Addicted Till Death

Sleep sleep sleep away
take another pill
sleep sleep sleep all day

doctors of death
one could say
giving you more pills
day by day

watching you slowly die
i wont contest no more
i wont cry
as you knock on deaths door

stealers of life
giving you drugs
dealers of strife
legalized thugs

poem by Ernest Clary
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Smoking Gun

The old perverbial smoking gun
as they say
just for fun
I shot it one day

shot it into a tree
the sap began to seep
down on my knee
I began to weep

I thought I killed it dead
being a child
something in my head
just went wild

I'm glad it was a tree
and not a person
or I would forever be
in a prison

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poem by Ernest Clary
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Number Eighteen

She, s real tough and lean
her number is eighteen
when it comes to soccer
she, s no talker
its in her soul
to make another goal
when she, s on the field
she plays hard and doesnt yield
it was such joy
to see her take the ball from a big boy
when she kicked the ball
it soared past them all
without pause or toll
it went into the goal
she, s a little beauty queen
but on the field she, s real mean
she, s my little number eighteen

poem by Ernest Clary
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My Psychiatrist Is A Nut

My psychiatrist is a nut
ooh! his throat I'd like to cut
he gives me a script
tells me it'll be ok
these bills
he makes me pay
he shrills!
have a nice day
that nutjob better sleep with both eyes open
these pills
make me have a hard time copin
I want to jump up from this couch
and stab that slouch
ooh thrills!
he's such a quack
blood spills!
he better watch his back
theres nothing wrong with me
I'm normal as can be

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poem by Ernest Clary
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Old Time Yarns

Old time yarns
hunting fishing
building barns
I just love to hear them talk
how through ten foot of snow
to school they would walk
making moonshine
homemade wine
picking apples peaches and pears
tractor pulls
at the county fairs
how they roasted a pig
and had a fest
who could throw an axe
or knife the best
who could plant a straight row
or shoot the eye
out of a crow
planting corn by the acre
sell a lame horse

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poem by Ernest Clary
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Walking By The Sea

At the end of day
with my bride to be
watching birds at play
walking by the sea
holding her hand squeezing her tight
on the shore of sand, that be
all through the night
down by the sea
happy and carefree
no one in sight under the watchtower light
just her and me
walking by the sea
upon me came a feeling of euphoric kin
I never felt before
just a little after ten
walking on the shore
I think its love you know
thats what I wanted it to be
now we always go
walking by the sea

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poem by Ernest Clary
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