Thursday, April 30, 2009

Poem # 10 - My Zaidi

My Zaidi

My Zaidi is a young boy, 39 is what he told me.
Though I think the real age is just seventy.
I always stay with him when to Montreal I go.
He lets me look at all his things except for his porno.
He really likes his IPod with more than 1000 songs so far
Though I’m not really sure if he knows just what they are.
He lived in Poland long ago, he learned Polish first.
He uses it nowadays mostly just to curse.
He’s a very gracious host, caters to me, you know.
Though after every visit, he tells me what I owe.
I help him with his Blackberry and laptop which is fine.
I do it just because he’s nice, and he bought me mine.
I like to braid his arm hair, because he’s really hairy.
When it comes to trimming his eyebrows, though
I think I should be wary.
He takes candy from that special drawer, for a little snack,
Throws me some and calls me his little paskudniak.
Now we’re all here at this really great party.
Though if you ask my Zaidi, he’ll say no one invited me.
He was a really great furrier who started a business too.
Though he also likes to relax at home doing what he wants to do.
When he was a young man, they say he looked like James Dean.
He was the biggest rebel, though he was never mean.
When he was in school, he was hardly ever there.
When he showed up in one class, a teacher said ‘who the hell are you?’
And that is true, I swear.
Though he lives in Montreal, he calls most everyday.
His favourite grandson Checkers loves it when he comes to stay.
He has 6 granddaughters, two dog grandsons, always in his heart.
How he retains his funny nature that is sure an art.
He also love his wife, my bubby, who he calls a babe even now,
He sure looks good for 70, he should tell me how.
Happy birthday Zaidi, you’re not old at all.
Along with health, happiness, and more parties like this,
Here’s my present to you.
Sorry it’s so small.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Poem #9 - The Boxing Match

The Boxing Match

He enters the boxing ring trembling with fear
The crowd cheers loudly, egging him on.
After eons of waiting, his opponent is here.
It’s a big burly guy who is ugly and loud.
He knows who it is; the guy’s the world champ.
The guy’s moving forward, with cheers from the crowd.
While our hero moves back, fearing attack.
For he knows this big guy who might as well have a knife.
It’s a tough female dog that people call Life.

Life circles and circles, taunting our guy.
Should he feign left? Punch right?
Life will go on teasing him into the night.
Until without warning, Life starts the fight!
Our hero’s beat up.
He’s about taken one punch too many.
He looks round and round for a way to beat Life.
Too bad that he doesn’t find any.

Does he give up? No way, not a chance.
He’ll never let dumb old Life win.
Without turning back, he gives Life a smack.
That’ll be sure to show him.
That’s how it goes, his battle with Life.
It can last 85 rounds or more.
He gets in a few hits, never calling it quits,
And then Life has him down on the floor.
He struggles and gets up, for it’s never done.
The ref won’t get to one, so Life hasn’t won.

They’re tired now, both Life and our guy.
To win the match, they’ll both continue to try.
Their fighting is equal, it goes forward and back.
Each attack matched by a counter attack.
It’s a fight neither can win, but that’s okay too.
Sometimes Life’s got the upper hand.
Other times Life is so beat up it can’t stand
No matter how hard fought, our hero’s not blue.
Life can never win against him or you.

When the boxing is over, it’s not cause it’s done.
He and Life called a truce,
It was all in good fun.
In the boxing match with Life, he was still number one.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Poem #8 - The Words

The Words

The blank page taunts.
Cannot express in words so
I pour out my soul.

They come from nowhere.
No meaning until combined,
The letters within.

The words speak volumes
That can't be verbally said
Filling up my life.

Need to let it out,
A vomit of ideas
Paralyze the soul.

It flows through the pen.
They're given life from the mind
But born in the heart.

The written word is
An extension of the self
Through which you can grow.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Poem # 7 - Taste the Rainbow

Taste the Rainbow

I see the purple in the wind,
Dancing around majesticly.
I taste the yellow in the sunshine,
Making me fun and fancy free.

I hear the orange in the flame
Providing the warmth and the light.
I see the blackness in the thunder,
Preparing me now for the fight.

I feel the green in my heart,
Nurturing my mind to grow,
I touch the blue inside the stream,
Watching life as it flows.

I move to the pink in the dance,
Makes me joyfully fly and prance.
I hear the gold in the song,
Letting me no nothing can go wrong.

I smell the turquoise in the rain,
Washing away the last refrain.
The rainbow of colours, they're everywhere.
With all the senses they share.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Poem # 6 - The Cries of Kids

The Cries of Kids

The whiney wail of wilful kids,
The bash and crash of pans,
Hitting spoons against their lids.
Thundering footstepts to and fro.
They scream and shout ‘till I shriek “NO!”

My head is pounding painfully,
While my pulse goes fast.
Why did I think watching 4 year olds would be peace at last?
They blast the music loud
Little feat bop to the beat.
They speak even louder.
I could be wrong, I think they’re proud.

Like a ping pong match, they’re running forward and back.
They getting pumped up.
Ready to pounce, on the attack.
Hitting everything hard, a new pastime is made.
They’re having a blast, like a ragtag music brigade.

What can cause them to stop,
All this banging and crashing?
I don’t want to give banshee like kids a good thrashing.

Then it hits me as the continue to cry.
It had to work, I’d give it a try.
“Who wants ice cream?” I ask with a grin.
After a few screams and shouts there is silence,
Blissful, peaceful, wonderful silence.
Finally, I win.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Poem # 5 - Stuff


The mountainous plate of food taunts.
He can’t get through it fast enough.
Burger, pizza, chicken, coke.
Would you like fries with that?

Super size and cram more in.
Fill the pit that goes straight to hell.
The emptiness that is his stomach,
And his heart.

Tasting nothing, wanting more.
He consumes until he can take no more.
Not just food, other products call to him too.
Bigger is better, biggest is best.

Had enough yet?
That’s not even a thought.
More, more, more, that’s all he wants.
A life and diet of excess,
Not like that can hurt much, right?

The food enters the vacuum, without an impression.
It happens quickly, like lightening.
It’s a dangerous obsession.
Still more he devours, until like a volcano, an eruption.
This heavenly hell will be his destruction.

Nothing is given, like a chipmunk he hoards.
Until after one day of consumption, the inevitable.
Nothing but a bloated corpse, on a journey with no end.

He leaves nothing, but is surrounded with stuff.
Like miniature hills he leaves piles of stuff.
We all know the stuff was never enough.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Poem #4 - That's Hot

That's Hot

Oh my god that's totally hot.
Shake your booty for all you've got.
Work it girl you've got the skills,
That give all the boys the chills.

Get that shirt it's so low cut.
Don't sweat when they call you a slut.
You do the best with what you're given.
To be so sexy you are driven.

Hike the skirt up, show more leg.
For your body the boys must beg.
Slather the makeup on, don't show your face.
It's how you get their hearts to race.

The boys what they think, it's all you care about.
When you walk by they whistle and shout.
They look at you wanting only one thing.
You're so happy you could practically sing.

The way you move it's just a lure.
Your thoughts are very hard from pure.
Like what else could totally matter,
Except whether or not you're getting fatter.

What's wrong with this you ask me now?
Anything else you don't know how.
Your mom can't tell you where or when.
You're grown up now, you're already ten.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Poem #3 - Damn Dirty Clock

Damn Clock

Tick tok, tick tock
Shut up you stupid clock!
Oh no, it's as I fear,
A few more hours I must stay here.
What the hell's your problem man,
I'm doing everything I can.
Can't you see the clock goes quick.
Watching it spin it makes makes me sick.
Yet when there's nothing to be done,
It stops moving, that's no fun.
It's doing in purposely, I tell you, I swear!
About my sanity, that clock doesn't care.
Tick tack, tick tack,
It keeps moving, there's no turning back.
I just want to smash it and throw it away,
But without it you'd never know the time of day.
From its perch on the wall people glance and then turn.
Whatever it does people want it to burn.
For it to behave differntly, they continue to yearn.
But there's nothing they can do about the damn dirty clock.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Poem #2 - The Time for Time

The Time for Time

Never enough, can't wait a second more.
You want to breath?
I kick you out the door.
Faster and faster,
You can never be late.
Hurry it up,
I don't want to wait.

Driving erratically triple your speed.
Need to get fastest to the place that you need.
What the hell are you doing?
Get out of my way!
The street's not for standing,
There's no time to play.

It's no use, I'm not fast enough
I'm going places, it sure is tough.
Life's passing by at a break neck speed,
Yet I still cannot get everything that I need.
Not enough time for what I have to do.
But still always speeding and rushing too.

Where am I going?
You really care?
Truth is I'm just not going anywhere.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Poem # 1 - To The Girl in the Hall

Another of my goals for the summer is to write a poem every day, since I used to do that a lot, so here goes the first one.

To The Girl in the Hall

Everyday I see you, sitting in the hall
You always look sad, you're always alone.
Talking to no one, always looking down.
I want to say something.
I want to, but I can't.

I talk to my friends, go about my life,
Rarely spare you a fleeting thought.
Yet day after day, you sit there alone.
I want to invite you to hang out.
I want to, but I can't.

I'm a busy whirwind, barely stopping to breath.
Work, school, friends, life, always keep me busy.
Yet you are a constant, always in the same spot.
I want to ask you if you're okay.
I want to, but I can't.

I can tell that you see me, envy me even.
You talk to no one but you always see, you're always there.
Engrossed in your book, yet not really seeing it.
I want to introduce myself.
I want to, but I can't.

The next day you're crying, big silent tears.
Still in the same spot, no one spares you a glance.
You wipe your face with your hand, not moving an inch.
I want to ask what happens.
I want to, but I can't.

The next day I pass by your usual spot.
You're not there anymore.

Another poem to come tommorow if I stick to the plan!!