points this out to me).
She said that we,
collectively,
would open life's doors,
no less, no more, dance upon floors.
The joy we'll see.
(And while I'm out and about could I
run a few chores?).
She does wonderful things,
so I've been told.
At least I think so,
but this I know.
From the dawn of man,
through the times of sand.
Without a woman,
a man cannot stand!
(She wrote this on the back
Of my hand).
She lovingly wraps herself around
every aspect of my life,
my wife,
to the point I couldn't function
without her. Yes lovingly.
I wouldn't doubt her.
(She seems to have combined both our power).
She had the word TAKEN tattooed on
my arm,
I'm no longer living alone, so what's
the harm.
You can love them or **** them -
thy name is woman.
(when I'm wrong, I hide in the barn).
I try to squeeze her and please her,
kiss her and hold her,
and be mister charming.
She responds by whispering,
don't you have a ballgame to watch
Or something?
(She keeps me running).
I'm a mouse in my house,
who sometimes sleeps on the couch.
While wheeling and dealing with the
strife of married life.
She says it's for the best.
(I now pronounce you man and wife).
I wanted a strong woman that stands
on her own,
stimulates my growth.
Runs her life and runs our home.
A woman who's so much more.
(Be careful what you wish for).
She said you best be knowing,
that lawns need mowing,
kids need growing.
I countered,
can't I just be a snoring and boring,
simply enjoying dad?
She double-countered,
and said, "Women are the best thing a man could ever have".
(Who am I to argue).
I want a mate to share my plate,
one who has the grace,
to have smiles break-out all over
her face.
There's no way her smile could ever
flip upside down,
and become a frown.
(Could it?)
I reach for my back pocket wallet,
but her hand is already on it.
She says sharing is caring,
and it's a wonderful thing.
She states, "You want to be
wonderful too,
don't you"?
(So I guess sharing is the only way).
She says I'm teachable with a
smidgen of logic,
so I'm flexible, and her little project.
Change my stubbornness from bad to
good.
Says I'm hard headed.
(knock on wood).
So that's how it goes, I suppose.
To be a money provider,
a handyman, a chauffeur driver.
To be elated,
sort of appriciated,
to be a married man.
She keeps whispering in my ear,
for my brain again to hear,
and to make it perfectly clear.
"Dear", she says...
Women are the best thing
a man could ever have.
(So I've been told).
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
I appreciate the way things fall together, however most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.
Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?
We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.
We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things it didn’t work out and they needed to head left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. But I needed to keep going.
About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC