Reminds me of a doctor I used to work with in a teaching hospital. A resident would put their hand on the patients bed. He would snap at the resident to stand back. If he had a ruler he would have likely snapped it upon the residents wrist. Years later I saw this doctor with his wife outside of the hospital at the airport. Naturally I said hello. His wife smiled sweetly. I extended my hand, she accepted. He said smugly, “This is wife.”
Was he rude? Was he on the spectrum of autism? Was he socially awkward? Who knows? I was not fulfilled with this answer. I said, my name is Keri… I’m sorry I didn’t quite get your name? She replied… but now the name is lost in my memory.
This is wife.
Willie Nelson is a jack of all trades. He even writes a poem from time to time. Getting older can be downright depressing. The golden years aren’t so golden. They can be the coolest, most uncomfortable winter you’ve ever experienced. But you can also stop to look at the beauty in the snow.
Willie Nelson, I love you!!
Happy 84th birthday to one of the coolest men out there!!
….and thank you Both Kinds of Music in LA on KCHUNG radio for providing lots of Willie Nelson for our listening pleasure this morning.
Now for a poem from Willie himself-
“I have outlived my pecker.”
The Penis Poem–by Willie Nelson
My nookie days are over,
My pilot light is out.
What used to be my sex appeal,
Is now my water spout.
Time was when, on its own accord,
From my trousers it would spring.
But now I’ve got a full time job,
To find the f***in’ thing.
It used to be embarrassing,
The way it would behave.
For every single morning,
It would stand and watch me shave.
Now as old age approaches,
It sure gives me the blues.
To see it hang its little head,
And watch me tie my shoes!!
Well as hard as the truth hurts A LOT, I recently found on Instagram today that my work had been stolen by a more popular poet who has been published. It’s my own fault. I never did any copywriting. Still it stings like a bitch! So this website will only be for my own thoughts on others work, posts of work I like, and thoughts on other things. No more of my poetry, nor stories until they have been published though for my own protection.
Fuck you to the guy who blazingly stole my work. I never realized you took pieces of my poem and posted it on your Facebook claiming it to be your own. Especially since a woman had what was “your words” tattooed on her. You’re a phony…and those were actually a woman’s words to begin with… not a mans.
Nobody likes a thief.
Just goes to show. Protect your work people.
I apologize to any follows who liked my poetry and/or stories in the past. I will keep you all updated on any published work in the future.
The wind howls in the cool wet darkness
The rains ease graciously
The heavy truck door is forced shut by the storm’s breeze
Only to be stopped from latching shut
by my knee…
to my brain
The knee burns
Maybe it bleeds
Not enough to soak through my jeans
Hey, you got any cash??
I need a hotel room tonight, and I ain’t got no money.
No cash here.
Chocolate, Citris, Almonds.
Vanilla, Oak, and Apples.
An overly talkative checker
You two find everything okay?
Oh wait, you aren’t together…
Well, that’s awkward…!!
Now is your chance….
You can crack open your breath mints before you talk to her if you want.
The poor twenty something froze.
His tennis shoes probably a gift from mom,
shortly before she became an empty nester.
All he wanted was his nutella snack,
and his ice breakers mints.
He fumbles to get through the line.
Still he does not turn back.
Back to the cool dank night
Dog kibble scattered on the ground.
dark to light
light to dark
Well, NOW can I have money.
Sores cover her pale face
Short hair knotted sporadically atop her head
No, you cannot have money.
I am not your ATM.
The dog eats her kibble
off the concrete.
A sense of entitlement
used by instability.
Drunk off the overindulgence of humanity.
-K. K. Powell
We are all adults.
We are all held accountable for our own actions.
When the shit storm hits it does not pick and chose who it hits…
It hits everyone.
Shoulder to shoulder.
The truth was…
you were never really all that good at stoking the fire.
to never reach a flame.
To your disdain.
The spark lay in her ground-
with only a smoulder.
The cloak was your last magic act.
just to hold her.
She lets go.
Little did she know…
The foundation was shoddy.
The pipes fell apart.
It was just the start…
Waves of water spray.
a wet blanket.
How could she stay?