There's Always an Ass on the Road

(Photo courtesy of Wikicommons)

It never fails.

You’re riding on rails

sailing down the road

in a trail of dust that you must be

breaking the sound barrier -

a miles harrier. Then you see it.

Could it be what you’re thinking?

Your eyes start blinking and it sinks in.

There’s an ass on the road. There’s ALWAYS

an ass on the road. Idiots come up quickly behind you

to sickly remind you that you’re in the way.

But an ass on the road makes you frown,

they’re only there to slow you down.

It never fails. It’ll haw and bray and hold you up

all day. There’s always an ass on the road.

© JPW – 2013

WE WRITE POEMS – Prompt # 177: The Road

Poets United - Poets Pantry #170

...Something Completely Different!

http://catrinwelzstein.blogspot.de/

William of Surry
seemed in a hurry,
the Olde Fish Shoppe was fresh out of sturgeon.
He needn't have worried
his angst being harried
was quite out of place for a surgeon

Dr. Wm. took control,
he baited his pole
and from his fish boat he did fish,
four fish was his goal,
perch, halibut and sole
would make the most tasty of dish.

It's the early bird,
so William had heard
that gets all the worms, you see,
He thought that absurd
and quite for the birds
so he woke up at quarter of three.

William of Surry
his eyes somewhat blurry,
mistook a fat worm for his finger,
He hooked it, yes siree
his blood thick as slurry
assuring his pain would linger.

© JPW -2013

dVerse Poets Pub: Poetics– we’re writing to the artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein

Outta Whack

“He’s not quite right” she said,

never knowing if her suspicions

were correct, but what did she

expect from  a guy who gave her

the evil eye. Oh sure, he called it flirting

but he was skirting the issue.

And she wasn’t really sure what to make

of his attitude, since her gratitude

was out of character for

a character such as she.

She took what she wanted

and never took any crap.

So this sorry sap had her pegged.

He said, “She’s not quite right”.

A match made in heaven, the future was bright

for Mr. and Mrs. Not Quite Right!

© JPW – 2013

Poets United - Verse First ~ Just Past Center

Without a Clue

Vivacious Vivian, vacuous, vibrant and voluptuous!
She was very “blonde” and still a vision
for sore eyes and tired libidos.
Her breath smelled of Fritos and Mojitos
and her violet eyes gave Liz Taylor a run
for her money. It was funny that she
(of the sumptuous rump and short attention span)
could make a man slather her with baubles.
Although quite continental, she made them mental
with her sassy and manipulative demeanor.
She served no single master.
Vivian liked to spread herself around!


© JPW – 2013

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #126

My Hair

My hair glows

for it is blonde.

From the day I sprouted follicles

I carried a golden hue.

It’s true.  These Aryan looks

(as seen in history books)

make my blue eyes blue.

Not bad for a West Coast Jew

who has an upper hand.

But I never brandish it in spite.

(Just to remind them when I’m right!)

My hair fades.

At fifty, I’ve become a shaded gray.

Had I heeded my father’s warning,

I would have seen this coming.

Age has a nasty way of relegating

us all to the same playing field.

Every patch of gray should yield

a wisdom beyond our years.

But it just makes my ears seem

to protrude a bit more.  Not such

an eyesore to what was in store.

My hair departs

and has become a memory.

Hair today; gone tomorrow!

Such is my sorrow since

my hair on hiatus now takes the color of skin

as in, “Why in the hell didn’t

my father tell me of THIS cruel joke?”

It’s like a craggy jab at my virility!

My pate craves for warmth, instead

I get a buff and polish. Now I shine

despite my stressed tress whine!

© JPW 2013

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