Thorbart Presents Poetry by Thorb

In the time of now   south garden
we all think to be ourselves
then like all the ones before
for sure a thought 
awakens new dreams of hope
nope      south garden
or not like a rope dangling    
off the limb of an old oak
fate finds fear in the heart
like rot or a fungus can start
if weakness prevails.



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Show Time




A flash of light fills the air,
tension fills the gloom,
a roar erupts above the cares,
in that smoky star filled room.

Lady Luck picked up her gloves,
then bid a fond farewell,
Mother Nature spun a tale,
yet none who heard could tell.

Above the sound of broken glass,
a whistle could be heard,
below the pitch of sunken fears,
the stage set looked absurd.

Cold turns into hot,
food turns into rot,
harmless fun to tragedy,
a metaphoric parody.

This smoky room so full of light,
shadows all the stars,
it fills their lives with emptiness,
giving freedom behind bars.

So let’s have a round for old time’s sake,
when up was not so down,
when flying high was in the sky,
not lying on the ground.

Above the sound of laughter,
with a buzzing in my ear,
I thought I heard you crying,
or was it choking on your beer.

Days pass into nights,
wrongs turn into rights,
summer sun to snow,
eventually we’ll go.

Within the roaring silence,
no whispers could be heard,
when a lightning flash of darkness,
smothered every word.

Lady Luck put on her coat and
turned the other way,
Mother Nature picked up the tab and
then refused to pay.



The stars began to cluster,
hearing sounds that they all know,
putting spoons on every table,
to taste the fresh clean snow.

Up turns into down,
white turns into brown,
loving sighs to cries,
hello becomes good-bye.

Well here we are once again,
looking at our sins,
you and I both know now,
they start where we begin.

In times like this, I look beyond,
the room that I am in,
to see if someway else is clear,
to help us all to win.

Lady Luck flagged down a cab,
to quickly leave the scene,
Mother Nature laughed out loud,
still sounding very mean.

Days pass into nights,
wrongs turn into rights,
summer sun to snow,
eventually we’ll go.

Thorb/79

all rights reserved for permission to purchase the use of this or other art



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here is another random poem.






March 30th




Too much clutter in my life is an excuse to not get down to it.

That's what she said on the radio

I just keep procrastinating my way to the grave

no time because of clutter.

no projects getting done.

One by one is the way to do it

one by one they'll all get done

one by one until we're through with it

one by one, then have some fun.

							                                                                                                          

 


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