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Open Poetry #48
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JerryPat2
Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975
South Louisiana

0 posted 2013-04-20 09:37 PM


When my back is against the wall,
They offer me a cigarette.
          I give them a nasty sneer,
          spit'n their eye, ask for beer.

Though my life is through I try
To give unto myself some pride.
          there's nothing left to say,
          I had a pair, they held a trey.

As I wait for the blindfold
I try to remember what counts,
          was it the good in me?
          is that my legacy true ?

Or is the badman my forte',
Whose skills I perfected well?
          it matters not at this point;
          only wish I had a joint.

Mortality hovers 'round
With my back against the wall.
          I have no redeeming thoughts,
          I'm just sorry I got caught.

Moments before my head explodes,
I spy an olive-skinned woman
          running to stop the slaughter.
          Oh, Nanette, Nanette, why do you bother?


~*~ I know a guy who's addicted to brake fluid. He says he can stop any time. ~*~

© Copyright 2013 Jerry Pat Bolton - All Rights Reserved
Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666
California
1 posted 2013-04-21 11:29 PM


There is much lurking on the surface, as well as beneath it with this one.  I've often pondered the loneliness and emptiness many people, myself included, tend to wrap ourselves in when we feel Death's shadow is upon us...  and yet we all seem to share these feelings, and (opening a huge can of worms here) are going to the same place, as many of our loved ones have before us.  I think these days I search more for comfort in the destination, than what's being left behind.  Death doesn't hold the disillusion life seems to for me... at least not yet.  If it does when I get there, well then I guess we'll have words.  

Got me thinking deep, as usual, Jer

Michael

Lighthousebob
Member Elite
since 2000-06-14
Posts 4725
California
2 posted 2013-04-24 01:32 PM


quote:
Moments before my head explodes,
I spy an olive-skinned woman
          running to stop the slaughter.
          Oh, Nanette, Nanette, why do you bother?



After reading your poem and seeing folks come from out of state, etc. etc. for my neighbor who recently died, I suppose, once in awhile, it can be a good thing to contemplate our own passing if for no other reason than to see who the ones are who might care enough to actually come running. Enjoyed!  

JerryPat2
Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975
South Louisiana
3 posted 2013-04-24 02:13 PM


Thanks, Bob, I guess when we get to a certain age, mot of us think of that last breath and the many forms it can take.

~*~ How does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it. ~*~

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