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An Old Man Is Approaching

Someone is behind me,
He’s been back there for miles,
Whenever I call out to him,
He nods his head and smiles !

Something strange about him,
No matter what I’ve said,
He never speaks an answer,
He only nods his head !

No winged sandals on his feet,
He does not ride a steed,
But the old man is approaching,
At a most disturbing speed !

He use to keep his distance,
Almost too far away to see,
But he is drawing closer now,
He’s been out pacing me !

As the stranger nears I see,
That he is old and bent,
I've tried to gain some distance,
But now I’m almost spent !

No flesh upon his face,
His teeth a ghastly grin,
At last he yells out to me,
I’ve come to do you in !

Turn and fight or try to run,
My choice may not seem wise,
I’m going to wait and rest a bit,
And then try him on for size !

Copyright 10-07-2010 - Rommel

Good one Rom! Here is a poem I made many years ago when I worked in the produce dept. of a grocery store. It's called "Ode to the 3ed man." In produce there is the guy in charge,then the 2ed man,but all the real work gets put on the 3ed man.This is his story.


On a cold and misty Sunday morn
I uncover the rack and put out the corn

I cull the tables and check the dates
But the funnest thing still awaits

Retrimming the lettuce and pulling the old mushrooms
I think the floral lady will be here soon

Look closely at the leeks and the swiss chard
Don't forget the endive or the rhubarb

The beans the beets the dill the bok choy!
The cabbage the carrots the pears the savoy!

The curry the rosemary the sage the thyme!
The mint the okra the lemons the limes!

I blue-band some bananas and make some cabbage cuts
It will be a while before we get in water chesnuts

I wipe out the scales and clean the floors
I cut the melons and scrub the doors

Always waiting for that next big raise
Working salad bar just for the pay

They split my days off whenever they can
This is the story of the third man

Copyright-NAKED-1997

Hi NAKED :


Congratulations on taking first place on the main server !

Your poem was like ... coolsville dad.

Perhaps you could put it to an old Elvis tune.

On a cold and gray Chicago morn
He uncovers the rack and he puts out the corn
In the produce section ... and his mother cries.

Cause if there's one thing that she don't need
it's more rotten lettuce and more moldy seed
From the produce section ... even at half price.

This sounds like a good episode for South Park :

Due to the economy, Cartman has to take a job to
help his mother pay the bills. Have him singing the
song while opening up the store before he goes to
school. Later on he can catch Kenny and his family
stealing their weekly rations from the dumpster.

More after you secure a firm offer of a contract.


Best wishes,

Rommel

P.S. - Cartman on You Tube.

P.P.S. - The entire episode.

I have a whole 3 ring binder of stuff I wrote in high school laying around somewhere, if I come across it I might post some of it here.

A poem about dying from someone who ain't lyin'.


Have you ever heard the death rattle?
It sounds like a thick wet snore
It sounds the same if you live to one hundred
Or die in the guts and the gore

Don't smerk when you see the eyes roll back
and the face slowly pales
Nature has a very strange way
Of balancing her scales

Be kind to the helpless and the weak
Don't bring them any shame
If you start to see the feeble as inhuman
Then you become the same

It might be quick if you die in battle
Reduced to cannon fodder
Or it might take eons; time has no meaning
When you breathe like a fish out of water

When your old and gray and the ego's gone
And you can only stand with a cane
You might forget who you are
Cuz something's wrong with your brain

If you find yourself in a hospital bed with a morphine drip
One thing is quite certain
The sheet that covers you might as well be
Called the Shroud of Turin

As the end draws near you might squirm and choke
And do the dance of death
Then lurch to one side and soil yourself
As you take your final breath

And so you pass on with a jerk and a shudder
Your eyes open wide
The nurse the next morning says with a mouth full of toast
The guy in room six has died


Copyright-NAKED-2010

The Day After Christmas

This poem is gross and morose. Don't read it if your easily sickened, no one will call you a chicken. You might feel sour for an hour then feel the need to take a shower.

Twas the day after Christmas
And all through the apt.
Something smelt foul
Like someone just crapped

The couch is messed up
The door off it's hinges
All hell breaks loose
When I go on these binges

Beer cans strune about
A roach in the ashtray
My world is dirty
And foggy and gray

The shades are drawn
Aspirin in hand
I haven't got out of bed yet
I don't even try to stand

My latest girfriend is long gone
Her perfume still hangs in the air
Time for another STD test again
Do I even dare

My skin feels oily and cold
I taste my rancid teeth
Last night would have been fun
If it weren't for a couple of queefs

I think I'll stay in bed all day
There's no rush or worry
And try to figure out what happened
Cuz my memory is a little blurry

I say with conviction that this is pure fiction. I have no addiction or affliction. It may sound a bit down but that's common when this time of year rolls around.
In the spring I will write things with less sting like clowns bounding around town
or sunshine and puppies and rich white yuppies.

Copyright-NAKED-2010

Dead Thread - A suitable haunt for old ghosts.

Untitled

The stronger, working longer,
Though less people working more,
Machines, replace the workers,
This is what they have in store.

Water drying, babes dying,
Steal the fish along their shore,
Stop wailing, banks are failing,
This is what they have in store.

More drinking, then less thinking,
Someone pounding at the door,
Bankruptcy, soon to follow,
This is what they have in store.

The conniving, keep thriving,
As their sales fall through the floor,
Golden parachutes, AWAY,
This is what they have in store.

Copyright 08-18-2011 - Rommel

P.S. to Laptop's Daddy : You're doing a right
admirable job on the paint and polish ... er ...

The new skins are like ... groovy daddyo.

P.S. to POM : Hurry up, I'm getting old.

They clip your wings and tell you to fly.
They want you to soar ever so high.
But the truth is.. my little ones gather round
They just want to make you look like a clown
a decrepit and foolsih chaotic being, a victim of ones circumstance
they feed you the feelings the wishes and lies..

but in the end.. they clip our wings.. and no one flies

so join me in this fight for soul
evil never tires and never grows old
join me children and listen deep
see the truth to how it creeps
beware the voice that mocks you in the dark
and harken not to thine foolish heart
join me in the good fight
this battle will test our might

its fangs are bared
its breath is hot
its long creeping tail garners invisible rot
from its mouth dark deeds are hurled
it pounces it leaps, its wings unfurled
lets conquer strengthen devour!
seize the chance this is our hour!

afford hellish blaze unto the tyrannic evil and purge this world!

all is not lost, gather round
fly fast, fly far
let all hear this sound
the sound of death of the evil one
let the trumpets rebound
for he is dead
swallowed by the ground

look up my children and you will see
heaven in utmost splendor and glory

I wont bow, not one knee
for to hell my sins do carry me

Armor

The new poem poster's,
Poem is good,
I have wood.

You are there, and here is me. This is what we call reality.
Somewhere harketh a dying crow. And for all his trouble he has to show,
Nevermore it did shout! Death spasms, its wings are wildly grotesquely flapping about.
We stand there and listen to the crow.... just you and me,

and truly wonder if this is gods divine reality.

Armor

LAPPY I LIKED THAT POEM!!! Stop deleting your stuff, its good.

Armor

The first time we saw Rex, he was wearing a collar and dragging a
long chain, trying to evade police capture by running through the
traffic on a four lane highway.

My wife and I had several dogs at home and didn't want another.

We called off the police and eventually captured him and
reported him as found, knowing he would be claimed soon.

LOST DOG


By Margaret E. Sangster

I saw a little dog today,
And oh, that dog was lost;
He risked his anguished puppy life
With every street he crossed.
He shrank away from outstretched hands,
He winced at every hail --
Against the city's bigness he
Looked very small and frail.

Distrust lay in his tortured eyes,
His body shook with fright;
(I wondered when he'd eaten last --
And where he'd slept at night!)
I whistled, and I followed him,
And hoped that he might guess
That all my soul reached out to him,
And offered friendliness!

So many times I have been lost,
And lonely and afraid!
I followed through the crowded streets,
I followed -- and I prayed.
And then the God of little things,
Who knows when sparrows fall,
Put trust into the puppy's heart
And made him heed my call. . . .

Side Note to Chopper :


Rex

Rex was my favorite dog,
And I've had quite a few,
No way to replace him,
I knew not what to do.

Many dogs to choose from,
Not all of them were stray,
Some had been abandoned,
By folks that lost their way.

Surely, there would be homes,
For those so well behaved,
But then there were the others,
That needed to be saved.

Faith was a Shepherd pup,
They said "she shies away",
Reed was "a fighting dog",
Both, living their last day.

Closing time was drawing near,
I cried, not knowing what to do,
Rex was such a special dog,
He whispered, take home two.


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They did not know their shelter names,
And I hoped they wouldn't mind,
But if they were to be a pair,
These were the best that I could find :

Jack and Jill

Copyright 09-21-2011 - Rommel


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Jack has fallen down,
Jill can claim the sacred crown,
Laughter lights my eyes.

Jill wins every battle and is not shy. She was a puppy
surrounded by barking adult dogs. She was afraid.

Although Jack was deemed too dangerous to place with other
dogs, he has proven to be a great companion for all concerned.