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Two squirrel play
a fun little game of cat and mouse.
Both scurrying up the tree,
diving face first from branch to branch.
Like little cannons they shoot
back and forth between tree limbs.
One wagging it’s tail, the other
feigning ignorance, like two lovers
they quarrel, never knowing really
who’s cat, and who’s mouse.
Or what started all this in the first place.
I was mocked
Then told off
On two separate occasions
For doing what excites me
For mere entertainment
Taken, always taken
Out of sorts and out of mind
Like a three ring circus,
This tamer’s been bit
For the very, very
Very last time.
When Vonnegut takes shots at war
he doesn’t do with rifle or
fight with claims to settle scores
though prisoner he’d been before.
When Vonnegut takes shots at war
his words like steel are sharp and coarse
no fluff or zeal just fond remorse
for those who buried their loved and more.
When Vonnegut takes shots at war
his style’s frank no either or
like shrapnel strikes straight to the core
if death must come than make it pure.
When Vonnegut takes shots at war
his battle’s fought with valor worn
like Stars and Stripes and bones ashore
still “so it goes” forevermore.
If Hemingway
was here today
would he Instagram
his catch?
And dare you say
that Hemingway
was rotgut—
his defense?
Out on the bay
he’d fish and say
what pleasures
have a man?
His slow decay
here but a day
come then let’s see your stance!
Put up your dukes
and lace your boots,
a fight? No sir
let’s dance!
Dancing with the Devil
I coax his fire
whispering he tells me
I’m a no good liar
stepping on his toe
once than the another
throwing up his hands
as if time has expired
Go says the Devil
be gone come the morn
for I have no use
for you anymore
just promise me this
you’ll never return
fool me thrice said the Devil
and it’s there you shall burn
All right said I
understanding his plight
for giving me up
and back to the night
for even the Devil
must do what is right
as do I now crawling
back to the light.
I can see you now
gaily waving,
while I swallow
your mockery
in one crisp bite,
I don’t know
if you notice me
choking, but anyway
it’s beautiful how
you seem to dance
in the light,
and what stories
we’ll tell enveloping,
I can already feel
you fight,
this ain’t your first
time being selfless, and
this ain’t my first
mouthful of blues,
I just can’t help it
sincerely,
yours
my admiration for you.
The
world’s
got me
beat up
again.
Like
every
great fighter
on the ropes,
I
can’t quite get the sweat from my eyes,
blurring my vision
of the battle
I’m sure
to
Win.
Words Of An Average White Male 