direct from Orlando
at the balcony
he smokes his cigar hiding from the view
of his wife who is washing the dishes after we had dinner
over stuffed squid and
fish fillet
what i like is the rice
i evaded the hide and seek of what i think is still harsh
direct from Orlando
lost business
unpaid mortgage
bad economy
they blame it on
bad economy
as he smokes
circles form above his head
and from time to time he peeks at the side of the door
seeing to it that no one sees him
i am not that dumb
to know that there is a big problem
the reason why they are back
i like the sauce
the chili that runs like a jagged knife inside my mouth
he is jobless
and does the laundry and kitchen works
children had to quit school and start to work
to pay the heater and the water
snow is cold, it is colder now
meanwhile i glanced at the sunset
the balcony overlooks the bay of Dapitan
once a hero and a white woman made love there
we knew the ending
it was sad.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Swan Dive
The windows were open
The night air was cold,
The curtains were blowing
Like ribbons of gold,
We stood there forever
Both Henry and me,
The night his wife dived
Off the balcony.
We looked at each other
We each shook our head,
And waited to hear if
The poor girl was dead,
I looked at my watch
It was just after three,
When Gwendoline dived
Off the balcony.
I waited a moment, then:
'What did I say?
Was that a faux pas about
You in Calais?
Or did she take umbrage
When I poured the tea?
Is that why she jumped
Off the balcony? '
'Don't think for a moment,
Old chap, ' he had said,
'I thought she had mumbled
And stumbled to bed!
She'd said she had someone
Tomorrow to see,
So why would she dive
Off the balcony? '
We walked very gingerly
Out through the door,
And peered on down from
The fifty-sixth floor,
I thought I could see a small
Splat by a tree,
Just where she had dived
Off the balcony.
Could that be your Gwendoline,
There on the ground?
That's funny, she dived all
That way, made no sound!
Not one little scream -
Did you hear? ' - 'Not me! '
When Gwendoline dived
Off the balcony.
The police galloped up
By the lift, through the doors,
'That splat in the courtyard, sir,
Could it be yours? '
Then Henry admitted that
It could well be,
His wife, who had dived
Off the balcony!
They made us go down with
A bucket and mop:
'Clean up every vestige,
Remove every drop!
You can't go round leaving
Wives haphazardly,
Whenever they dive
Off the balcony! '
They made us feel humble,
We lowered our heads,
I picked up her armpits,
He mopped up her legs,
But bits of her weren't where
In truth, they should be,
When Gwendoline dived
Off the balcony.
Much later he told me that
Wives one and two,
Had left in the very same way,
I said, 'True? '
It seems Gwendoline had been
Wife number three,
Who'd taken a dive
Off the balcony.
Now Henry has married
Again, number four,
He's moved his apartment down
To the ground floor,
He locks all his windows
And tells Stephanie,
'Don't ever you dive like
Wives one, two and three! '
3 June 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Pipe Smoker
Because I love the soothing weed
And am of sober type,
I'd choose me for a friend in need
A man who smokes a pipe.
A cove who hasn't much to say,
And spits into the fire,
Puffing like me a pipe of clay,
Corn-cob or briar.
A chap original of thought,
With cheery point of view,
Who has of gumption quite a lot,
And streaks of humour too.
He need not be a whiskered sage,
With wisdom over-ripe:
Just give me in the old of age
A pal who smokes a pipe.
A cigarette may make for wit,
Although I like it not;
A good cigar, I must admit,
Gives dignity to thought.
But as my glass of grog I sip
I never, never gripe
If I have for companionship
A guy who smokes a pipe.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Riddle
I cut my life in to pieces
Of light and deeper curves
In numbers and shapes mixed within
The mystery of my own color
In this five by seven of me
A heart where mother lived
Seven years after I was born
It’s still torn and abandoned
The green valley of rice and corn
I’m 3rd and 7th of 8 grains
To see a sky above the fluffy clouds
To the land of black, yellow, and white
My “shoes-lady’s land” wasn’t my dream
To watch the Ford- Rockefeller’s ending time
Yet my fate lies onto the stripes of red and white
In the 31st of its 50 stars
Thereafter three squares tire to be abused
By economy’s worst obstructions failed
The red-lines that went too many circles
Hacked me with them in jagged edge
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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A Miracle for Breakfast
At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.
The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun.
Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.
I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--
and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.
We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Dinner For Alfalfa
let me introduce you
to Alfalfa
my girlfriend
she is 69
and still sexy
and rich
and she says
she cannot live without me
and i take her
to dinner
at her expense
of course
because she
has the money
and for dinner
she orders
soup # 5
garlic rice
hot chili sauce
jumbo hotdogs
and
cow's tongues
for stew
(u huh?
you expect some more
i stop here)
we are going
for a date
i am 87
and it is none
of your business)
just the viagra
without the
condoms
and yes Alfalfa
my dear
for breakfast
tomorrow)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At The Balcony
from here
i see the blue sea and the old bamboo raft floating in the water
over there is a mountain of stone
with patches of green resistant grass
the coconut trees are tall and thin
and the wooden boats are docked
the men are drinking their tequilas
away from their masters and the owners of their fates
the women are doing their laundry on the river
and the children are splashing in the shallow water
some dogs waggle their tails afraid of the water
i am alone here with a camera on hand
my cell phone is turned off
i am out of reach, i am not lost, i am trying to find a way
back into my heart
feeling what my soul wants to say
i feast on the view that this balcony is giving me
i savor what God is giving freely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When We Are Left Alone In The House
just you and me
i am 48 and you will be 45 the next day
and we are left alone because they all have to be in their homes
her mother is sick and she must bring money
on the other hand, she is quitting her job and leave us for good
to join her lover in the city, her last chance to be married at 36
these domestic help helping themselves
to be not like us, loners
consumed by the weariness of our flesh
for years and years the hours filled with emptiness
i can hear the sound of the clock ticking so slowly
like the fins of an old goldfish in the glass bowl
i bought for you on the day of our marriage
today we are left alone in the house
you keep yourself busy washing the dishes
drying the laundry in the yard figuring out that you may rush again
the next minute it will rain
the cloud darkens
i keep choosing my words, thinking the idea of this union
us for 24 years, just us, just us and nobody else
in the same house, the same furnitures unbroken feet
and unstained in the living room, where the same color of
drapes are changed almost on the same months, the same seasons
boredom, too much familiarity, the wear and tear of our gazes
i call you from the kitchen, asking you to give me a glass of cold water
and you complied like the woman who loves her man more than him
loving her
i have more words to choose, more ideas to think, to trap, to keep,
to smoothen and polish like a piece of wood sculpted to the form
of a woman's beautiful body
thank you i said, i thrive on cold water, all the days of my life,
i take in the water that slides on my throat
smooth like red rhum down to my soul, i could have asked you again
if i had the courage, i ask myself if my love is strong if this will survive
us, through the boring years that come and yet to come
i did not have the courage to ask, if
you still love me
with my balding head and wrinkling skin
i got colder, i am sure, it is the water, half of the ice in the glass
is completely melted.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm Not Trying To Find Any Clouds
I have yet to be that kind of person,
To awaken then look out of a window...
To determine how I am going to feel.
And 'if' the weatherman might say,
Rain is coming my way...
That has nothing to do with the Sun,
In my heart.
And these days...
I'm not trying to find any clouds,
To disturb my weather.
That's on me to decide,
What's going on inside!
It's such a beautiful day,
Isn't it?
'Some people got it like that!
I've got arthritis.
My back hurts.
I've got bills to pay.
Prices are going through the roof.
My kids are getting on my last nerve.
Two of my children are in jail,
For selling crack.
And I didn't raise them like that!
I don't have time for fantasies.
It's the economy.
I'm telling you...
It's the economy.
Get real.'
Enjoy your day!
'Whatever! '
You hear that, Father Sun?
After all for us you've done...
Many are blaming their woes,
On the 'economy'.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Short One for Smokers
According to her folks
She smokes and smokes and smokes
And never chokes.
It's all a bloody hoax,
So cheer up, blokes! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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(Life Poem/Short Story) A Really Bad Day
I go to work only not to work.
Chippers broke.
And it has my boss stoked.
A really bad day.
I help fix the equipment.
Knowing I will not get paid.
So I get on with it without delay
A really bad day.
I come home to show my boss my new program installed.
And when I show him how to use it.
Coffee gets spilled all over, my keyboard, mouse and his bibs.
A really bad day.
I dry my things off.
Plug them back in and turn my computer back on.
The mouse no longer works.
A really bad day.
I take it apart clean the circuit board off.
I put it back together and plug it in.
It still does not work.
A really bad day.
My boss start beating it.
Thinking that will make it work.
I tell him no but still he continues to do so.
A really bad day.
Finally he gives up and is ready to go.
I tell him wait little bit while I take shower.
As I go get my cloth a pipe breaks.
A really bad day.
Hot water gushes everywhere in the laundry room.
I run outside dig in the snow to find the valve to shut it off.
Now my hands are cold.
A really bad day.
So now I go get the parts I need.
No going out drinking tonight indeed.
Both a shut off valve and a washing machine connection piece.
A really bad day.
I cut the pipe put on the valve.
Only to realize it is defective and doesn't work.
Next I put on the connection piece only to find out it leaks.
A really bad day.
And when I think it cant get any worse.
I have go out and split wood and the snow is a blowing.
My gloves can't grip the axe it slips and hits my foot with a whack.
A really bad day.
Thank god for steel toes.
So I take off my gloves and do it that way.
And again my hands are cold so all I have to say.
Is it's a really bad day.
Finally I come in and take another look at my mouse.
I finally fixed it.
Only to realize it is time to go to bed.
A Really Bad Day.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Poem (Old man in the crystal morning after snow)
Old man in the crystal morning after snow,
Your throat swathed in a muffler, your bent
Figure building the snow man which is meant
For the grandchild's target,
do you know
This fat cartoon, his eyes pocked in with coal
Nears you each time your breath smokes the air,
Lewdly grinning out of a private nightmare?
He is the white cold shadow of your soul.
You build his comic head, you place his comic hat;
Old age is not so serious, and I
By the window sad and watchful as a cat,
Build to this poem of old age and of snow,
And weep: you are my snow man and I know
I near you, you near him, all of us must die.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Uncle Mart's Poem
THE OLD SNOW-MAN
Ho! the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
He looked as fierce and sassy
As a soldier on parade!--
'Cause Noey, when he made him,
While we all wuz gone, you see,
He made him, jist a-purpose,
Jist as fierce as he could be!--
But when we all got _ust_ to him,
Nobody wuz afraid
Of the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
'Cause Noey told us 'bout him
And what he made him fer:--
He'd come to feed, that morning
He found we wuzn't here;
And so the notion struck him,
When we all come taggin' home
'Tud _s'prise_ us ef a' old Snow-Man
'Ud meet us when we come!
So, when he'd fed the stock, and milked,
And ben back home, and chopped
His wood, and et his breakfast, he
Jist grabbed his mitts and hopped
Right in on that-air old Snow-Man
That he laid out he'd make
Er bust a trace _a-tryin_'--jist
Fer old-acquaintance sake!--
But work like that wuz lots more fun.
He said, than when he played!
Ho! the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
He started with a big snow-ball,
And rolled it all around;
And as he rolled, more snow 'ud stick
And pull up off the ground.--
He rolled and rolled all round the yard--
'Cause we could see the _track_,
All wher' the snow come off, you know,
And left it wet and black.
He got the Snow-Man's _legs-part_ rolled--
In front the kitchen-door,--
And then he hat to turn in then
And roll and roll some more!--
He rolled the yard all round agin,
And round the house, at that--
Clean round the house and back to wher'
The blame legs-half wuz at!
He said he missed his dinner, too--
Jist clean fergot and stayed
There workin'. Ho! the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
And Noey said he hat to _hump_
To git the _top-half_ on
The _legs-half!_--When he _did_, he said,
His wind wuz purt'-nigh gone.--
He said, I jucks! he jist drapped down
There on the old porch-floor
And panted like a dog!--And then
He up! and rolled some more!--
The _last_ batch--that wuz fer his head,--
And--time he'd got it right
And clumb and fixed it on, he said--
He hat to quit fer night!--
And _then_, he said, he'd kep' right on
Ef they'd ben any _moon_
To work by! So he crawled in bed--
And _could_ a-slep' tel _noon_,
He wuz so plum wore out! he said,--
But it wuz washin'-day,
And hat to cut a cord o' wood
'Fore he could git away!
But, last, he got to work agin,--
With spade, and gouge, and hoe,
And trowel, too--(All tools 'ud do
What _Noey_ said, you know!)
He cut his eyebrows out like cliffs--
And his cheekbones and chin
Stuck _furder_ out--and his old _nose_
Stuck out as fur-agin!
He made his eyes o' walnuts,
And his whiskers out o' this
Here buggy-cushion stuffin'--_moss_,
The teacher says it is.
And then he made a' old wood'-gun,
Set keerless-like, you know,
Acrost one shoulder--kindo' like
Big Foot, er Adam Poe--
Er, mayby, Simon Girty,
The dinged old Renegade!
_Wooh!_ the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
And there he stood, all fierce and grim,
A stern, heroic form:
What was the winter blast to him,
And what the driving storm?--
What wonder that the children pressed
Their faces at the pane
And scratched away the frost, in pride
To look on him again?--
What wonder that, with yearning bold,
Their all of love and care
Went warmest through the keenest cold
To that Snow-Man out there!
But the old Snow-Man--
What a dubious delight
He grew at last when Spring came on
And days waxed warm and bright.--
Alone he stood--all kith and kin
Of snow and ice were gone;--
Alone, with constant teardrops in
His eyes and glittering on
His thin, pathetic beard of black--
Grief in a hopeless cause!--
Hope--hope is for the man that _dies_--
What for the man that _thaws!_
O Hero of a hero's make!--
Let _marble_ melt and fade,
But never _you_--you old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We are shrinking the size of the federal government as a percent of our economy from over 21 percent of the economy to 19 percent of the economy. At the same time, we're growing the private economy.
quote by Franklin Raines
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Woman (Standing At The Sink)
old woman,
standing at the sink,
flannel shirt and panties....
washing dishes with knowing hands,
sunlight through the window dancing
on the strands of grey in her hair....
an old cat rubbing against her ankles....
bombs exploding, new world's emerging...
even the nails in the walls
whisper the coming change!
blackbirds carry the message of snow,
the old woodstove crackles and smokes....
somewhere they're painting banners
and buildings with freedom's song....
he sits motionless, brush in hand,
watching an old woman...
...standing at the sink!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Making of a Man
When God made Adam long ago, He fashioned him supreme,
A billion thoughts that he might know his life was not a dream...
Thus no excuses could release that Man that God had made,
If by his sins he lost God's peace and through guilt was dismayed...
When God made Adam long ago, the angels gave God praise,
They did not treat Man as a foe, so new to Godly ways...
Yet Lucifer was mortified when Eve was introduced,
As God created from Man's side this female not refused...
When God made Adam long ago and Eve, his helpmate wife,
In whom new children were to grow when they made love and life,
Then Satan knew they would not die if children must exist...
And so he tricked them with a lie that they did not resist...
When God made Adam long ago, He knew him through and through,
He also let grace overflow, despite each sinful view...
Thus from God's Eden Man was sent and Adam's sons knew shame,
As through each day of sin they went, with each to bear the blame...
When God made Adam long ago, in time to see him fall,
He chose to send His Son below, a sacrifice for all...
God filled the Scriptures with this news, as prophets voiced His plans
Worldwide to Gentiles and to Jews dispersed across the lands...
When God made Adam long ago, He paused to count the cost!
For sin would wander to and fro and Hell would claim the lost!
Lord Jesus died, passed by Death's Door, with courage unsurpassed!
The making of a man, for sure... Our Saviour, first to last...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Its A Big Old Goofy World
Up in the morning
Work like a dog
Is better than sitting
Like a bump on a log
Mind all your manners
Be quiet as a mouse
Some day youll own a home
Thats as big as a house
I know a fella
He eats like a horse
Knocks his old balls
Round the old golf course
You oughta see his wife
Shes a cute little dish
She smokes like a chimney
And drinks like a fish
Theres a big old goofy man
Dancing with a big old goofy girl
Ooh baby
Its a big old goofy world
Now elvis had a woman
With a head like a rock
I wished I had a woman
That made my knees knock
Shed sing like an angel
And eat like a bird
And if I wrote a song
Shed know ever single word
Kiss a little baby
Give the world a smile
If you take an inch
Give em back a mile
Cause if you lie like a rug
And you dont give a damn
Youre never gonna be
As happy as a clam
So Im sitting in a hotel
Trying to write a song
My head is just as empty
As the day is long
Why its clear as a bell
I should have gone to school
Id be wise as an owl
Stead of stubborn as a mule.
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Filipino Fed Up In Chicago
AND so one day he got fed up
Worrying about his bills
Light, cell phones,
Apartment rents
Meals and what to eat
Next month
No money to
Send to the
Philippines
There is no work coming
And the old man he took care of
Died a month ago
Bad luck
He is vacant
He could not go to the malls
There is no money left for the week
And there is no work coming
No one is offering to help
And he worries
About his telephone bills
His credit card
His rent
His SSS
His unrenewed passport
His expiring visa
His debts
One day he goes outside
It is quite cold
Colder now
The snow is coming
He smokes his cigarette packs on the park
A middle-aged American woman stares and tells her
“Smoking is bad for your health
You are polluting the earth”
Just a little advice
But his head is hot and
Hot temper is what is steaming inside
He is fuming mad to that middle aged American woman
He is also fuming mad about
Himself to be honest
About it
“Shit shit shit, I smoke if I want to
I use my own money to kill myself
F###k YOU!
Mind your own American business
In this free country I can smoke anytime I want! ”.
He knows how to curse now
In the most American way
For just a year or two
he was a timid Filipino
he was the meek citizen
of this world
And he smokes all day in the park
his packs of cigarettes in the park
Puffing and puffing and breathing and breathing
Releasing all his dismays in cold air
He can see his bleeding heart
His cursing
“f##k you! ”
'f$$k you! '
in the freezing air
his cursing is a big bold font
in the atmosphere
His cell phone does not have any load
And he cannot call anybody
And he remembers well the latest old
Jewish rich man which he took care of
who died a month ago
One day the old man fell on the floor
The one who shitted him all day
he still could remember
fully well
all the old man's yell
spell: F$$K YOU! '
The old man could not stand
back
He was big, fat, and dying
He did not help him stand
He merely stood there askance
And the old man shouted and growled
“Shit shit you Filipino
Help me stand from here”
'F$$K YOU FILIPINO! '
And he said
WITH ALL STRICT COMPOSURE
SO SURE OF HIMSELF NOW
with a little authoritative
moral advice
like he was a wise man
“Rich American now is the time
for you to
Command all your mighty dollars
your mighty dollars
your mighty dollars
your mighty dollars
To help you rise and make
You, young and strong again! ”
The old Jewish rich man died
Due to cardiac arrest.
And now he is out of job
No money
No promises
And one day now
He finds himself smoking himself to death
On this cold dark wildlife park south of
Chicago.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Part 5 of Trout Fishing in America
WORSEWICK
Worsewick Hot Springs was nothing fancy. Somebody put some
boards across the creek. That was it.
The boards dammed up the creek enough to form a huge
bathtub there, and the creek flowed over the top of the boards,
invited like a postcard to the ocean a thousand miles away.
As I said Worsewick was nothing fancy, not like the
places where the swells go. There were no buildings around.
We saw an old shoe lying by the tub.
The hot springs came down off a hill and where they flowed
there was a bright orange scum through the sagebrush. The
hot springs flowed into the creek right there at the tub and
that' s where it was nice.
We parked our car on the dirt road and went down and took
off our clothes, then we took off the baby's clothes, and the
deerflies had at us until we got into the water, and then they
stopped.
There was a green slime growing around the edges of the
tub and there were dozens of dead fish floating in our bath.
Their bodies had been turned white by death, like frost on
iron doors. Their eyes were large and stiff.
The fish had made the mistake of going down the creek too
far and ending up in hot water, singing, "When you lose your
money, learn to lose."
We played and relaxed in the water. The green slime and
the dead fish played and relaxed with us and flowed out over
us and entwined themselves about us.
Splashing around in that hot water with my woman, I began
to get ideas, as they say. After a while I placed my body in
such a position in the water that the baby could not see my
hard-on.
I did this by going deeper and deeper in the water, like a
dinosaur, and letting the green slime and dead fish cover me
over.
My woman took the baby out of the water and gave her a
bottle and put her back in the car. The baby was tired. It was
really time for her to take a nap.
My woman took a blanket out of the car and covered up the
windows that faced the hot springs. She put the blanket ontop
of the car and then lay rocks on the blanket to hold it in place.
I remember her standing there by the car.
Then she came back to the water, and the deerflies were
at her, and then it was my turn. After a while she said, "I
don't have my diaphragm with me and besides it wouldn't
work in the water, anyway. I think it's a good idea if you
don't come inside me. What do you think?"
I thought this over and said all right. I didn't want any
more kids for a long time. The green slime and dead fish
were all about our bodies.
I remember a dead fish floated under her neck. I waited
for it to come up on the other side, and it came up on the
other side.
Worsewick was nothing fancy.
Then I came, and just cleared her in a split secondlike
an airplane in the movies, pulling out of a nosedive and sail-
ing over the roof of a school.
My sperm came out into the water, unaccustomed to the
light, and instantly it became a misty, stringy kind of thing
and swirled out like a falling star, and I saw a dead fishcome
forward and float into my sperm, bending it in the middle.
His eyes were stiff like iron.
poem by Richard Brautigan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Creation of a Joke
These four wheelers, bring forth an idiot
shutting the door when key you forget.
Feeling stupid, praying for a genie
instead I saw my wife in balcony.
Gesticulating in bharatnatayam
seeking answers, like a deaf and dumb.
Worthy neighbourers worth their salt
warding off their inquisitive assault
showed them the key, mocking inside
their lips stretching to ears, eyes opened wide.
Rolled out obituaries one by one
Couldn’t phantom, has a crime been done?
One bubbly lady shouted, mouth spread wide
“THANK GOD T K JI, YOU ARE NOT INSIDE! ”
(05-08-2011)
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Sisters
get off the bus
everything is a must
take a nap
wake up to getting slapped(jordan abusive lol)
do the dishes make some wishes
pray to nothing
make life a loving
caLL my boyfriend
tell him i love him
hang up the phone and start running into things
yell at my sister
i sure wouldnt miss her
get kicked in the leg
no need for a beg
hide my face cause shes a disgrace
gotta hide that trace
not gna get replaced
time for dinner get a splinter
made my day at being a winner
smile as if everythings ok
school really made my day, too bad its almost over,
i was free of that little sister
poem by Kim Childress
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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