The Next 6

The next six poems
That’s the gist of it,
Give me any simple topic
And I’ll write it with spit,
Slapped on my hands
Like your baseball player,
Just throw me a simple topic
And I’m the rhyme slayer.




Who can turn away from
Any sparkle or flash,
It must be in our human nature
Just like when we hear a splash,
We automatically turn
To see what was the cause,
Of that special sound or look
That gave us a pause.



Well, that’s a curious one,
Everyone ponders it
Under the sun,
How long will I live
Upon this earthly stage?
Did I live before
During some golden age?

You could try a crystal ball
And speak to a spirit,
Although, you can never be sure
Did they really hear it,
Your specific spoken question
Maybe there was a loud horn,
And the next thing you know
That spirit is channeling porn!

It might just be better
That you stop worry’in,
Pay attention to the little ones
Like mice, they are scurry’in,
All over your house
When they come to visit,
You will forget about your age
No one will ask, what is it?



I never encountered before,
Though I surely did read about
Them, in some old book at the store,
A tale of suspense
Something mysterious regarding love,
Should the protagonist make a move?
Or would he need a little shove.

That is the realm of uncertainty
Where doth the protagonist lean?
After all, he represents each one of us
Unencountered, or never unseen,
Which, in of itself is confusing
The negative posing as known,
With the tenterhooks grabbing some flesh
Dear protag discovers he is overthrown.



It’s just a part of aging,
How weathered the thing
How common the raging,
These are the influences
Affecting Bob and Gina,
Emotions and responses
Develop the patina.



Well, that’s just the thing,
It all depends on
What I did bring,
To the party, the game
Or simply the get together,
That will determine how easily
I can relocate,
In any kind of weather.



Well, I couldn’t resist,
It had been two months
Since I had been kissed,
I could have sworn that
She came on to me,
Although she immediately
Told me to jump out of a tree.

Mixed messages
Are often the cause,
That get women
To bare their claws,
And she went on to say
That clearly, I had missed,
Her very clear communication;
She didn’t want to be kissed.

To defend myself
I told the jury, she was so pretty,
And I’m just a simple guy
Like Walter Mitty,
And Bobs yer uncle
I’m just a fella named George,
On the rare chance that I can get a kiss
All I can think of, is Gorge.