the topic of conversation
always ends up the same
it seems we’ve become
the experts on
ailments, aches and pains
which type of treatment
works for what
which drugs work best
for this or that
which ones leaves
us constipated
which ones will make
us splat
the when, where and what
of pooping
some say it’s a science
some say an art
which foods
give us gas
and how bad
it makes us fart
the one subject
that is guaranteed
of this there is no doubt
the person
not at the gathering
is the one the gossip
will be about
Category: Free Verse
~I’m No Poet~
I know the best
poetry is
suppose to live in
broken love,
death, regret,
and fear of facing
another tomorrow.
Those things
that drag emotion
across the heart,
or stab
you in the brain,
with
pain and
sorrow.
But has there ever been a poet
that’s not known
such tragedy,
has no knowledge of heartbreak,
been hurt or wronged
because he didn’t fit a mold.
Whose stomach
is always full,
never had to
sleep in the cold.
One that has loved
without regret
never had to beg
or borrow.
Call me a
presenter of possibilities
mediator of metaphor
encourager of exaggerations
implementor of imagination
or facilitator of fakery
but
I am no poet
~Modern Politics~
I'll keep searching
through
the rubble
and trash
trying to find
the answer that
perhaps
does not exist
thinking there has
to be someone
who can
make a difference
make a change
take a chance
to turn it
all around
though they
keep on
telling me
it’s futile to resist
I will never give in
Now That I’ve Reached a Certain Age (Part Two)
Now that I’ve reached a certain age
I worry that every bill
I get in the mail
could be the one
that tips the scale
that drops my accounts
below nil.
Even though
I’ve cut all the corners until
it’s now just a straight line
to the poor house
sliced the potatoes so thin
you can read the past due
notices through them
and still don’t have enough
left over to pay
attention or buy that
lottery ticket to salvation
Now That I’ve Reached a Certain Age
Now that I’ve reached
a certain age
I’m afraid
every ring of the phone
every knock on the door,
Might be telling me
someone ain’t on this earth
no more.
Dropped stone cold dead
while lying on the couch
watching reruns of NCIS.
Cops rummaging through,
the mess. Looking for clues,
of who did what and,
who knew who.
But a bit excited too
that maybe one of the kids
or the neighbor or
a stranger selling bibles,
Dropped by
just to say hi
and I end up
having an hour-long
talk
About how
my warranty has expired
or why I’m always
so tired anymore
Jerry Brotherton 