Poetic Tips To Writing Your Autobiography

Let me state for the record that I haven’t written my autobiography and you’d probably be smart not to listen to me

because you continue to read this missive promising a positive evaluation of your life by simple grammatical manipulation, it’s time for exploration

What is the one thing you want people to remember you for? One glorious achievement or more? Begin your tome with tales of yore

when you sailed the seas of life and road the winds of strife, and how you were a good husband, or wife

Make sure to save space for those favorite songs that always took you to another place

Let the world know how unique you are even though you’re not famous or a movie star

another consideration is when you go on a writing spree who do you think your readership will be?

don’t forget to share your friends and family in this autobiography if you don’t want people to think your writing a hagiography

Paean to a Pipe

Since ancient days man has puffed on pipes

seeking knowledge and solace

with all types

from wood to pumice

from steel to glass

from copper to brass

a receptacle for opium tars

a way to smoke grass

under the stars

pipe dreams throughout history

have kept a lot of people happy

The Fickle Gods Own Bartender

600 words –

“I’ll have a scotch on the rocks when your done serving those sissies at the end of the bar!” a belligerent customer bellowed.

Willie the bartender glanced over his shoulder at the loudmouth on the other end of the bar while continuing to serve the two men beer and pretzels.

He’d seen his type before. A mean drunk. Rather than violently kick him out, which he had every right to do, Willie walked over to him and looked him straight in the eye. Something in his stare caused the rowdy customer to instantly calm down.

“You sure you haven’t had enough for the night buddy?” he asked. The would-be customer slid off the bar stool and muttered that he was taking his business elsewhere as his unsteady legs propelled him towards the door.

In Willie’s world, the bar was a waiting room for restless souls, not yet gone on to any reward, and not likely too either. The tortured souls who sat at his bar looked for advise and solace. They were confused and he found that most were looking for heaven. They came to the bar to learn about their next step in the process of passing from one life to another.

They told him their life stories over shots of tequila and whiskey; wondering why their drinks didn’t make the misery of this alcoholic purgatory disappear.

Then there were those carefree souls who laughed and partied through the endless nights, calling Willie, “St. Peter,” and begging him to escort them through invisible Pearly Gates. But it wasn’t Willie’s job. All he was supposed to do was listen and offer his two-cents worth while serving endless alcoholic drinks.

Long ago Willie realized his karma was damaged beyond repair. That was why the gods (there had to be more than one) put him where he was. A lifelong alcoholic who drank himself to death and was resurrected as a messenger between worlds. What irony. The gods sense of humor was impossible for Willie to understand. He was a hostage for eternity.

One day all that changed.

The god of chaos sent other deities spinning through dimensions and worlds unborn, in a burst of cosmic energy that tore souls loose from the places they were stuck. Adrift, the souls turned to space, eagerly looking for new landings. New starts.

Willie found himself on earth again. It was 1923 and he owned a whiskey distillery that supplied gangsters from Chicago to New York. As he watched the last truck pull out, packed with crates of his signature booze, Willie had a nagging feeling that the good times weren’t going to last. He was rich beyond his wildest dreams, but business was just too good to walk away from. Besides, he felt alcohol was part of his destiny. His rise to glory.

Willie was on to something. He just didn’t realize it then.

When the mobsters attacked his distillery one night he was killed playing a game of poker with his two bodyguards. His suddenly rich wife buried him quietly.

Dimensions shifted. Alternate universes collided. The gods fought for time and space. New worlds were springing up in far away solar systems. Galaxies groaned as solar systems stretched and contracted, collecting stars like seashells on earth’s beaches.

And Willie found himself pouring a beer from behind a long mahogany bar while listening to a sad soul’s story. He sighed because he knew it was going to take a very long time.

The gods shrill laughter echoed throughout the heavens, and meteors continued to scream through outer space on a mission to mock mankind.

Anthropomorphism Blues

She sang like a nightingale to a murder of crows in the back rows while the rest of the audience froze

Singing those ‘ol Anthropomorphism Blues!

The chorus of cool cats backing her up took their que from people acting like animals in a zoo

Singing those ‘ol Anthropomorphism Blues!

Lion-hearted heroes chasing dastardly chickens in a deadly race while one weasel tears up the place with his bad-ass base

Singing those ‘ol Anthropomorphism Blues!

No one’s messing with the Monkey’s who are putting together their own blues band with a lead vixen vocalist for a one-night stand

Singing those ‘ol Anthropomorphism Blues!

The earthy sound of a trio of piglets grunting out the blues really brings out appreciative mews and moos

Singing those ‘ol Anthropomorphism Blues!

Pay Attention To Me!

The homeless man cries out “Pay attention to me” to a passerby that cannot see his misery!

The dictator demands “Pay attention to me!” or suffer indignities in spite of your pleas

Babies cries translated into “Pay attention to me!” brings good parents running instantly

When a dog barks and wags his tail happily he’s telling you to “Pay attention to me!”

Sometimes a person’s eyes reveal a hidden plea asking you to “Pay attention to me!” hopefully and silently.

The poor in the world dream of equality and ask governments ruled by the wealthy to “Pay attention to me!

In reality we all have an angel and a devil saying “Pay attention to me!” and who we pick is who we’ll be.

The Butterfly’s Epiphany

50 words –

Between wakefulness and awareness the cocoon shifts in expectation

It’s growing body struggling to emerge full blown, ready to greet the earth and sky

It does not pause to look back at it’s origin or try to look into the future

The butterfly’s epiphany is living in the moment

I’m Waiting

You know I’m waiting for Armageddon to come and go

because we’re heading there

Climatologists warn there’ll be nowhere to go

and we won’t be able to breath the air

I’m waiting for America to experience an awakening

in civility

A season of reasoning

that’ll restore our nations stability

I’m waiting for a new era of hope

when all races come together in peace

and nationalities learn to cope

and all of the hostilities cease

I’m waiting for a new day

behind my computer

looking for a positive pathway

a self-appointed troubleshooter

I’m waiting to ride into the sunset

to see a stairway to heaven

to learn the mysteries of the internet

and to spiritual progression

And, I’ll keep waiting…