"poked" poems
A fairy poked my little nose
And gave me a sense of adventure
And now every time that I'm held back
I wonder what that scent was meant for.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty .how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
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The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.
Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.
He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.
His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.
Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
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I planted a mango seed,
Hoping?
Not sure what...
But the mango grew
Out of its context,
Poked shiny green leaves
Looking for sun and surf,
But found itself awakened
In a land of snow and cold.
Seven leaves into its
Exponential Mango growth,
The newest leaf
Yellowed...
Shriveled...
Died.
The Minnesota Mango
Meditates now...
Watered, but waiting....
Slumbering?
Planning a spring break?
Meditating?
Waiting for summer sun?
Perhaps....
Today
I heard about
A neighbor boy
Who smuggled in
A baby alligator
From the Bayou,
South and warm.
At least my Mango
Stays inside its
Crockery planter,
And an alligator jail break
Will leave him
Freezing in his tracks...
We'll see what happens
In the summer.
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
I rise impalpable
from poked and scattered ash.
Memories from the 20 years I lived
leave a crimson rash
on my skin once as white as snow.
the skin they began to scar
when I was 11, too young to know
that they were not just scars.
they were the marks on the bark
of a green, tender tree-
marks of men (or brutes?)- wild
and untamed.
there was nothing left of innocence,
nothing left of rainbows.
I did not have my days to play-
instead I was being played with.
I, a delicate ***** white,
stripped and whipped and sold.
a love-bit nape, blackened sight,
named the girl of gold.
but no more, no more.
I have risen from the depth
with my soft body rugged
and sour breath
and teeth marks on my collarbone-
like it was only yesterday.
men and their laughs-
tormenting and know-all,
conspiring my fall.
Now that I'm awake,
risen from my grave-
(they were kind to give me one)
I shall give them back the scars
they etched upon my heart,
I shall give them back the pain.
the little purple bruises.
I shall torture them quite insane
and they would die,
they would eventually die with regrets-
regrets not confessed.
I would return to my grave
and smile,
maybe laugh the manly laugh-
tormenting and know-all,
I would be their fall.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
When he left my mother told me something.
She said it's okay and this will pass
He's nothing compared to you
But as I laid there
On my bedroom floor
In the room where he claimed me
Where little girl dreams were shattered
I didn't believe her
Instead I screamed about how I hated life
How he left me like dust on my fingertips
Like the ash of my burned down home
Two weeks later and I'm a shell
Of who I was
Of who I am
Of who I'll ever be
My ribs poked out like piano keys
Just waiting to be played
And my collar bones
Oh they were waiting like glasses
Glasses expecting hard liquor
That I of course drowned myself in
The day her name left his lips
I was done for
I wanted to become nothing but earth and essence.
But my best friend cradled me
She promised I would find love again
That this hurt, no matter how bad it is,
Will only be temporary
I didn't believe her
So I rebelled against them all
It was only me
4 months later and I'm sitting in the car
My best friend sits beside me
I'm genuinely laughing
And she looks proud
Then she tells me how he's talking about me.
From my big black boots
My infatuation with peaches
To how I harbor guitar pics on every inch of my body.
I relapse into him immediately
I wanted him so bad
6 and a half months later and he tells my best friend
That he hates me
My name swims out of his mouth on a raft of profanities.
But it didn't hurt as much as I thought
I think I grew
Little by little I became the new girl
The one that writes again and breathes the air a little deeper than the others.
6 and half months plus 3 days
I caress my fingers over my body
The shower beats down on me
"I want to be your friend" I whisper to myself.
He was nothing but a thunderstorm
But I am more than he
I am the sun
The moon
The stars
I am the heavens
I am the thing everyone revels in
And I made it through hell and back
And now I can finally say goodbye
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
His hands lie resting avoidant, anxious like trapped dust on top of the shelf waiting to be swept
His eyes turned away looking at the plaster wall as if the wall was his only companion in the room
His smile is hidden from its owner scared of the punishment it may face
His heart is overcomed by all the talking in brain, all the **** thinking like a disease
His knees bends like a single corner of a shy square
His whistles are often quiet but when frustrated they are balloons getting furiously poked by a needle
His footprints are subtle small occupants of my mind, and he is my everything
Yet if he would be in my heart, his square shyness would not fit in my round heart
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
Ears pressed cool against
glass tables and vinyl flooring
words score high drained slowly
slow like wasps caught in guttered draining
not like velvet names etched in casing, but weathered like bricked and beaten graffiti –
Waning like wax always melting
Tools: spelling and grammar – uncheck
Don’t fret too many gerunds grounding air suffocating hearing between the lines that past lower truths out straight in dirt and stinky face: eyes drawn with pensive staring
lines drawn global remains of words unused: boycott form because it isn’t daring.
Adopt sonar because it traces the smokestack between eaves drop
and scrap metal hearing like thorns prickled cut by cleaver.
Clink, clink, clank.
Unlatch cellar doors of images fixed in meaning: glances slanted
heads poked out behind legs enchanting ink under eyelids.
Clank, click, click.
Wishing: Sunday morning came to rest and the cat perched rest without the windowsill and the space between my legs lost meaning.
Forgetting: Painted houses haunting furniture misplaced, training lessons in memory fading.
Dreaming: Sounds dipped in vegetable oil, Van Morrison in teething states caring.
Still lost without my last breathe wondering…
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 1:31 PM UTC
Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
** ** Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
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She is, quite thoroughly, a mess.
You knew this, you know this.
And she comes back now
Like a drowned rat.
All maybes and I dunnos
And not a hint of why.
She’s just a disaster.
You were ten, just a child
In the scouts, newly moved.
You’d no one
No one save her, the wild child
Always causing a fuss,
Always making a row,
But you had her.
Even if she was a disaster.
There was a fight,
You were poked fun at by…
What was her name?
Sally? Sally, yes.
That Sally Walkens poked and prodded.
She laughed and pushed you.
You fell, fell right over
Off that rock, and you cried
Because you were fighting about…
What was the fight about?
And there she was
Your knight in shining armor, the disaster.
Sally went off the rock
Right into the river, not the floor.
Screaming, pleading, shouting,
Floating and drifting by so fast,
And she stood triumphant
Arms raised, howling “Justice! Justice!”
And for that moment she was so cool.
Even if it was all a disaster.
You laughed at it,
Standing up and feeling safe,
Feeling wanted. Here was a friend.
Here was a good person,
Even when she was scolded,
Held inside by the mother,
Badges stripped away,
There was a good person.
But now you know it.
Know that Sally could’ve died
And that’d be a disaster.
Now she is back and you know
Still know as you did,
Know so much more now,
Just what a mess she is.
What a mess she was, always.
But for one moment
Back when you were a child
Standing on that rock, shouting
Shouting for you
She was a hero,
She was your disaster.
And she still is.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
A girl stood before me at the supermarket
a few random items littered her basket
pink socks poked out from her sneakers
they were covered with little creatures
an inch of flesh stood between
those ankle high socks and her jeans.
Nice socks I exclaimed!
she turned around inflamed
looked at me and said
I have a boyfriend
her face now red.
Are they his I asked?
her face broke into a laugh
*sorry I got so defensive
guys make me apprehensive
I don't really have a boyfriend
sometimes I just like to pretend.*
*I know how you feel I replied
in embarrassment I've often lied
and whenever I'm struck by beauty
of someone new I meet
I can't look directly at them
I look towards their feet.*
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
Goth Child nursed his mother's tattooed *****
Snapped **** with teeth
Then grizzled grin at me and spit up
I poked at my chile relleno
Twisting hot cheesy sludge off prongs
Tour jete with fork finishes in arabesque
Between my own fangs
I spit back scalding ****
Goth Child points, says, "Pawpee, that man is scarewee"
Pawpee turns his tattoo tears to see
Flashes his gleaming grill
I sink in my seat behind sightline of salsa squeeze bottle
Chattering ivories
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
she entered the room
picked a seat at the back
she put her earphones on
lay her head on the desk.
"i am nobody
and nobody notices me.
why am i even staying here?"
she closed her eyes.
someone entered the room
picked a seat beside her.
she poked her.
she lifted her head with poker face.
"hi, Im Keren"
she gave a smile.
"maybe I should keep this someone"
she whispers at the back of her mind.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
I still remember
the drawn out afternoons,
the minutes passing without a thing to do,
the clock just a metronome
keeping us in time.
I poked fun at you without reason;
jealousy leads one into themselves it seems.
Do you recall?
We were carnal beings...
I'd apologize for my egoistic banter,
but apologies are best left to the
eulogizer,
and this may be some sort of graveside whisper;
a long-winded to-do list of idle talk.
I'd call you
"Lesbia", "Rosalind",
"my diadem stashed away",
but twenty-two months wore words away
and it would seem like frantic blandishing.
Maybe in my own life
I may be able to demonstrate
what William Yeats had meant
by a body quarreling with it's soul,
but I think -- You're delusional! --
that I could be content.
I remember everything ---
I remember the yielded heart feels a subtle sting.
The yew chattered in the wind outside your
window and I felt rooted
as I told you
I was you and would always be.
But twenty-two months is a long time.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
The Date being November 8, 2016
Multitudes into the voting booth
Strides will be made in voting from our youth
Presidency and Senate all part of the race
The voting dialog will be an overwhelming pace
But the quest being, “Please All Vote”
This is not a joke
Our lives matter in this election
It requires all to vote being participation
Vote for whom ever you chose
But don’t get discouraged and just refuse
Don’t let anyone question you in why do you vote?
Just tell them you are exercising your rights being your own words being spoken
Don’t worry about being poked
America’s future becomes actions on tomorrow
The White House already has policies in place
But the new President and Senate can change and rearrange the space
Vote with all your heart
This election needs to make a strong mark
Vote for a President and Senate that offers hope
Let it be living and able to cope
Vote now and show Washington WOW.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC
She was stunning, gorgeous
Everywhere she went she turned heads
The boys whistled, the girls muttered their jealousy
They poked and prodded her until she was reduced to nothing more than a hopeless nobody
She stopped trying, she stopped looking for the compliments and the easy smiles that seemed to spring up when she came around
She didn't know what had turned the opinions of so many,
Maybe it was a nasty rumor made by a popular girl
It could have been anything really
But all that tearing down allowed her to build back up
She realized that she didn't need the makeup and the dresses and the fancy shoes to be beautiful
What really mattered was her heart, her soul
And so she found beauty inside
Her new found shining grace shone from deep beneath her skin
And although there was still muttering when she walked in the room,
She had learned to push it all aside
And see the true beauty of the world around her
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
We took quiet steps down a lonely street
I had never stepped foot in before.
The air felt tense since it was
more than clear that you didn't feel
like talking, not anymore.
You stopped suddenly and backed me
against a wall.
We made out slowly whilst I felt
an old lady watching us from her
front steps, maybe I was just imagining her
since it was time for me to go,
I had to meet up with my friends.
Two steps forward and you stopped again
looking at me with a shy smile and
intertwined our hands.
My palms were sweaty and my rings
poked at your skin but you insisted that
you didn't care.
It was also the last time
we held hands.
- hand holding.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
It's Sister Lucy not Sister Bridget
who's the crush on the young priest
Father Joseph Magdalene said,
Mary said is she the one? as she sat
on Mags bed listening to music
on her record player I thought
you said the Bridget,
Magdalene sitting beside Mary
passed a glass of lemonade to her
and said nothing certain
you understand just the rumours
I've heard but don't tell
the parents or my arse'll
be slapped for spreading the rumour,
have you a ciggie?
Mary said
putting the lemonade and glass
on the bedside cabinet,
Magdalene poked under the mattress
and took out a squashed pack
of 10 Woodbines and said
open the fecking window
or Ma'll know we've been smoking
and she'll have a moan
and passed the packet to Mary
who took a cigarette
and put it in her mouth
and went and opened the window,
Magdalene took a cigarette
and stuffed the packed
under the mattress again,
Mary sat down and said
have you a light then
or are we to fecking **** on air?
Magdalene took out
of the pocket of her dress
a box of matches
(liberated from the kitchen)
and struck a light for them both
and put the matchbox away again,
they inhaled and sat in silence,
the record played( Billy fury)
and they tapped their feet softly
and nodded their heads,
so what are you doing
about Brian Brady?
Magdalene asked,
what'd you mean doing about
I'm doing nowt with the ******
it's him who thinks I'm going
to be doing things the soft loon
Mary said,
you seemed to be encouraging him
the other day Magdalene said,
ah was fun only I'd not let him
near me in a serious way
no more than the holy Joe himself
Mary said,
smoke filtered ceiling ward,
a car backfired from the street below,
Magdalene leaned in close to Mary
I'm your best friend
and I get jealous of the likes of him
being too near to you,
O he's nothing to be worrying yourself
about him Mags he's just a loon
as boys are Mary said,
Magdalene held the cigarette
a way from her lips
and kissed Mary's cheek,
Mary sighed and said
he's nothing I just give him
the tease he'll get nothing
from my ****** money box,
they both inhaled and exhaled again
and watched the smoke
rise ceiling ward,
the sound of Magdalene's ma
downstairs singing along to the radio,
Magdalene's hand went on Mary's thigh,
a bright sun in a blue Irish sky.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
I fell in love twice the first time.
First pinching myself assuring the initial first.
The initial first I realized how silent love was.
Seeing all but hearing nothing.
This was my first kiss.
Coming into contact with a quiver my lips
have never before felt.
Falling in love twice.
Certain that I am uncertain of nothing.
Learning to speak a new language.
Lips poked out.
Exposed to foreign land.
Overlooking my feet.
My ship never before having sailed.
Day turned to night.
My heart stead fast.
Crashing against the ripple of tides.
The experience of something new,
Tides pulled by the hull of rubber soles.
Our arms like anchors.
Our feet hesitant, losing all feeling of finding ground.
Our tongue the cargo set to provide entry
into things no longer forbidden.
Night reconstructs day.
The initial first of two times I fell in love.
Eyes closed.
Our breath becoming more shallow,
Passing through the canal of each others mouths.
Overlooking the side of my nose against hers.
An anchor dropped.
Chain link after chain link, plunged deep
Far from the shore of everything I knew.
My shoes soaked.
The pavement with every reason to worry.
Forever fractured.
This anchor falling faster and faster.
Without worry of kink
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
i don't want to
have these
bipolar
conversations
where i threaten,
and apologize,
and demand,
and apologize
again
i don't mean to take you
through the ringer
to make you see violence
and mood swings
i don't mean to scare you
when i don't take
my medicine
i don't mean to scare you
when i cry
for hours
i don't mean to scare you
when i scream
and punch things
i never meant to
do those things
like keying your car
i never meant to
drop everything
and go across multiple state lines
with no plans
at all
i never meant to hurt myself
until my arms
were coated in scars
for all of the times
i self-medicated
poked myself with needles
and drank away my pain,
i'm sorry
i shouldn't have taken so many xanax
you're right
i was wrong
again
i never meant for you to be
my caretaker
i hate those words
caretaker
i should be able
to take care
of myself
i'm sorry i am not managing this illness
i am very
very
ill
i'm sorry for the times
i couldn't get out of bed
couldn't eat,
couldn't move
couldn't go to work
i'm sorry for the times
i made tons of post-it notes
filled journals with ideas
bought calendars
and organization tools
i'm sorry for getting your hopes up
i really thought i could do it this time
i'm sorry for my diagnosis
i'm sorry i didn't understand how serious this is
i didn't ask to be bipolar
i didn't ask to be born
i make cases for myself
in my head
but they're all filed as
crazy
i'm sorry i was delusional
paranoid
and afraid
i'm sorry for the drug binges
i'm sorry for melting
fading
burning
and still coming back
alive
these low lows
and high highs
you've been through the ringer
when you're only supposed to be
support, a resource of compassion...
you had to be a caretaker
you didn't ask for this
and neither did i
i sometimes questioned if it was harder on you
to live with someone with bipolar disorder
than it was for me
to live with bipolar disorder
you wanted to save me
but you realized
that i can only save myself
now i'm drowning
and my lifeline is gone
i'm trying to learn to swim
i just hope i do it
before i sink
i'm sorry for all of the ****** poetry
i made you read
i'm sorry
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Bring out the pottery boy
Mr A said
bring it out front
so the other boys can see
your work
I took out my clay pottery
attempt to the front of class
and stood there
holding the pottery
on a wooden tray
Mr A gazed at me
through his black framed
Beatnik glasses
his eyes like huge marbles
what you call this
huh boy?
I looked at the hand rolled
clay ***
haven't called it
anything yet
I said
thinking of a name
he went stern eyed at me
are we attempting wit
as well as pottery?
He said
a mild titter
from some boys
in the class
here
he said
in a raised voice
like a failed actor
here we have
an example how not
and I repeat NOT
to make a ***
the classroom went quiet
I stared at my ***
lopsided and brown
like a rushed ****
what were you attempting?
Mr A asked
whatever it was
it most certainly was not
a ***
I said nothing
I gazed at him
in his snot green jumper
and Beatnik beard
and brown
corduroy trousers
and sandals
I don't know
why I bother
with pupils like you boy
he said
waste of my time
I stood looking
passed him at Danny
who was boss eyed
and pulling a face
I suppressed a smile
and looked dull
go back to your place
and spare me
the sad boy look
so I returned to my desk
with my ***
leaning further east
and placed it down gently
as if it were some work
of modern art
Mr A then poked
Eddie in the back
and held up his ***
which went in and out
like armless model
of Greek design
worse
Mr A said
than mine.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
I dive left before heading right, more times than I care to admit,
Each time I turn right and am not confronted, it feels like rejection,
A small death of little consequence for the life that could have been
So sweet, so superficial, a mini life grew- as I read your bio,
To be dashed in another instant of silence,
I have a tendency to rush into things without much guidance.
Your voice is sweet and smooth- to read,
Imagine a personality that fits- perfectly in the palm of my hand,
Conveyed in small white messages, poked through smaller holes,
Each one I read makes me feel a little brighter inside,
But each little light catches fire and dies, I must confide
That each one I read makes me feel alive.
But only for the moment, so I conduct another,
Small parcel containing another little piece of my soul,
“If you can feel your soul slowly, slipping away, that means that you still have one”
That is a phrase that will lead you to defeat before you have begun,
It leads to me giving away much less than I can afford,
These ‘one for one’ serotonin boosts are leaving me bored…
So maybe we could meet, go get something to eat,
I am sure that I won’t be bored by your topic of conversation,
Or at least I will try and make it look that way,
Because the cold reality is that we have nothing in common,
Except for a lack of self-esteem and an overestimation of our-
Social skills, next to non-existent,
I am perpetually distant!
I am sure that you were terrifically disappointed with last night
Because your messages are written on withered pieces of paper,
A full stop is the most definite thing that there is,
Subtle undertones have a pulse and it beats,
Black blood to and from a dying heart,
I should have known that you were poison, right from the start.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 8:22 AM UTC
he tickled me with love
i imagine
behind his merciless
IBM grin
sadistic chuckle
my grandfather loved me
built me a swing
a wooden airplane
gave me a bicycle
a cape to wear
he taught me pong and pitfall
wielding a brush-broom
handlebar-moustache
a favorite game of his was giving raspberries
testing limits
his iron fingers
wringing squeals of laughter sour
under breathless ribs
tear-eyed begging fits
his old white t-shirt
too small to hide his plump
hairy belly,
i'd tickled him there once
poked him where my cousins pointed
giggling
when the kick came
i felt it in the heart
more than the back of my knee
bent from the sudden
sneering force
when i asked him
years later
for a book from his dying bookshelf
he joked with a growl
the last emphysemic sentence i remember
he said to me
you gonna bring it back when you're done?
i remember
the rules of the tickle game
and love him back
for his sarcasm
firecrack generosity
.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
Day is over
All went well
At least as far
As I can tell
Traffic Lights
Green not red
And then I thought
Of what he said......
When things are going well son
Don't poke the sleeping bear
Don't even venture near it
Don't poke it, don't you dare
As long as things are going
The way you want...it's fair
To tell you....don't you ever
Poke the sleeping bear
Dinner great
The kids were good
All was going
Like it should
Out for drinks
then I heard
In my head
The old man's words...
When things are going well son
Don't poke the sleeping bear
Don't even venture near it
Don't poke it, don't you dare
As long as things are going
The way you want...it's fair
To tell you....don't you ever
Poke the sleeping bear
Lightning struck
She walked in
Jeans as tight
As second skin
Wife looked over
Then I knew
I'd been caught
Not much to do
I went and poked the sleeping bear
Stupid me, it wasn't fair
I didn't know that she'd be there
But I had done gone and poked the bear
One quick look and I was caught
Was it my fault that she was hot?
I didn't mean to, so I thought
So all this good, was all for naught
When things are going well son
Don't poke the sleeping bear
Don't even venture near it
Don't poke it, don't you dare
As long as things are going
The way you want...it's fair
To tell you....don't you ever
Poke the sleeping bear
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC