im a poet

when i was young and in my prime the world was new and so unkind in this world we all shall pass, working and working trying to by some cheap gas to travel the country side far and near, to  go visit relatives and people  we hold dear.
through the interstates and road’s we shall go twsiting and turning to where  we don;t know , life is about travel or  maybe staying at home, might be with someone else or could be alone.
how many days shall we toil  in the mess just to pay bill’s or buy a new dress maybe some slipper’s  or  just a new car. why do we do it ? why not just say no! and walk where we all need to go, why not just ride a bike or roller skates or just hitch a ride to go where we may.
if you stop to look, and listen a bit, you would see that your money is all spent buying and paying for things you never see and ending up broke  just like me.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at .

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at What A Girl With PMS Can Do.

Had leathery skin from head to toe,
But way back then I didn’t know,
That horses had a thing called hair,
Like puppies, cats and also bears.

And then there were those big wide teeth,
And scales like armour underneath,
A tail as long as seven feet,
And why’s my pony eating meat?

It looked more like a dinosaur,
As there it crawled upon the floor,
Or floated quiet on the pond,
And when I called, would not respond.

But still I love my little horse,
Though now and then I feel remorse,
I introduced it to my cat,
And now my horse is getting fat.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Daddy Bought A Little Horse.

Well, here I am.
I never expected it to happen this soon,
but I passed away last weekend.

Stupid horse,
I told them I didn’t like horses,
too much power for an animal that gets spooked so easily.
But I blame it on the rattlesnake,
I hate them too,
so did the horse.

Stupid snake spooked the horse and it threw me.
The doctor says I died when I struck my head on a rock,
busted my head wide open, he says.
Well, maybe I did,
how would I know,
I’m dead.

What really gets my goat,
is lying in this box at what is supposed to be my funeral,
the celebration of my life,
with people remembering the ‘fine fellow’ I was.

Who are these people anyway?!
Someone must have got the eulogy mixed up with the funeral next door.
I hear someone talking,
but I don’t recognize his voice.

Who on earth is he talking about?
Is that supposed to be me?
“gentle spirit”
“giving and kind”,
“always caring for his fellow man”.

Horse-pucky!!
He doesn’t know me very well, does he?
Get someone up here who knows the real me.
Tell them what I was really like,
“lazy slob with no sex appeal”,
“cheap penny-pincher”,
“lousy dresser”.

Oh, well,
Let them have their day.
If they think better of me when I’m dead then when I was alive,
who’s it going to hurt?
Just so long as you know it ain’t so,
I guess that’s all that counts.

Hey, if you happen to be driving by the cemetery,
why not drop in for a visit,
and bring flowers.
I like orchids.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at I Passed Away Last Weekend.

Nothing seemed special, all was the same,
I looked a bit closer and saw something strange,
A black and white envelope there in the rack,
I scooped up the letter and then headed back.

The writing was neat, but my name was spelled wrong,
I write it quite short, but they spelled it quite long.
I opened the letter to see what it said,
And started to chuckle, for here’s what I read.

“My Own Dearest Dave, or whatever you’re called,
Homeowner, Tenant,” (I was really appalled),
“I have something special, so don’t go away,
I’m glad that I reached you, you’re lucky today.”

“I’ll give you some money, I’ll give you some fame,
You’ve nothing to lose, and all things to gain,
Just send twenty copies to all of your friends,
There’s nothing to buy and nothing to spend.”

“But if you don’t do this, you’ve no one to blame,
For bad luck will follow and drive you insane,
Your car will not start and you’ll have a flat tire,
Your house will get robbed and your cat will expire.”

I thought it was crazy, another big scam,
A gullible person is not what I am,
I’m nobody’s fool, nor easily swayed,
I ripped up the letter and threw it away.

My life is on track and I’m right on the mark,
I’d paint the town red if my car would just start,
I’m ready to party; (that guy was a liar),
Now what is the matter, I have a flat tire.

I flagged down a taxi and went on the town,
I found a great party and really got down,
I met a young lady and we did some kissing,
But when I got home, my TV was missing.

Now where is that cat, she was here when I left,
She’s hiding again, she is such a big pest,
Oh, that’s where she is, over there by the fire,
I think she is dead, my cat has expired.

I got into bed and thought of my day,
I had a great evening, doing it my way,
I thought of that letter with all of its rules,
I’m glad that my Mama did not raise a fool.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Chain Letter.

He left California and charged straight ahead,
To Lower Manhattan is where he was lead,
But ere he was granted his first interview,
Producers were tipped-off and everyone knew,
His act was so silly and really bizarre,
They wouldn’t audition the young Lochinvar.

Yet boldly he walked into Carnegie Hall,
And tried to astound them and tried to enthrall,
He made armpit noises and tried to impress,
(The day was quite sunny, but here I digress),
They dropped him in feathers and rolled him in tar,
‘Twas nearly the end of the young Lochinvar.

“I won’t be discouraged”, he told them that day,
And then made his mark as he waddled away,
With sticky black footprints of feathers and tar,
He walked to the corner and bought a guitar,
Thinking, “I will be wonderful, I will go far”,
But life would get worse for the young Lochinvar.

He took a few lessons, the Chet Atkins way,
With that and his armpit he started to play,
The audience booed him and tossed him outside,
He fell on his ass and it injured his pride,
And Lochinvar whispered, “Twere better by far,
Had I stayed with the armpit and scrapped the guitar.”

He went to a bar and he drank a few beer,
He thought it would help him and give him some cheer,
But all it did give him was heartburn and pain,
And from that day onward, was never the same,
He’d never be famous and never a star,
‘Twas the end of the line for the young Lochinvar.

He moved back to ‘Frisco and rented a room,
Was the height of the Hippies, with flowers in bloom,
At Ashbury Avenue, corner of Haight,
They thought he was wonderful, thought he was great,
Now people throw dollar bills into a jar,
It’s life in the ’60′s for young Lochinvar.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Young Lochinvar (A parody of the classic).

I like to play computer games

filled with blood and gore

mowing down my enemies

and beating the high score.

Its gaming that I aim to do

Its gaming I do best

I spend all day, I spend all night

with religious zest.

I’m not addicted, I’m not stuck

but just one more game.

I need to get some sleep this week

it is a crying shame.

I sit here staring fervently

punching my console

โ€˜tis 3 days gone since I did eat

my stomach is a hole.

My mother tells me of the past

when kids went out to play

but I’m in love with game console

and here I’m gonna stay.

It’s language I speak fluently

you would not want to hear

the verbiage that leaves my mouth

when I lose a game, oh dear!

Its gaming that I aim to do

the thing that I do best.

The last time that I left my room

I wont get off my chest.

I do have a vague memory

when I was three or four

Thatโ€™s when I got my game console,

last time I used my door.

I do fantastic socially

staring at my screen,

If I lose I do get mad

and swear some in-between.

An education I do get

a future I do see

’tis me and my computer games

and maybe some TV.

Dedicated to anonymous by Anthony of Poem Poem Poem

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Computer Addict.

I work at it with diligence
I take tremendous care
this idleness is tiring me
I have no time to spare.

I fend off work ferociously
there’s nothing I’d not dare
painstakingly and tediously
I sit here in my chair.

When sun goes down and day is gone
I sigh with great relief
I managed to do nothing
and stole time like a thief.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Work.

But sleep it skipped me, I get none.

My mind is running one big race.

My body slumps, canโ€™t keep pace.

Sleep wont find me in the night.

Restless slumber nerves so tight.

So I just lie here counting sheep.

It grows so dull, it makes one weep.

One wall over sleep did score

Caught my neighbor, hear him snore.

That rumbling snore it seals my fate.

It shakes my walls and keeps me wake.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at I can’t sleep!.