Me, My Wife, and the Other Guy


My Wife
My Wife (Photo credit: Abulic Monkey)

 

Me, My Wife, and the Other Guy

 

We sat at a table, the three of us,

 

Me, my wife, and the other guy,

 

Conversation flowed for awhile,

 

But neither could look me in the eye.

 

The place I sat was bypassed,

 

As words zipped and darted,

 

Like little birds flying to nests.

 

From time to time they would

 

Stop to consider and take a rest.

 

Both were annoyed that I remained,

 

And could find nothing else to do.

 

Joining in was out of the question,

 

Therefore I could do nothing but stew.

 

Her eyes bubbled over with images of him,

 

While his eyes were hooded and cold.

 

He wanted to do more than talk,

 

He waited to be reckless and bold.

 

Calmly I lifted my empty glass

 

And pretended to take a sip of my juice.

 

One false word, one slight misstep,

 

And surely all hell would break loose.

 

I studied the two in their interlocking worlds,

 

And decided I didn’t want to be there.

 

Fifteen years of married bliss,

 

And now she no longer cared.

 

Out the door and into the night,

 

Although I had no real place to go,

 

My heart was aching, my marriage breaking,

 

Life had dealt me a terrible blow.

 

With each heavy step from my house,

 

I reassured my shredded heart.

 

The future was cloudy and unknown,

 

But it was time for a brand new start.

 

I contained my anger and let it go

 

Without even raising my voice,

 

They had each other and I walked away.

 

For me it was the wisest choice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Technically


Psychology
Psychology (Photo credit: 田村)

 

Technically

 

 

 

The spring that she graduated,

 

I met her for the very first time.

 

She was beautiful and so beguiling,

 

I was silly and talked in rhyme.

 

I told her very clearly how much

 

She would always mean to me.

 

I was convincing as I professed my love

 

And described our future as she wanted it to be.

 

 

 

I owe her big time, I’ve decided,

 

Because she brought me out of my shell.

 

She’d be surprised to know what I’m thinking

 

Even though she knows me well. 

 

My friends all think I’m crazy.

 

She’s the only one who thinks I’m sane.

 

But I can prove I’m as lucid as you,

 

Though technically I’ve been ruled insane.

 

 

 

Why would one think differently?

 

I go to work each and every day.

 

That’s where my best plans are made.

 

That’s why I continue to stay.

 

My boss keeps me from advancing.

 

He says he protects me like his own son.

 

But I know he’s not telling the truth,

 

Because there haven’t been any battles he’s won.

 

 

 

My wife and I don’t discuss things any more.

 

I refuse to listen as she states her point of view.

 

She’s overweight and filled with hate,

 

She has none of the sweetness that’s in you.

 

It is evident my love didn’t last forever.

 

I told her this morning that she and I were through.

 

She’ll look great in her pretty black dress,

 

Lying silently by me and you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

English: A452 Europa Way, Warwick Portentous o...
English: A452 Europa Way, Warwick Portentous offices and ‘tree’ sculpture on the Tachbrook Park business park. First occupied by the Heart of England Building Society who were taken over by the Cheltenham & Gloucester. They now house a large firm of solicitors, Wright Hassall. The area is technically in Warwick but feels more like south Leamington. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Words on Fire!


Words
Words (Photo credit: sirwiseowl)

 

Words on Fire

 

When my muse comes around to inspire

 

My words dance with fire

 

Building castles everywhere

 

Out of dreams and thin air

 

Blending new romance with raw desire.

 

 

 

With each tale that demands to be told

 

Real stories become bold

 

Allowing characters to act

 

Mixing fantasy with fact

 

Grabbing audiences with claws that hold.

 

 

 

Because these words coax and seduce

 

Strong feelings they produce

 

Stirring embers deep inside

 

Where feelings cannot hide

 

Boiling hearts with their own juice.

 

 

 

My words are powerful on a page

 

Or when spoken on life’s stage

 

Gathering no moss as they flow

 

Becoming stronger as they go

 

Carrying the discovered wisdom of an age.

 

 

 

My words are restless and never tire

 

As they pull others from the mire

 

But they carry a deadly sting

 

If venom is permitted its full swing

 

Therefore cautiously I write with fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing More


English: Wind Turbines located outside of Palm...
English: Wind Turbines located outside of Palm Springs, CA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Nothing More

 

Who is that walking past my door?

 

It is the wind and nothing more.

 

For a moment a shadow hesitates,

 

Then it goes on and through the gate.

 

Who is whispering outside this wall?

 

I’m sure if I looked I’d see nothing at all.

 

Is there a person playing a mean trick?

 

Doesn’t he know I could be really sick?

 

I’m holding my breath within this cell.

 

The shadow is back and I know him well.

 

Around this bed my friends gather and talk.

 

They remember how we used to walk.

 

All voices hush as someone passes the door.

 

I thought, It is the wind and nothing more.

 

My friends are leaving with tears in their eyes.

 

I’m puzzled and ask, “What’s the matter, guys?”

 

But they ignore me as they go out the door.

 

One said, “It is the wind and nothing more.”

 

I don’t understand this turn of events.

 

I’ve tried to comprehend but it doesn’t make sense.

 

I turn to my new friend as we go out the door.

 

I ask, “Is it really the wind and nothing more?”

 

“Your friends are mistakenly blaming the wind.

 

But their way of thinking will come to an end.

 

Some will greet me as I enter their room.

 

Others will panic at my voice of doom.

 

You heard me walking past your door.

 

I enter with the wind, but I’m much, much more.

 

 

 

Lucky Indeed


Is it Your Lucky Day
Is it Your Lucky Day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Lucky Indeed

 

I thought I was a hammer made of steel,

 

But she softened my heart and made me feel,

 

I was a restless knight riding a spirited steed,

 

But she quenched my fires and fulfilled my needs.

 

 

 

Gentle as the mist drifting in from the sea,

 

Uncontrollable as a flooding river, she’s wild and free,

 

Cleansing as the rain, freefalling from the sky,

 

She’s constantly changing; I’m a lucky guy.

 

 

 

Warm as the sunshine splashing across the land,

 

Teasing with kisses, the kind I understand,

 

Calm even in a storm, helping those in need,

 

She’s right there beside me; I’m lucky indeed.

 

 

 

Straight as a road that guides me on my way,

 

She is the love I’ve been seeking until today,

 

Bringing a fire that rages deep inside,

 

I am a lucky man and very satisfied.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Senses


Senses Working Overtime
Senses Working Overtime (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Senses

When I was a baby I wanted to taste,

Dirt, grass, leaves; everything was good,

Through the sense of taste my world I understood.

 

As a young lad I wanted to feel,

The bark of trees, warm human skin,

Everything needed to be touched again and again.

 

During my youth, color surrounded me,

And I trusted my eyesight more each day,

The world’s vibrant displays becoming richer in every way.

 

Nature’s music played softly in my ear,

I listened and heard it all, crystal clear as a bell,

My mother’s heartbeat, birds singing, frogs croaking as well.

 

Roses and violets, the air after a rain,

I detected subtle aromas as my experiences grew,

The earth offered me choices to smell, exciting and new.

 

Never did I want to take my senses for granted,

The world was a puzzle and each sense played a part,

They helped unravel mysteries from both brain and heart.

 

All five senses keep me standing in reality,

Yet without them my dark empty world would still spin,

For I keep hope, love, and compassion locked deep within.

 

Senses are my guides for exploring the world,

They lead me down paths and open closed doors,

Fill my coffers with treasures and give memories forevermore.

 

 

 

 

One Lonely Dragon


English: Japanese dragon, colour engraving on ...
English: Japanese dragon, colour engraving on wood, Chinese school, 19th Century, bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris Русский: Японский дракон, цветная гравюра на дереве, китайская школа, 19 век, bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris Français : Dragon japonais, gravure sur bois en couleur, école chinois, XIXème siécle, bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

One Lonely Dragon, Magic and Tough

 

 

 

Once I yearned to be magic and tough,

 

But I was left to wonder what my status is,

 

Though life’s a stage to strut my stuff,

 

I knew I’d never make it in show biz.

 

 

 

I was the wall flower, intense and shy,

 

Entering from stage left, or was it right?

 

Left out of the popular group, the other guy,

 

For everything I got, I had to fight.

 

 

 

So I became a dragon from medieval days,

 

You knew I was there.  I had a mighty roar,

 

But dragons are the ones who everyone slays,

 

If I wasn’t careful, I’d be doomed forevermore.

 

 

 

I could be in a crowded room, invisible to all,

 

Pretending that I’d asked someone to dance,

 

Yet even then my courage would hit the wall,

 

For lonely dragons only get one chance.

 

 

 

There must be a lady dragon waiting somewhere,

 

Although time drags on and it’s getting late,

 

I’m still invisible and no one can find me here,

 

I’m breathing fire and I don’t want to wait.

 

 

 

And the days drag on, and the nights grow cold,

 

I still remain a dragon, but just on the inside,

 

Watching the modern knights who are so bold,

 

While I sit steaming in my tough old hide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your Pets Know


English: There Cap'n Goldsack goes, creeping, ...
English: There Cap’n Goldsack goes, creeping, creeping, creeping, Looking for his reasure down below!: illustration of a pirate ghost. This was originally published in Sharp, William (July 1902). “Cap’n Goldsack”. Harper’s Magazine. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Your Pets Know

 

When you’re alone or scared at night and feeling very tense,

 

Who knows what dogs hear, and who knows what they sense,

 

A dog might snarl and show her teeth while staring at a wall,

 

Someone might have entered the room, yet you see nothing at all,

 

When the silence gets too loud, during the time that you fear most,

 

You’ll wish you had a dog around, to warn you of the ghosts,

 

A faint smell of decaying flesh or a chill running up your spine,

 

Is enough to put your teeth on edge, but when the dog starts to whine,

 

A powerful force is in the room, sharing your time and space,

 

Your dog will remain beside you, as the ghost meets you face to face.

 

A cat, on the other hand, might hiss and arch his back,

 

A cat knows whether friend or foe, and if the ghost will attack,

 

Should the cat stretch and purr, as if stroked by a ghostly hand,

 

There’s a gentle soul in the room, who hopes you understand,

 

If either the dog or the cat runs, terror evident in their eyes,

 

Then it might not be a simple ghost, but the devil in disguise,

 

Pull the covers over your head, should you be scared at night,

 

And if you want a chance to flee, keep your pets in sight.

 

 

 

Melt My Heart of Stone


When my daughter was only three,

She was as independent as can be,

On the playground she could hear me calling,

“Wait for me!  I don’t want you falling.”

But she would race toward the slide,

Even at that tender age she had pride,

“Me do it!” she would stubbornly insist,

She refused my help and would resist,

Hardheaded and independent, (just like her father).

So why should I try to help?  Why even bother?

As the years passed by, I didn’t get any wiser,

I didn’t save love and I didn’t become a miser,

I didn’t seek truth from wise men near and far,

I relied on myself to follow a distant star,

“Me do it!” I shouted to the heavens above,

“Why do I need help to learn the ways of love?”

Fair maidens passed often in the depths of night,

But their hearts were broken, sad was their plight,

I was too independent so I remained alone,

Hard-headed but sad, my heart turned to stone,

Who could open her heart and give me a chance?

Who could love enough to spark new romance?

I learned to accept help from any source I can,

I became less difficult; I became a calmer man,

With years of experience I became smarter too,

I decided not to rely on me; I wanted to depend on you,

Working and playing together as a team,

We could turn my world into a better dream,

Man was not meant to be alone,

“Help me please; melt my heart of stone!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are We There Yet?


Four Horsemen of Apocalypse, by Viktor Vasnets...
Four Horsemen of Apocalypse, by Viktor Vasnetsov. Painted in 1887. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Are We There Yet?

 

I often heard my children ask, “Are we there yet?”

 

On a trip we had just begun,

 

That was their way of saying,

 

They weren’t having any fun.

 

 

 

When I consider we’re all kids,

 

Traveling the same kind of road,

 

“Are we there yet?” means to me,

 

Someone is tired of his load.

 

 

 

We live in a smug cruel world,

 

Where we claim everything is under control,

 

But it’s time we search our hearts and ask,

 

Have we really reached our goals?

 

 

 

We haven’t found the ways to peace,

 

Though we tried with flowers in our hair,

 

Even SGT. Pepper could not stop the wars,

 

Even though we tried to care.

 

 

 

A white horse appeared on a cloud,

 

Its rider clutched a bow,

 

Representing conquest and a destructive force,

 

Sending peace reeling with a mighty blow.

 

 

 

Famine spreads across the land,

 

While food supplies dwindle down,

 

Animals and people fight to live,

 

But little grows on bloody parched ground.

 

 

 

A black horse stepping high,

 

With weighing scales at his side,

 

Famine strikes fear in all hearts,

 

While hope disappears worldwide.

 

 

 

A fiery horse gallops with color aglow,

 

Mass slaughter is his game,

 

His rider lets persecution and pain go free,

 

War is still the one to blame.

 

 

 

Pestilence still sweeps the world,

 

While we turn our heads in vain,

 

Trying to ignore terrible diseases,

 

That keep third world children in pain.

 

 

 

Death still stalks each of us,

 

We won’t leave this world alive,

 

But couldn’t we try to slow death down,

 

Allowing us a few more years to thrive.

 

 

 

Astride a pale horse with sunken eyes,

 

The Grim Reaper wears a grin,

 

He scans the earth looking for those,

 

Who have already died within.

 

 

 

Are we there yet?

 

It’s a question we should ask,

 

Have we done all we can possibly do,

 

Before we give up our chosen task?

 

 

 

The Four Horsemen continue to ride,

 

Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death,

 

With sword and gun they sweep the land,

 

And steal each feeble breath.

 

 

 

Are we there yet?

 

The question echoes on,

 

We can’t stop to boast or reset,

 

Until the battles are won.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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