Put It In My Glass

Give me another shot,
another bottle,
another barrel.

Label it green,
label it orange,
or no label at all.

Call it what you will
just put it in my glass.

Pour it down my throat,
open the emptiness to its glory.

The liquid boiling my guts,
boiling my thoughts,
my memories,
my life.

Roll me another round of dice,
deal out the cards and lets play.

I can feel her just around the corner,
the Lady brings riches on this wretched night.

Put the whiskey in my glass,
the dice in my cup.
Mix them together if it makes you happy,
just pour it down my throat.

The ice clanks,
the rum mixes easily with my coke,
gliding it’s silky fingers across my lips.

Promises of a smooth ride
into the deep hours of the night.
My engine purring as I take another shot
just a little deeper than the last.

Don’t cut me off now,
I’m on a roll.
The cards are turning my way,
the dice are landing with me in mind.

Give me another shot,
another bottle,
another barrel.

Call it what you will
just put in in my glass.

Written 3/30/2016
Images from Pixabay – Free Use Images

Then Vs. Now

It’s easier to write now, so much so that everyone can call themselves a writer.
You don’t need to be published or write good works. All you need is a computer,
an email account, and a blog. Instantaneously famous!

My grandmother had an old fashioned typewriter, the kind that jammed a lot.
If you didn’t know where the keys were, you had to start over. There was no such
thing as a back space key. No home key, no delete, and if you took the paper out,
there was no way to put it back and line everything up properly.

You literally had to start over.

You couldn’t hit Control Z to go back or Control C & V to copy and paste. You had
to type your project over and over again if you made one tiny mistake. Or if you
had to say something in one article more than once, you had to type it as many
times as it needed to be read.

So often I look at my work and think there’s no way I would have written this much
if I had to use a typewriter. There’s no way I would have ever seen my work in print
at all. It wouldn’t have been impossible but it would have been difficult and
discouraging. Of course, I wouldn’t have known the difference and if one wants
their work in print bad enough, they will find a way.

Are we better off with so many people thinking they can write? How many people
are on sites like Twitter or own several blogs where they ramble on and on about
politics or relationships… or dare I say, poetry.

I’m going to go with yes because to say no would make me a hypocrite. Without
the outlet of writing, I would feel stifled and pushed down into a dark, dark place
I don’t want to dwell. I would be silenced into a nowhere place, someone without
direction or purpose. Perhaps one day my works will be officially published but
until then, I will enjoy the means of sharing my thoughts with those who want to
read them; understanding that many will not even get to the bottom of this post.

Written 3/14/2016
Images from Pixabay – Free Use Images

Dystopia and Me


I live in the tower just off to the right,
the view from here, not so bad.
Truth be told, craziness resides there.

When a bulb burns out, it’s never replaced.
Darkness overtakes it even during the heat of midday.
Insects of all description love the heat mixed with haze.
They may even be attracted to despair,
of which, there is much at every level.

Some tenants throw rotten fruit at me,
as I’m one of the poorest of the destitute.
I live on the second floor,
one of the most insolvent levels.
But I am not as bad off as those above me,
many make their way back down at high speed;
their lives ended by the touch of cement.

There are less and less of us here
in the aftermath of management takeover.
Many believe it was sudden,
that we had no warning but we were all idiots!
It started decades ago
when people said yes to everything.
Never thinking of consequences
or understanding that the more you give up,
the more they take.

Today there is nothing more
to take from us,
other than our wretched lives.
Even that seems unimportant
to those who fly 14 floors down.
They’ve taken away hope and dreams
for no one seems to remember what dreaming is.

I can’t tell you when I dreamed last, if I ever have,
but I can tell of my nightmares that occur every day.
No one protects us without giving something in return.
Will I escape this horrible place,
is there sanctuary anywhere on this filthy planet?

Standing on the hill looking back
I wonder if I will remember their names
or if they will remember mine; or notice that I’m gone.

Heaven help the one who tries to catch me.

Written 3/12/2016
Image Generator linking to Image After (free photo collection)

Sailing To Somewhere


I ran away last night
Into the arms of freedom,

Forever longing
To be somewhere.

I found myself drifting
On the open sea.

My store house is full,
Warm blankets below,

The wind taking me to

The sun warms my skin
As I sail along the blue,

The clouds call out to me
In musical tones.

The ripples feel like soft fur
As my fingers glide upon them.

That distant calling to return
To where I was before

Seems just a tad too faint
To understand the words.

Things best forgotten
And unimportant to this moment.

Where will tomorrow find me,
I have no clue.

And yes,
It scares me.

But finding myself
Away from elsewhere

And on my way to

Is exactly where
I should be.

Written 3/10/2016
Image Generator linking to Image After (free photo collection)