Found Fortune on the Way Home

 

Walking, at 3 am, in the land of

Bathtub Mary, low rent and cockroach colonies;

I find a 10 dollar bill.

I pick it up, smile and know

that tomorrow I eat.

© Charles Scott 2014

Found Fortune on the Way Home

 

Walking, at 3 am, in the land of

Bathtub Mary, low rent and cockroach colonies;

I find a 10 dollar bill.

I pick it up, smile and know

that tomorrow I eat.

© Charles Scott 2014

Poets I Like

I have finally started to add to the Poets I Like tab. Check it out now and periodically. I will be adding to it as time allows.


© Charles Scott 2014

Poets I Like

I have finally started to add to the Poets I Like tab. Check it out now and periodically. I will be adding to it as time allows.


© Charles Scott 2014

Tinnitus

 

It's 1am

and I feel compelled

to write a poem.

In the distance

a train sings it's

lonely song.

I imagine it is

going to some place

I haven't been.

Maybe Denver,

Omaha or,

Frigid Fork something

or other.

It's taking coal to the

power plant.

No adventure in that.

The train cries off

into the distance,

and I am left with

silence and this damned

ringing in my ears.

© Charles Scott 2014

Tinnitus

 

It's 1am

and I feel compelled

to write a poem.

In the distance

a train sings it's

lonely song.

I imagine it is

going to some place

I haven't been.

Maybe Denver,

Omaha or,

Frigid Fork something

or other.

It's taking coal to the

power plant.

No adventure in that.

The train cries off

into the distance,

and I am left with

silence and this damned

ringing in my ears.

© Charles Scott 2014

One Day in the Park

 

People walking by

as I sit and watch,

my super power,

reading of minds,

kicks in.

An old man,

with a stern face

is thinking about

how he shouldn't have answered

that email from the

deposed king from Africa.

Now he's out $200.00!

And his bank account is closed.

A lady walking her

shizu, wishes the

damn dog would crap

so she can get home

to watch American Idol.

That was an easy one.

She was holding a plastic bag.

A lady in a long skirt

and pentecostal bun

is fretting over the idea that,

any day now, the government

will force her to get micro chipped.

She sent money for a prayer cloth

to a televangelist.

A homeless man

talking to himself,

has all sorts of crazy shit

going on in his head....

He's nuts!

A cheap bottle of whiskey

will quiet those voices later on.

This goes on for hours;

a suicide case

waiting to happen.

A couple of frat boys

hoping no one finds out

their love for each other.

A Chinese man

who I can't understand

(all super powers have limits)

An old widower

wishing death would come soon

so he could see his love.

A banker and a drug dealer

thinking about one thing:

Money.

All of these people

have one thing in common:

Life.....

© Charles Scott 2014

One Day in the Park

 

People walking by

as I sit and watch,

my super power,

reading of minds,

kicks in.

An old man,

with a stern face

is thinking about

how he shouldn't have answered

that email from the

deposed king from Africa.

Now he's out $200.00!

And his bank account is closed.

A lady walking her

shizu, wishes the

damn dog would crap

so she can get home

to watch American Idol.

That was an easy one.

She was holding a plastic bag.

A lady in a long skirt

and pentecostal bun

is fretting over the idea that,

any day now, the government

will force her to get micro chipped.

She sent money for a prayer cloth

to a televangelist.

A homeless man

talking to himself,

has all sorts of crazy shit

going on in his head....

He's nuts!

A cheap bottle of whiskey

will quiet those voices later on.

This goes on for hours;

a suicide case

waiting to happen.

A couple of frat boys

hoping no one finds out

their love for each other.

A Chinese man

who I can't understand

(all super powers have limits)

An old widower

wishing death would come soon

so he could see his love.

A banker and a drug dealer

thinking about one thing:

Money.

All of these people

have one thing in common:

Life.....

© Charles Scott 2014

New Apartment

Another rainy winter day in the O.C.

Dad and I, and one of my friends, the friend with a truck

and a need for a six pack of beer and a little crystal,

move the little furniture we own

(all Salvation Army chic with previous owners dead skin and lost change)

into our new apartment off of 19^th street Costa Mesa.

We get done quickly.

All of our shit is wet.

We're wet.

The dust mites are wet.

Speedy (the pick up friend)

tells us he has to go. After seeing him pick at his face

I knew it

wouldn't be long.

As far as tweakers  go, he is one of the better ones.

I head to my new room. A room like all the others;

painted white, nicotine stained curtains

and a view of some other apartment.

I open the window as a police helicopter passes over.

Dad calls me to the living room.

I sit down on our new couch,

thinking about how many dust mites I am crushing;

Dad hands me a brown paper bag.

I open the bag and find a quarter bag inside.

Ignoring the surreal moment

of a father handing his fifteen year old son a bag of dope,

I open the quarter, raise it to my nose and take a big sniff.

Damn Dad, that is some good smelling bud!

Dad reaches into his pocket,

pulls out a bowl and hands it to me.....Load it up.

That moment it hits me,

I am about to get high with my dad!

I load it, light it and pass it to Dad.

He takes a long toke, holds it in

and then lets out a cumulus cloud

of spent smoke.

We load it a few more times.

I start to feel the familiar heaviness

of a good buzz.

I forget about the dust mites.

I forget about my dad

and I enjoy the moment.

© Charles Scott 2014

New Apartment

Another rainy winter day in the O.C.

Dad and I, and one of my friends, the friend with a truck

and a need for a six pack of beer and a little crystal,

move the little furniture we own

(all Salvation Army chic with previous owners dead skin and lost change)

into our new apartment off of 19^th street Costa Mesa.

We get done quickly.

All of our shit is wet.

We're wet.

The dust mites are wet.

Speedy (the pick up friend)

tells us he has to go. After seeing him pick at his face

I knew it

wouldn't be long.

As far as tweakers  go, he is one of the better ones.

I head to my new room. A room like all the others;

painted white, nicotine stained curtains

and a view of some other apartment.

I open the window as a police helicopter passes over.

Dad calls me to the living room.

I sit down on our new couch,

thinking about how many dust mites I am crushing;

Dad hands me a brown paper bag.

I open the bag and find a quarter bag inside.

Ignoring the surreal moment

of a father handing his fifteen year old son a bag of dope,

I open the quarter, raise it to my nose and take a big sniff.

Damn Dad, that is some good smelling bud!

Dad reaches into his pocket,

pulls out a bowl and hands it to me.....Load it up.

That moment it hits me,

I am about to get high with my dad!

I load it, light it and pass it to Dad.

He takes a long toke, holds it in

and then lets out a cumulus cloud

of spent smoke.

We load it a few more times.

I start to feel the familiar heaviness

of a good buzz.

I forget about the dust mites.

I forget about my dad

and I enjoy the moment.

© Charles Scott 2014