Risky Business

poem by: Greg Woods
Written on Jan 12, 2014

Although at times I've tried, I've never been much at sing'n.
Not even in the shower,
No matter what the hour,
You'll never hear my voice a ring'n.

So I've given up try'n, although some songs I know'm,
To tell you my stories,
I put'm down in poems.

This way I don't have to yodel, or hold a note too long.
Though I go through a lot of paper,
And the lyrics ain't real strong.

But in the middle of the night, I can switch on the light,
And jot a few lines down you see.
And though my throat it may long, to bellow out a song,
I just write with my book upon my knee.

Like a silent prayer, half asleep with messed up hair,
I'll quietly write a thought that came to me.
If that thought leaves me unsettled, I'll switch on the kettle,
And keep writing till the daylight I can see.

It's amazing how by morning, even though I may be yawning,
And getting drowsy on the edge of my bed.
I'll never get back to sleep, until I dig real deep,
And find a solution in my head.


So this morning as I write, about a bar room fight,
And the bitterness that alcohol can cause.
The kettle's whistling loud, but I'm smothered in a shroud,
And my pen upon the paper it did pause.

For I was miles away, and years too I must say,
Swinging my punches left and right.
Guzzling on my grog, like a drought ridden frog,
The pen and paper by now were out of sight.

Then there was a crash, or more like a smash,
And it jolted me back here again,  
I jumped up and crossed the floor, and opened up the door,
And there he was standing in the rain

He looked pretty sore, the bloke who lived next door,
And he screamed as he shook his fist at me.
"Can't you stop your kettle sing'n, my ears are really ring'n.
They've been ring'n since twenty five past three".

So I said "I'm sorry mate,- no I'll get the gate,
You sure you wouldn't like a cup of tea?"
He mumbled as he left, something about a pest,
And I couldn't help thinking he meant me.

So I think it might be better, if I just write a letter,
Instead of this poetry on my knee.
At least then the rhyme, wouldn't take me back in time,
And it wouldn't be so risky making tea.























 

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Janet Vick commented:
You tell quite a story and so glad the neighbor didn't reinstate the bar fight you were thinking on. How was the tea? Take care Janet

 

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