Shoe Penny Writer

 

Head in pride,
feet in wishes
ass intact
hands in dirty dishes

Death defy’er
on occasion
minimal damage
and multiple abrasions

This here poem—
might say’s cliche
but my funk on my words
gets the big bills paid

I spray like a cat
with a nose like a hound
I’m lean on the street
on the web I’m ’round

The reason I post
my flack to read
is to get in the cap
what the other one sees

Elusive’s just a rule
that I use as a front
’cause of sweat and the blood
that’s behind this junk

Remedy song?
hard to say
I just slap down in words
what happens everyday

Lend me your time,
lend me your gaze
got a story that I’m writing
and a dream for your day

It’s got cares,
got the passion
got a moral that I’m working
that’s an answer to your askin’

The lead is a lady
that you know really well
I put a saga on the page—
for the boys I’m spinning action

So buy my script,
toss a dollar in the can
read me on the bus
and pass it to a friend

I’m a shoe penny writer,
hold my readers’ heart in trust
teach you that you’re not alone
when there’s something in my cup.

 

~~~

 

Joy impending with a definitive rift. The switchback, rattle track, considered, approved, slack mouth attack weighs heavy thoughts balanced with purpose and bliss. Disconnect from the wind tugger’s far flung and further than their plans to begin with as a hand out uplifting strives in an open landing pit to possibilities. And the thin line corrects what we perceive, redirects imagination back to earth and tablets received. Return to the owner on time ’cause there’s always a thin line, shimmering unraveled, appropriately timed cuteness snap attached to the littlest of lies for hapless reliance on spinning webs, dressing successfully, calm compliance with the reasoning mantle of meddling thought. Thine brightest and tested, wrestling and quested to foresee what only a babe would notice. Funny, the ironic cavalcade of joy impending. Don’t look for it. Finds you wanting and ready for collapse, subtly, parched sorrow in swept dry leaves commits to parting and parking and whatever decides to pee on the tree. There’s no window box tomorrow. The water can was always in our hand, and always joy impending.

 

~~~

 

Sometimes rhyme play sets tone on what follows, who allows the course of the day, paddling astray, wake up immersed in traffic and pray the stream has a driver. A wind blown swath of trees moving at the pace of root. We be a thousand miles out where telescopes triangulate a tuned up arc of light warms the hatching egg, sweeps up the harm, and we let a zillion specs stretch and waddle. Rise sleepy head, coochie coo, fill up on bread and do better in school. Who’s forward? Who woke up or cracked on the grooves of worn wanders and tickets off track still pause plastered and disastrously hung over out back. Rise with the mail people, tail people, and the yoga pajama sleep latte crowd chatter. Pick ur own what matters, I decree. Hush, wonder, stop, stammer, stand clamor, yes you already knew it, just have to agree this day’s sponsored by you and promoted by me. There’s ten,000000000 bazillion quadrillgabots packed in each box. Pour a bowl, drink a cup, and go live it.

 

Shoe Penny Writer © 2011 Gaboo. Read more Gaboo, click his tag.

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