Poetry Corner – Jobless Masses

jan2-homeless

Jobless Masses

You, the jobless masses are the scum of the earth
The disease of life
The losers that roam the streets in perpetual hopelessness
Depressive, downtrodden, delusional, destitute
Why not kill yourselves?
Life would be so much easier

No more hanging out at the local Tim Hortons
Staring into the oblivion of your stale coffee
No more asking for change on the frigid streets, bumming a cigarette
No more harassing the good, hardworking people of society
No more taking advantage of those who deserved to get where they are
No more Airbnb-ing the local library

If only street cleaners could brush you up off the sides of the streets
along with all the other discarded trash
If only you were jailed or shot
for being a bane on the rest of us

Stop bothering us!
Leave us alone!
Go get a job!
Go shave that disgusting beard!
Go take a shower!
Go write a resume!
Just leave me the fuck alone!

You’re the acne on a flawless face
The scar on a perfect body
The blemish on pristine skin
The callouses on soft hands
The dirt under our fingernails
The open sore on an infected wound
The herpes, syphilis and gonorrhea of the city
The waste running through the sewers

These thoughts enter my mind vicariously
As I look at the busy masses walking by
And I wonder
When will someone notice?

BLOG-Bits: Ramblings of a Madman – The Pub

BLOG-Bits
Ramblings of a Madman
the-flask
The Pub
10.23.19
    Nothing like a cool pint on a cold day… Sitting in a warm, dimly lit pub, in prohibition era red velvet chairs. With the first sip you can forget your worries… And the pub suddenly becomes your home: the dirty table, the stained chair, the dusty lamp. You could live here. The waiter is suddenly your best friend. The previously loud and annoying resident is suddenly a friendly neighbour. The loud noises are suddenly welcome. The smell of chicken wings is suddenly akin to the feeling of an organism. An overall sense of elation comes over you like there’s not a thing wrong in the world. All you worries, anxiety, depression – poof – gone. I could kiss my neighbour right now: a bearded hipster. This feeling feels like it could last forever. Is this how men become alcoholics? Did it all start with good intentions – a stress relief, a therapy, something to set the world straight? If I were dying I’d like to got out after a few pints. I wouldn’t be afraid of death. I would welcome it with open arms, like my mustachioed companion. Why can’t I always feel like this? I never want this feeling to end. Weed is good too. Why don’t they serve weed-infused beer pints? They’re missing a good business opportunity. Maybe I should start one: a pub that sells weed pints. I’d make a ton of money. Then I could buy as many pints as I like.

Poetry Corner – Fall

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Fall

Fall is here
Now taunting us
At first bringing hints of hope
Then encompassing us in its brutal embrace
Like icy cold fingers grasping and gripping
Exhilarating and depressing at once
Ominously reminding us winter
is just around the corner
Fall is gone