Stories, Poems and Other Stuff...

Monday, June 16, 2014

This is My Last Political Commentary Poem (or so it seems)



To all who are concerned, those reading this, and anyone half interested:

This is my last political commentary poem.
You see, I feel I have exhausted this topic
and am growing bored with it all.
Maybe I will write a sonnet, an ode
or a beautiful poem to some backwoods retreat.
Maybe I will explore more free verse
that tells the stories of people encountered...

a voice for the voiceless.

Of course, I reserve the right to rescind this declaration
in the event another Bush is elected
to the White House, or the population
of the Rotund Rascal Riders reaches 30 percent.

If at any time the Tea Party is actually taken seriously
I will have to take up my pen.
This is a moral obligation
that negates anything else I may have said
or written.

(When the snake of stupidity rears its doltish head, one must cut said head off to save oneself from madness.)

Viva la Revolution!

So, until then I leave with this:

Our freedom is a facade
covering corruption.

True freedom is within our minds.
True freedom lies within you.

When all else fails,
fight!

Fascism is alive and well
fighting the war on
terrorism.

Slavery is present
in the quest for everyday
low prices.

Racism survived the
holocaust of
equal opportunity.



© Charles Scott 2014

Monday, June 09, 2014

Thinking About Life Choices That Didn't Revolve Around Me

 
To be a true PUNK
is to be what
your parents
were not.

To cast aside
your desires,
aspirations,
fucking dreams,
for those
you brought into
this world.

Never trust a hippie.
They will always
follow
their
libido.

Real PUNKS
are what
their parents
never
were.

PARENTS!

© Charles Scott 2014

Sunday, June 08, 2014

From Russia With Love


 
 I was checking out my stats tonight and I noticed that there are 10 Russians who have been checking out my blog. It could also be Snowden checking 10 times. Hard to tell. 

I will read for food and vodka...and a plane ticket (round trip) cheap cigars and those little babushka dolls,

Charles Scott: Juggler of Words and Thoughts  ·  Stats  ›  Audience

Pageviews by Countries

Graph of most popular countries among blog viewers
EntryPageviews
United States
66
Russia
10
Germany
4
United Kingdom
1
Luxembourg
1
Malaysia
1
Slovenia
1
Ukraine
1

Pageviews by Browsers

EntryPageviews
Firefox
40 (47%)
Internet Explorer
32 (37%)
Chrome
12 (14%)
Safari
1 (1%)
Image displaying most popular browsers

Pageviews by Operating Systems

EntryPageviews
Windows
71 (83%)
Macintosh
13 (15%)
iPhone
1 (1%)
Image displaying most popular platforms
Send feedback





© Charles Scott 2014

Screaming Sundays

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Tuesday, June 03, 2014

Advice




Never pass on the chance to use a toilet.
This is especially prudent when traveling eastward
from Barstow.
Sure, you can pull off to the side of the road,
but you run into the chance of getting bit by a scorpion
with your pants down. Nobody wants to leave a corpse
that way.
Don't eat seafood in Kansas City, or anywhere within
a 800 mile radius.
Doing so will swear one off of lobster forever.
Trust me on this one.
Never pick your nose in traffic.
You are not invisible while in your car.
Make sure to tell those dear to you that you
love them.
Make sure to tell your adversaries that you
hate them.
Say hi to your mailman. He has a hard job and enjoys idle
chit chat.
Create at least one thing in your life.
Children don't count. That's a colaboraton.
Clean out your wallet once in a while.
Sometimes you'll find cash that you forgot about
because you are getting older.
Don't tell others what to do.
Don't let others tell you what
to do.
Never make your bed.
Drink a lot of beer in moderation.
Only shop at Walmart for entertainment.
Be all that you can be,
but not in the Army.
Most of all,
don't listen to the advice from anyone
willing to give it freely.


© Charles Scott 2014

*I may have to add to this as time goes by*

Sunday, June 01, 2014

Parent of the Year (or, making beer money with dad)

 


CRACK!
I never saw the old man
move that fast.
I mean, one minute he's
holding a cue, the next
he's hitting this poor mark
with 18 oz of wood
on the side of the head.
That poor guy didn't see
it coming.
Hell, I didn't see it
coming.
"C'mon, we gotta go,"
I tell my dad as he is grabbing the guys money
off the table.
I pull dad along as stunned,
angry,
rednecks
start to head our way.
Okay, let me tell you,
I thought I was dead,
or at best
left in a coma
if we didn't leave.
If he weren't my dad
I would have left him.
I know any other
hustling,
drunk,
septuagenarian
would have died that night.
I pushed the old man
into the Cordoba,
prayed it would
start. (it did)
We peeled away,
no headlights in the
rear view.
"How much did we make?"
I asked.
"$40.00."
The rest of the ride home
was silent.



© Charles Scott 2014