"Four Poems for a Buck"~ A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

Poetry: Verse About A Would Be Poet

"Four Poems for a Buck" 

Once again this broken down poet is out of luck

He and his old pick-up truck

He and his rambling mind and this fading of time

Still and silent is he, the mountain; buried beneath

Burnt out blues, delivered by run down fools

The lost of his literary tools

Jumbled words stall once again, this fall

The rustling of the winds

Roses bled dry, stuffed in a flask

The death of his Genie in that bottle of glass

Hopes and dreams, forgotten schemes denied

Searching for love; but yet, he never asked or even tried

Pill pop penned with out stopping

But yet never a cigarette to be lit

Once more, pictures shot and stored

Living this life was such a chore

For fate and destiny have played their roles

But just now, they have decided it

That final slice, how lovers wrestled

With vim and vigor, vinegar and wine

These words fell upon, Death's ears

The receipt-ant, colder then ice

His tears turned into, ice

Scribblings upon paper

In a forgotten study

He lies there bloody cold

Amongst the shattered glass, and the mold

Stained Blood Red, by the wine

No final dance

No friendship ring

No way out

No way to win

His mansion crumbling

The fumbling of his words

She never heard

His attempts detoured

Just he and his scribblings

He and his dreams

His memories, of

Forgotten scenes

At last, a will and testament

Is found, amongst the clutter

Every word he ever muttered

Scribed in blood

Covered with crumbs of bread and butter

I bequeath to you, my only daughter

Every word I have ever uttered

I truly loved your rotten mother

She this only Gal, lives a life of a swell

From poverty she came

Richly with out shame

From loving words her Father uttered

Selling them only, one by one

The job would never get done

So she sells them time and time again

Four poems for a dollar

A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

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"A Tulip is Only, But a Flower"~ A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

Poetry: Reflections about Pro Life in Nature

"A Tulip is Only, But a Flower"

As pretty maids wait in rows, their twists of fate unfold
So then do the desires of these newly conceived flowers
They burst from bulbs and/or sprout from seeds
They proceed on the grounds of mankind's turf
From around and about a dead man's tomb

Or in their mothers womb, our earth
Their budding tells the tale of life's rebirth
Their only worth to be a blessing for the bees
They perfume our world and bring forth new seed
Bright yellows, dark reds, brilliant whites, and deep purples

Accented with stems of green, fresh air is being born
Straight towards the heavens the air, it is sent
Fragile tiny cups, with tales yet to be unfolded
With broken handles gone, no shelf to be put upon
Banishment now made, only lawns of green are seen

When reviled, their scene becomes so serene
So vital they are but, yet when plucked
It becomes so final, they die
Deep within nectar was lain there, inside
Waiting to be supped up by cheery little butterflies

Busy bees and humming birds
Or by those pesky flies use to dinning on turds
Within them lies a mystery, a great debate
By accident, design, or fate
They were seeded and put into play

But, now the ripping of the petals torn, we love them not
Who willed them here, and who decides their fate
Feared  by us, hated by us, and ashamed they made us, its now too late
They whispered, they shouted, let us out, let us be, let us grow
But, no we'll de-seed and have it our way, it is after all our time to live

Ripped from their beds alive, confused and in pain
You tossed us into their bloody metal tray
And then we all are betrayed to the compost heap
What force commanded us to come and grow
The two lips of God, human desires, or evil unseen

It matters not, we will all be feasted upon by  the worms
A Rose is but, a prickly tease
A Danny Lion roars for sure
Because he is just a weed
And Baby's Breath is what? Is not

Another choice played out , how many do we get?
Bounced into play, on bending knees and yet the ball was dropped
So  a tulip is, but a flower
And the oaths of men are, but words
When pulled; they all lie in the dirt, and are lain to waste


A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

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"Castle Home"~ A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

Poetry: The Poet is Again Forced to Move On

"Castle Home"

As King I rule here alone

In my chambered bed

Once again in a palace

I can not call my own

Lost in this world of

The living dead

 Bodies without souls

Lives without gold

Eyes that have grown

Cold and still

Bones aching and brittle

Life here is such a riddle

My temple now

My own home

 I am be twigged you see

Whiddled down from a mighty tree

 By haunting faces of

Clowns and their frowns

 My princes they worry and fear

The princess her time is near

 Our Queen is under a spell

The Kingdom has bid me farewell

 Dark magic rages

Here in the middle ages

 Demons and Dragons

Crash the barricades

 The Draw has been put up

The Mote is a flame

 There is only one way in

And no way out

 Of this here Castle

When the drums of war

 Are sound

A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

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"To The End of All Time"~ A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

Poetry: Reflections on the Illusions of Love, When it is First Conceived

"To The End of All Time"

 

Till the heavens collide

When ashes are raise up

Till the very last day

This is how long I will love you my dear

I swear, I always will

That is what a lover; in love, might could say; if they believed it were true

For they never ever saw farther then the day at hand

This is why I believe they say that love is blind and often unkind

Their love only last until the other soul bleeds and reveals its needs

For when the endless giving ends

The realities sets in

Life is no longer the sweet dream or the fairy tale

Welcome here to the real world; my, dear

It takes tons of hard work and never ending time

To come to the conclusion; that this person

Is the One, and that they are right for you

That they are true

A life time of trying, crying,

Laughing and giving

Need I mention all of the forgiving

If you work at it no matter how rough it gets

This old road will stop giving you fits

But, beware my dear

To those who would  call it quits

One must not give up on these precious little snips

In ones little life; these bits and pieces will soon all add up

A lost love can and  will leave a bottomless pit

A hole in ones heart if you will not stop it

No matter how much one tries to cover it up

The camouflage always falls into that there hole

Tasteless and cold they will become; those kisses and that touch

Eyes may no longer see or reflect

These soft words spoken shall fall

Upon dead ears and the tears, they turn to lonely fears

True love!; now only true love, no matter how fleeting; will last

Through out ones life and to the end of all time

A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

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"Forgot-ton"~ A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

Poetry: Reflections of Disgust by Love Lost 

"Forgot-ton"

Look into your heart

 Through Its endless layers

Where I have been buried

Yet still I am,  alive
 By whatever evil

Being

Turn back the hands of time
To the beginning

Where love bloomed

Forget this doom

 Its gloom
This fake life, you

Have claimed 

And

Choose to sustain

One in which you, will not

Utter, my name

Utter my, name
Utter my Name!

Or even think of It
 Least you remember me
Your lover

Although I failed you somehow
Did not a chance remain?

To fix whatever damage, that was done

Blindsided by a big red truck

Swept away, like dirt upon the floor
Flung into the dung-heap

Did you, ever lose any sleep?
One day I was still your lover

And then the other

Forgotten

A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

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"The Hostess Wit The Most-Est"~ A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man

Poetry: Hostess Treats on the Sly

"The Hostess Wit The Most- Est"

 

The Hostess wit the Most- est

Said: my best-est buddy Chunk

As he looks at her

Chocolate swirls in his Sugar

Sugar coated brain

I told you my friends

He is

and 

He was

Strained

Know now; man, I would eat that up!

He said again, look at her leg’s

She’s got legs, man

And she knows how to use them

He said:

Dude I said: it’s a Cupcake 

With legs, it is, a

Dancing; chocolate; cup.. cake!

Cup cake does, me fine he said: 

Who, knows their cake?

You; my friend have chocolate

On your brain, you are strained

Look here comes another

Oh look! It’s Suzy Q with her pals!

Ho and Ho those silly little Ho’s

They are delic-e-ous man

With their creamy centers Dude!

 I said; they are chocolate treats

They are Sweets, he said

Na! Man they belong to, Sweets

Chunky D. Sweets, he laughed

That’s me man, that’s me

Chunky D. Sweets

I said, you are what you eat

Your a Hostess nut

Ding, Dong! He said, as

He grab his dong and yelled

Swell! 

Little miss, mini Muffins

I am no Twinkie

Although I may be

Yes; I am a little slinky

I believe you, are now

Wanting to be my

Delicious

My

Variety, of

Treats

by

Sinbad the Sailor Man

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"All of The Grey That Matters"~ By Sinbad the Sailor Man

Poetry: Reflections of a Suicide

"All of The Grey That Matters"

Red blood wine, and wasting time

Crying for; a love like yours and mine

One that will never be again

One that will never end

Rivers of tears

Seasoned with fears

A whisper of, Thees kissed 

That so desperately is missed

Elusive dreams and hints of

Scenes; that have since past

The terrors of those forgotten scenes

That.. will.. never.. be, again

Insights into what is in store

For a man floored; and in pain

He tries and tries and

Yet, he can not refrain

From these images of; his love

Sneaking around in his misery

He uses them, as you did him

He holds them; prisoners all

As he does you; just as in the past

The love, that wouldn't last

His heart is shattered like the crystal glass

Splintered by a high sped note; which forever sung

Whistling out in the barrel of a gun

Every little shard; falling hard, and wet

Discarded and then sent

To the dust cover floor

These shards, land in a spray 

With the Un sipped blood red wine

There they are, forever mixed 

With all the “Grey Matter”; that was

All that mattered, to the decease man

Forever mingled; with his life's blood

And the sweet red wine

Love that aged; too soon, upon the vine

                   

by

Sinbad the Sailor Man

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