Spam

Here is today's poem, albeit a bit late.

SPAM

How do you un-sign-up for spam?
I am not talking the canned meat.
I mean the type that comes
in droves to your email inbox.

I never really signed up
for any of this in the first place.
In fact, I have a whole other
email address
specifically for things like this.

Yet still, here it all comes.

Maybe if it was canned meat,
I'd be able to get rid of it easier.
Perhaps I wouldn't want it to stop.

How can I subscribe to canned meat?

They Can't All Be Winners

I kept pushing this one off, but here it is...

THEY CAN'T ALL BE WINNERS

I type a line of a poem.
Read it, then backspace.
Every so often, I "select all"
and then delete.

But most of the time,
I end up just writing random thoughts,
hoping it ends up cohesive,
and leave it at that.

Once in a while,
something good comes out...
The rest is pure crap.
Now repeat the title of this poem.

A Poem About A Girl Walking Past My Apartment

It's Monday, so that means I get to post a new poem thing.  Well, here ya go:

A POEM ABOUT A GIRL WALKING PAST MY APARTMENT

I like to spend my free time
looking out the windows,
watching to see if anything interesting
might happen.

I'd hate to miss it if it ever does.

Yesterday, as I was peering out,
I saw a girl walking down the road,
one foot on the sidewalk,
the other in the gutter.

That alone was interesting enough for a chuckle,
but when she tripped, and had to keep from falling...

...I find enjoyment in the little things.

There Is A War

Brought on by a dream from the other night... one of two I thought about writing, and the only one I could get into words.

THERE IS A WAR

Off in the distance
fires burn, and guns a-blaze.
The ghosts of angels scream in horror.
The enemy has won, chilling the night
and filling our lives with sorrow.

Walk in the rain to cleanse your soul
for the fight to come.
It is you and the universe.
Every spirit turned against man,
you fight an impossible battle.

Dust, the smell of rain and
rotting flesh fill the air.
Stare into the vast horizon
and dream of better days.
A solitary tree leans upon you for rest.

Once the night arrives,
all hope has been lost.
Your soul torn from your throat,
by unseen forces who
left you to die.