Not all of my poems are sad, you’re just reading them with the wrong eyes.

I filled a notebook recently. One I’ve been working on for a while. It’s the second notebook I’ve ever filled, front cover to back cover, with poems. Pretty good feeling. Now I need a new notebook. But here’s a couple poems though.



Simmer down,

young gun.

No reason to shoot the horse

before it’s dead.

They’ve got all the expensive china,

don’t go breaking it.

Your just

roaring to go

aren’t you?

Don’t go

looking into the eye

of eternity,

it might

dull your colors.

The horse has races to run,

and the bull can be in the china shop

if he’s tame.

Simmer down.

Look around.



No bad days,


You got fish to catch,

things to do,

people to be,

art to make,


You’ve got things to do,

there’s no time for bad days.

It’d be one thing if it was

one bad day

every now and again.

Mr.Man, you haven’t just been having

bad days

have you?

No, you’ve strung together

bad WEEKS.

It’s not a good look,


Fish can’t bite your hook if you don’t cast it.

Can’t get anything done doing what your doing.

No bad days,




And they’ve got

your cock

in their hand,

and the roller coaster

is going upside down and sideways,

so what do you do?

Flowers bloom and the dogs are barking.

Snow flurries and whiskey.

Four bucks and forty cents

doesn’t get you much these days.

What bothers you?

I’ll tell you what bothers me.

We’re all damned

to hell.



Of course I think your pretty.

Me and a million men, if they ever met you.

But pretty,


hardly does you justice.

Pretty is just a word men say to women when their horny.

Pretty dies.

What you have, baby,

is something that’s not gonna die.


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