thesocialpoet

The Drive Wandered

In Poetry on January 12, 2018 at 10:00 am

Glued down roads woven with past future recipes
made with Love and electric bondage.

The soldering is a bit shaky,
but we get the picture.

The picture poses questions of—

tribes

and an orangish-red metal liquid that clicks upon thought, action

and directive.

Gregory Gathman, USA

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Yankee

In Poetry on July 7, 2015 at 7:30 am

Don’t you see it, it’s in the way that he walks

It’s all about the way he wears his pants.

Don’t you see it, I mean, can’t you tell

His cologne’s got that Hollywood smell.

Don’t you see it, that man’s a Yankee

Place your bet, I’m doubling down.

Don’t you see it, it’s all over his face,

Credit cards to eat up your town.

 

Don’t you see it, it’s in the way that he talks

It’s all about the way he waves his hands,

Don’t you see it, they’re all going to Hell

Can’t get the crack out of the Liberty Bell.

Don’t you see it, that man’s a Yankee

On a jet, I know he’s a clown

Don’t you see it, it’s all over his face

Credit cards to eat up your town.

 

Frederick S. Blackmon, USA

Gossip

In Poetry on June 14, 2015 at 3:26 pm

Gossipers on the corner

Fill their lips with the latest lament,

With tongues brimming

Yet never sinning against themselves.

So eloquently they speak of others

In the city’s gutters,

Instinctively passing over mirrors

As they pillage and contaminate

The reputations of those most hated.

A scandalous whisper floats unaided.

Despite being loathed as taboo,

Nearly everyone flirts with the idea of “Who Saw Who.”

Perhaps they too, have been victimized

At once, also lamented and despised,

Yet once they reached the street corner

Forgot what was wise,

By not shutting their ears to these novelty spies.

Why preach, when all can participate in idle ways?

In truth, we all speak ill

Directed at our neighbor for a momentary thrill.

It’s a game. It’s a joke.

Well, isn’t it anyway?

A bit of innocent fun to waste away the day.

 

Frederick S. Blackmon, USA