Fight Night....A Lesson In Boxing Someone Around
Well studied in religion, philosophy and attempted suicide
He has finally after years decided all three are useless to him
He'd rather kill or be killed than die by his own hand
Or that of a major pharmaceuticals company
with their hands in the till of the government in an attempt
to collect the yet unpaid benefits of his retirement program
He is very intellectual for someone who is prolific
as they are generally less verbose when in the company of so many fools....
I hesitate to get to know him better as he does appear to be slightly insane
And I myself so prone to spouting off colloquialisms and jargon
Would only make him feel more like slicing his proverbial wrist....
Should I choose to spar with him....
poem by Ted Sheridan
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Dad's Little Birthday Girl is all Grown Up.
My daughter will be 21 years of age next week.
She is everything a man could ask for in a daughter;
smart, attractive, and just a trifle bit like her father.
Someone asked me if I was happy with her choices
I suppose they meant the boys she dates.
I remember one of the first I met, I had been expecting
a young marine, but found instead
A fully shaved fellow with an anarchist tattoo on his head
and some cheap pawnshop ring stuck in his nose.
Needless to say I sent him home…
I am however happy to report, her taste in clothes and men
have become more to those like and of her lovely mother’s
This makes me smile with delight when I look at her now
about to blow out the candles on another cake…
And all I can think of to say is
Happy Birthday my very lovely daughter….
2008 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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Anniversaries are for old fools like me
My love,
The feeling for me is the same as it was then,
when I first touched your soft gorgeous hand
as you passed me a glass of wine with my dinner.
I remember dreaming about kissing your full lips
later that night and holding your soft waist and hips
in my arms; not knowing if you felt the same way about me.
I would wait patiently for hours to pass so that I might
find another reason as an excuse to call and hear your voice
say my name in a way only you could. I would put my ear to the phone
trying to be closer to you and although I knew
how silly that was, it didn’t mater to me…because with you
silly was how I became whenever I said your name.
And so, these many years later, on our anniversary;
I remain, your silly old fool…
and I still love you more than ever…
2008 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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I Flipped A Coin And It Landed On It's Side
Crazy people
who think themselves to be sane
crazy people
all around me....they are everywhere
speaking.....writing......conjecturing
a virtually endless and painful jeremiad
filled with lament and needless regret
that they see and they read.....
but fail to hear the dissenting word
interpreting it all as our fate
while they......deaf from rhetoric
and blind of the truth...
have mistaken me....for one of them
my worst nightmare.....
crazy people thinking that I give a damn
crazy people
maniacal and unglued
look around...do you see them too?
they out number us by many
and most of them vote
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poem by Ted Sheridan
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For Whom The Toll Booth Tolls
The futility in going nowhere should lead
One to contrary conclusions of turning around
I have been going nowhere for some time
Chosen roads like interstates bloated with traffic
All empty crowed places of promise and pleasantry
With lying signs controlling every turn along the way
Truth purveyors and predators of justice hiding
Behind concealments of concrete and greenery
Fulfilling the many quotas of our short but fast life
Ticketing us with radar speed checks and leaving
The morality of conviction to the Department Of Human Resources
Going nowhere....once appealed to me in my youth
The slow side of forty..... and in the distance a speedy seventy
Years that lingered like retirement condos and golf carts
Along the way
I drove hot cars and fast women......
I took them as far as they would go....
The unfortunate truths of my youth
stare at me in my eye's rearview mirror
There is futility in going nowhere
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poem by Ted Sheridan
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A Swimmer Named Kennedy
When someone is a person of questionable integrity
and they have committed dubious acts in their past
many years of civil service to society and then they suddenly are befallen
with a fatal disease; (other than Liberalism….which is only a mental disorder)
why is it then that we always proceed to elevate
these immoral people to a higher level of respectability?
With no marginal reason ever given for their existence….
In memory of Mary Jo Kopechne (July 26,1940 – July 18,1969)
Who was left by United States Senator Ted Kennedy to drown in his car
after he drove it off of a bridge and into the water below; while intoxicated after a party. Senator Kennedy was married at the time of the accident and did not report the accident until much later that morning.
Senator Kennedy has never to this day claimed any responsibility for his actions.
Senator Kennedy has been recently diagnosed with brain cancer, and that is tragic,
but it doesn’t change his questionable character.
2008 © TS
poem by Ted Sheridan
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Dogtime
In all honesty I don’t get along with many people
Especially those who measure time in dog years
Or those who name their cats after cartoon characters
I try to avoid without conflict people who are constantly happy
Because I’m not and I don’t wish to spoil my good mood
I don’t like to eat out in restaurants because most don’t serve lamb
And I like lamb, tender young lamb, with mint jelly
You go into an eatery and ask for lamb and you could be arrested
In all honesty I get pissed off when someone rings my doorbell
Because I know it is a Jehovah witness trying to convert me
And I was converted when I was eleven by a prostitute with an STD
I like war and I don’t say that just to be controversial
I prefer peace but without war there would be no peace
People get bored with peace and they start measuring time in dog years
And before you know it in the blink of an eye everything is old
Even peace…
In all honesty I don’t get along with many people
But old hound dogs and exotic birds seem to love me
2007 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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20/20 The Blind Have No Trouble Seeing The Darkness
Who can understand
what we feel inside
When we gaze into the eyes
of the shadows
To which we subscribe as members
Of this dark and lonely world
Constantly turning round
while friction builds
Like rats in a tool shed
we die and are replaced
Never again to taste the bait
that lured us to our fate
Before we found the words and will to save
this dark and lonely world
Described as truth by one man
questioned and doubted by others
Remembered in short
by no one
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poem by Ted Sheridan
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Cockroaches on Wheels
The sun is hot today and the humidity is high
Tempers are flaring as the morning traffic gets heavy
Road hogs in tinted SUVs and teamster truckers in Peterbilts
Lap up any remaining sloppy seconds of Ethanol laced fuel
With their low productivity and latest economic reports
Of corn and all grain prices having reached new all time highs
Not to mention the effects of which are much higher tortilla prices
Leaving economist and indexes perplexed
How’s an illegal from Mexico suppose to feed his family?
Now there goes the radio’s signal from the satellites orbiting overhead
Breaking up with broadcast interference from the extensive solar flares
As the news reporter claims sources say that we all may be saved
Because Wal-Mart promises to put the Christ back in Christmas
It’s an October morning and I must admit
October was never one of my favorite months
Even when it was cooler and long before Al Gore
Released all of his hot air into the ozone layers
___There goes the neighborhood as another driver flips me off
Seems everyone is reaching the limits of the all important critical mass
And the Indian summer threatens to return America to its rightful owners…
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poem by Ted Sheridan
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Bottled At The Source
Approaching the oasis this thirsty pairing
A ragged beggar and a snake charmer
Noticed an oddly shaped ominous cloud
Which seemed to be hovering overhead__
Ready for a much needed refreshing drink
They cupped their hands and took aim at the water's surface
But before they could break the tension of the mirror like pond
Their eyes beheld what appeared to be the reflection
Of an utterly demonic yet spiritual creature....
Fearing to take a drink as the water may be poisoned
The beggar behooves and begs pardon for his intrusion
While the snake charmer drinks because he had seen
The devil's face before and had charmed many serpents
The snake charmers thirst was uncontrollable and so it was
He scooped up all his hands could hold and drank fully
Within seconds of quenching his parched throat
He grabbed at it and as if to be strangling himself
He fell face down in the liquid dose and did not move
The beggar fearful and pleading for his life to be spared
Fell on his back petitioning God to deliver him from a similar fate
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poem by Ted Sheridan
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