Stories, Poems and Other Stuff...
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts

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

Monday, May 26, 2014

From Matthew J. Hall

 This needs to be in a physical form that fits into a back pocket to be taken out more often than not and read.



From the Depths and Through the Madness

From Matthew J. Hall

 This needs to be in a physical form that fits into a back pocket to be taken out more often than not and read.



From the Depths and Through the Madness

Saturday, May 10, 2014

A Good Poem



I was asked,
“When do you know you have written a good poem?”
Oh, the question
I have yet to answer.
I don't know. I haven't written one yet.

Bad poetry is easy to spot,
but a good one
takes time to read, ingest,
digest.- whereas,
a bad one burns
the stomach
and no amount
of antacid, Pepto
or Prilosec
will cure it.

A good poem
makes the poet go mad
looking for
the right word
-not any word-
the perfect word,
torn from the bone
and placed on the plate
to be devoured,
filling the gut.

Yet still needing to
mirror life,
mundane...exciting,
mediocre...explosive!

A good poem,
to the poet,
is as evasive as
The Flying Dutchman,
Elvis or
D.B. Cooper.

A good poem
is best created at night (so says Hank)
anything else is like
running naked through a shopping mall.
It is best created
with a warm buzz
of beer,
whiskey
or cheap homemade wine.
The lack of either creates MADNESS.
The surfeit creates
beauty.

A good poem
rips the heart out,
mends the soul,
exposes the truth
and exaggerates
the
mundane.


© Charles Scott 2014

A Good Poem



I was asked,
“When do you know you have written a good poem?”
Oh, the question
I have yet to answer.
I don't know. I haven't written one yet.

Bad poetry is easy to spot,
but a good one
takes time to read, ingest,
digest.- whereas,
a bad one burns
the stomach
and no amount
of antacid, Pepto
or Prilosec
will cure it.

A good poem
makes the poet go mad
looking for
the right word
-not any word-
the perfect word,
torn from the bone
and placed on the plate
to be devoured,
filling the gut.

Yet still needing to
mirror life,
mundane...exciting,
mediocre...explosive!

A good poem,
to the poet,
is as evasive as
The Flying Dutchman,
Elvis or
D.B. Cooper.

A good poem
is best created at night (so says Hank)
anything else is like
running naked through a shopping mall.
It is best created
with a warm buzz
of beer,
whiskey
or cheap homemade wine.
The lack of either creates MADNESS.
The surfeit creates
beauty.

A good poem
rips the heart out,
mends the soul,
exposes the truth
and exaggerates
the
mundane.


© Charles Scott 2014