jenny

jenny was a girl who lived on a hill i loved her once and i always will i loved her like a river a river so deep “stop following me, you disgusting creep” jenny was a girl who disappeared in the mist went to the city and became a feminist love is a street than can run one way but it still burns bright no matter what they say i look at the sunset and the midnight sky i will always love jenny until the day i die i loved jenny but she didn’t love me that is just the way it was meant to be i wrote this poem from the heart is it a “good” poem? - don’t start

a sad case

long ago and far away i had nothing much to say my head was largely void of thought and ambition i had not i cared not for wealth or fame or whether anyone knew my name my brain was not consumed by fire i had only one desire and that was never to be tossed with all the other damned and lost into society’s swirling deep and have to - earn my keep o my fellows, can you say who invented the working day? who put chains upon our souls and cast us in these rigid roles i should have lived on grass and seeds hidden in society’s weeds slept in benches, or in a box rather than endure the pox of rising every day at six to perform employment’s tricks in a cage of glass and steel lashed to mammon’s iron wheel the wheel once started, how to stop? turn, turn, until you drop like a feather into the abyss was there something that i missed?

white

last night i played chess with my brother he always played white he could never understand why he should not always play white he had one oreo cookie left on the board and i only had a chocolate chip cookie left he asked if i conceded and i did he suggested another game and i agreed, if i could play white he got up angrily and left the room outside, the red sox were playing the giants and a plane flew low overhead under a few thin clouds i wondered why i had returned to san francisco as it had changed so much from the days of ambrose bierce and jack london