Friday, January 3, 2014


its not my fault
i'm so damned good looking,
all the women
can't leave me alone.
keep chasing me
up and down and all around.

its a curse, yes
but I've learned to live with it,
accept it as is.
don't even bother
closing the door anymore.

they just break it down
trying to get me.
i just let them have me.
I've completely given up
on ever being alone.

Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric;
out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.

W.B. Yeats

as long as we are all
laughing and kissing,
having such a good time,
what could possibly
be missing?

kissing each other
like we're running out of time.
your place or mine?
in for a nickel, in for a dime.

so, you're a little bashful?
well, shucks, honey,
that' no crime.

just close your eyes
and pretend
I'm your husband.
seemed to workout
just fine last time.

before all the idiots took over,
man was himself a man,
standing proud and straight.

women looked on
but would not participate.
for women
it was already too late
to set things straight.

to correct outlandish wrongs.
and their songs,
oh, so sad, those songs.

as of a night, a day
dearest of old songs
dearest yet, of a stillness
of old dying songs

the quietness
death insures us
naming our place
among the lost and found

naming us accordingly
justice done
in fading light of day
receiving night

Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.

Carl Sandburn


Helena said...

Another fine selection of poems, Richard. I had a good giggle at the first one!

richard said...

Thank you, Helena. well, yes, its a problem, but i think I'm bearing up quite well.....