Tag Archives: Anger

It Should Have Been Six

 

If she would love me I’d feel it forced

If she would love me I’d feel remorse

It should have happened already by now

It should have happened before our vows

 

If I had known it was out of sympathy

If I had known before today she’d be free

It should have been done with feelings of love

It should have been done without feeling shoved

 

If you had told me I wouldn’t be grieved

If you had told me I wouldn’t feel deceived

It should have been your responsibility

It should have been six so you were easier to carry

 

© 2011 Michael Yost 06/27

 

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I Haven’t Done Anything yet Either

The halls echo softly with children’s cries

Mom lies in her locked hole getting high

Garbage strewn beneath the children’s feet

Refrigerator unplugged with nothing to eat

 

Bulging bellies in America hard to believe

And there’s no one around to care or to grieve

Fly’s in the kid’s eyes are having a feast

Even the roaches deserted with no crumbs to eat

 

© 2011 Michael Yost 06/20

Pete

childrens-portrait-photographer-elliot-jonah-bridge-1

That’s Pete and myself 20 years ago.
Today I walked the rail alone, because Pete had to ride.
It was a beautiful coach and everything;
He always looked his best in his dress blues.

It was a beautiful spring morning then too.
The ground was soft that morning and fruitful;
The worms we got were huge and the trout ate em up.
Almost as big as the ones crawling out from under that tarp.

I brought this picture today to remember important things.
Pete’s sacrifice is obvious and full of meaning.
What’s not so obvious is that
Pete greased the last three feet of that rail.

©2011 Michael Yost 01/14

Pete is everyone’s brother, son and father

up.the.anteater@gmail.com

http://www.booguloo.wordpress.com

I Need to Up Wright

I need to write this today
Waiting to fall in love and play
I need to melt at first sight
And please let it happen tonight

My ache is real and gaining strength
The pendulum blade drops in length
How many failures before my death
Before the blade takes my last breath

Last words written with the fall of night
Then the Queen’s ball only pairs in sight
I see Gwen smile does she wait for me?
No the Prince comes up and I flee

© 2016 Michael Yost 04/10

The Fish WRapper

Terry looked down at his bloody knuckles, “Dammed red heads, who knew that peckerwood was going to hit his head on the cement stairs?” “Well help me put him in the boat and let’s grab some of those cinder blocks.”
Pulling up at 2:30am the brothers parked by the boat ramp. The thermos steam was starting to trail off the cup until you blew on it and then it fogged up the windows. Joe broke the silence, “You didn’t have to kill that kid.” “Joe, that wasn’t a kid or a sixteenth, he was trying to rip us off, and hell I only hit him once.”
Look at that, someone has already put their Bass Master in the water and its only 3am. The State Game and Fishing Officer pulled in, parked and then walked over to talk to the two fellas. “You fellas look new to the area. How are you this morning?”
“Stay calm Terry, whispered Terry.” “Morning Officer, we’re doing OK. We used to come here as kids and it’s our first time back. We sure are looking forward to getting some bass today.”
“Well before you go out let me update you about our little place here. My son runs the bait shop and prints the local rag, “The Fish WRapper”. We’re still a small fishing community here at Liars Cove. You’ve got to be off the lake at 4pm. We’re just big enough to support a State Game and Fishing Officer, but small enough that I have to share an office with my big mouth son Peter, but he prefers to be called Junior.”
“Well this is Terry and I’m Joe. If you don’t mind we’re going to get out on the lake. We’ll catch up some more later this afternoon.”
“That sounds good boys; my name is Officer Michael P Pecker, senior. Oh and junior’s a little sensitive about his red hair and only his friends can call him Peckerwood. Now where is that boy?”

© 2012 Michael Yost 3/13

Walking Around Me

Walking around me their heads close together
Heading toward then running up the red stair
The blue stair just ahead slipping on my tears
Trying to catch them on the red stair without fear

Crossing onto the red stairs my nose bled
I’m trying to get over the things they’d said
My own light flickering starting to fade
Breaking my spirit leaving my edges frayed

Now two more behind me conjuring dread
Spells ringing and bouncing inside my head
Crouching down I jumped to the blue stairs
Scared the witches catching them unawares

Jumping higher than I thought possible
I thought that their flying seemed impossible
I seen them fly solving an aged old question
There wasn’t a saddle they stayed on with suction
© 2016 Michael Yost 03/02

When Will You Fight

 

When are you going to get up and fight
Knowing you’ll be found righteous and right
Laying on the floor sobbing is quite the sight
Get up when you fail show him your spite

Facing the mirror blood flows like he said
Fingers interlaced behind my head
Feeling defeated forehead on the wall
There was a tear sheet, “You Better Call Saul”

© Michael Yost 03/16