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.

Moving Faster Than Nature

Here's a less sarcastic, less bitter poem I wrote...  I think I like this one.

MOVING FASTER THAN NATURE

A single drop falls onto my head.

Perhaps I can walk
faster than the rain will come.

Another drop hits,
like a precise mark.

Suddenly, a cold wind
rips at my face.
The dark of night smells fantastic:

Flowers, and the onset of rain.

It's a bit quiet.
Windchimes, and sprinklers.

I get a calm, forboding feeling:
Something is about to happen.

Keep walking. Just keep walking.

Dark spots begin to fill the ground,
just as I make it up the stairs
and through my door.

The night breaks open.

Bows and Arrows

Don't even try to figure out where this one came from.

BOWS AND ARROWS

If I ever
get shot with
an arrow

I don't think
I will just
try to pull it out

Not because
it may cause
more damage

But because
I think it would be
really neat
to walk around
with an arrow
sticking out of me

"Mommy, that man has
an arrow in his chest."
"Don't provoke the freak.
He might talk to you."

And I would.

Moron (More On) Booths

Okay so yeah... This is the sequel to my previous poem "Couples In Booths"  I was at Jack's the other night, and I spent the entire time trying to wrap my mind around something...  This is the result.

MORON (More On) BOOTHS

I've made comment
on couples sitting in booths,
two to a side,
leaving the other side empty.

I can at least understand
the logic behind it.
I just think it's stupid.

What I don't understand
is what brought a group of four
to sit lopsided in a booth.

Three on one side,
one on the other.

Two of the three, I could tell
were a couple. But
I don't understand the third's
reasons for not sitting in the other bench.

The best I can figure:
"You smell. I refuse to sit next to you."