The Treaty

In a backroom the deal was cut

And the opposing sides shook hands.

Finally cracked, was this tough nut,

And they settled on the demands.

Hope at last, there was a glimmer,

A fine photo-op with the press;

But already tensions simmer,

Which, I’ll admit, caused some distress.

And as they signed with a gold pen,

Were ancient hatreds put to rest?

These great leaders of lesser men,

Such visionaries, unlike the rest.

Former enemies, now allies,

With co-operation to share;

A solution in compromise,

This new beginning, sitting there.

But tenuous, you could see

And I sensed failure there and then.

I knew this peace would not long be,

When one guy pocketed the pen.

Bored Beyond Belief

“Really, really, you don’t say.

Marvellous darling,” I was fawning.

The waiter brought another tray,

While inside I was yawning.

Bored I was beyond belief,

Turning a whiter shade of pale;

Man, I needed some relief,

The conversation was really stale.

And though she was a lady -

But boring beyond belief;

Until leaving for the coast maybe,

I stole into the night like a thief.

Gone as she called out for more,

In the dark down the trail,

So many drinks like memories to pour,

I missed the end of her tale.

With a Song on My Lips

With a song on my lips

And poetry in my heart,

I sing of women and ships

For this is my biggest part.

Men will go down to the sea

Just as they will return to shore,

For no greater love could there be

Than women and ships in lore.

Atop the waves from crest to crest

With a stiff breeze at my back,

Before the mast I’m meant to test,

And love I find with each new tack.

But my girl she waits on the shore

And my true love can’t be denied,

Until like all sailors gone before,

Stem I can’t the rising tide.

And of our time to remain

With my girl or ships to be,

And which I love more or the same,

Depends if I’m home or at sea.

Heard At the Bar

The turnip and the onion dip

Were talking religion at the bar,

Then the salsa I heard it quip,

Its religion was the best by far.

To eavesdrop on these condiments

Or ‘appies’ as they’re known,

I didn’t get their sentiments

For surely logic was not being shown.

Yes, each with their own point of view

Espousing loudly from their bowls.

Only their religion would do,

And theirs alone could save souls.

Now I’m not cut from the same stock

So I really didn’t have much to say,

But then the lemon and lime began to talk,

Yes, in my glass they twisted away.

“Religion,” they said, “Is merely bunk,

And nothing better refutes,

For you morons where the crackers dunk,

Still won’t accept us fruits.”

The Old Man in the Window

The old man in the window

Kind of caught me by surprise;

A reflection so very slow,

I recognized those drooping eyes.

On that busy street I swear to God

Outside that store when it struck me,

That was me that sorry sod,

And when so old did I get to be?

A million times I’d walked that street,

Light of foot and young at heart,

But then it was I’d chance to meet,

In that window this older fart.

And kid myself I could no more,

The proof was in the window there;

Holy crap outside that store,

I knew it was impolite to stare ….

But damn it I was caught off guard

Was that old man really me?

And though I looked long and hard

In the end I knew it couldn’t be.

Now in windows I don’t look

For to reflect there are other ways,

And to that old man I mistook,

Happily inward I’ll keep my gaze.

Four Corners

Four corners of a pie imagined I.

But someone said, “Ain’t pies round?”

“Oh yeah,” I said with a sigh,

“Lately, I’m just so tightly wound.”

“What the hell was I imagining then?

Maybe it was cake, yeah, yeah it was cake.

Okay, okay let’s start over again;

The four corners of a cake for crissake!”

“Yeah,” he said, “if it was in a square pan.”

“Well hell the same could be said for a pie,” Said I.

“Cake maybe but pie’s never square man,

It’s just the way it is, I don’t know why!”

“What about the four corners of the earth,

If it’s round why do people say?

Yeah, man for what it’s worth,

Who really cares anyway?”

“Anyway back to the four corners,

The ones I imagined way back when,

Maybe they weren’t really corners

And I should start over again.”

“But wait, don’t I remember from school,

Yeah, yeah, the math teachers said it there;

Wasn’t there some theorem or rule

That said pies are square?”

Dungeons

Can you imagine being confined

In a dungeon dark and deep,

With only what is in your mind

And cold concrete on which to sleep?

            Truly, me neither!

So why such a poem to start

For justice I could never do?

Man, the critics would pick apart

And all they’d say would be true.

For in a dungeon I’ve not been

Nor have I felt the fear and cold;

No, such hardships I’ve not seen,

So I’ve no right it’s been told.

From the critics, I have heard their scorn,

And at my rhymes let them rage,

But here in bed on a Sunday morn;

Do they know the fear of an empty page?