We play our games
Though we’re not beat
For coin and glory
World’s at our feet
The stage is set
All take a seat
From far and wide
To see the feat
Embrace and grin
Opponents meet
Like friend’s encounters
Out on the street
Our die is cast
And luck we greet
We play our game
Though we’re not beat
About time
Time to go
Time to stay
Enough time
Need more time
Grandfather time
Old man time
Make time
Save time
Find time
Waste time
Lose time
Time back
Times gone forward
Keeping time
Telling time
Lost in time
Past time
Special time
Me time
Alone time
Sexy time
A bad time
Fun times
Good times
The best of times
The worst of times
Our time
Your time
Just in time
Infuriating acts of chemical rebellion
Refusing to mingle and react
And when they do going in the wrong way
The wrong product
The wrong side of the equilibrium
Days wasted, scarce resources
Gone in a puff of smoke, cloud of steam
Left to blow away
Lost to the breeze
Like the motivation I once had
Gone for good
Drinking milk from fridge
Curious taste, have to spit out
Must have gone off so
#
Running out of plans
Have to think up a new scheme
Better be quite good
#
“Halt at the stop sign”
I ignore the driving tester
He is not calm now
I once met a fellow named Sam
Who thought of himself as a sham
He went to and fro
Asking who’d know
“Just what kind of man I am?”
#
There was an old lady called Jill
Who left lots of booze in her will
Her eldest boy Jake
So much friends he did make
And they all came to drank up their fill
#
I once knew a butcher named Dave
Who was fond of a rant and a rave
He’d come out of his shop
And the people would stop
As he shouted how much more they’d save
Gods of ink and paper, here my prayer
Guide my work safely through your clutches
Prevent tears and ink smudges
Preserve the colour of pictures
Keep the paper order intact
Every word in its place
Every figure with its caption
For thine is the inkjet and the laser
And save us from the machinations of the PDF maker
So that our careful formatting may not be undone
And my words brought to their eternal rest
Within your cellulose heaven
Far from virus and corrupting word updates
Amen
Stately procession
Dignified signs of force
Yet powered by the basic elements
At the mercy of the wind and tide
Moving with slow grandeur
No noise save for the creak of wood
And the billow of sail
Relics of a bygone age
Out of date
But not forgotten
Like a faithful old horse, or tired hunting dog
Maintained long past usefulness
A labour of love
Retained as a memory
Of a simpler time, long past
A time when sail ruled the world
I see yet barely notice
Speckles on the grey concrete
Red, turning to dark brown
Blood, long since congealed
#
I wonder what was its story
What drama does it tell?
There is a large splash
Followed by a trickle
What does that mean?
#
Did he survive? How bad was he injured?
Was he drunk? Did he have help?
All these questions, yet no answers
Just the mystery left by the traces
The mysterious speckles on the ground
joe2poetry 