A Bottle of Smirnoff & 40 Pills (poems)

long ago i used to be like you
until i died i was human too
but a bottle of Smirnoff and 40 pills
cured me of all your ills
i took my own life right around Christmas
with sleeping pills & some antidepressants
28 of the former and 12 of the latter
20 shots of Smirnoff, maybe
but does it even really matter?
she called 9-9-9 as i went to sleep
And drifted off into the strangest of dreams
i think i feel myself floating so i look around
to find myself hovering miles from ground
but as my eyes adjust to the dark of the night
i can see it come closer- the ground, the light
atop a skyscraper I finally land on my feet
with no way down my heart pounds out a beat
an echo, accompaniment to the voice i hear sound
telling me a leap will be my only way down
i step to the ledge and i wonder out loud
if turning back now is even allowed
the wind nudges me over and i start to fall
and to those below me i begin to call
"watch out, i’m coming, i have no control!"
to get out of the way was my only goal
but i find my course has already been charted
and i must go on though already departed
i will land where i land and stand where i stand
and from the Other Side reach out my hand…
i never fell fast and i wasn’t that scared
but to tell you the truth i wasn’t prepared
the dream was so vivid and the fall so real
that to my life it acts as the final seal…

Sarah Palin

hello, my pretties, it's time to reload
stop by my website then hit the road
You Betcha it's time for us all to hold steady
so take off your safeties and fire when ready
you see on my map the Surveyor's markings?
i was the surveyor and those spots the targets
so commit it to memory- the map can't stay-
if i leave it up there they'll just take me away.
if they accuse me of anything just keep it 'hush hush'
and if it happens to slip out i'll just swim to Russia
You Betcha i can see the Commies from my porch
got ammo to kill the Polar Bears and a giant Crude Oil torch
nobody better stand between us and our freedoms
just put a gun to their head if they try to impede them
aim for the ones that seem to have their own voice,
speak from the heart and offer voters a choice.
they're never going to catch me, i'm gonna be President
You Betcha the Right is about to set a new precedent
the first quitting governor to be elected after sitting
they don't suspect a thing- the Left is totally unwitting
blinded by a silly desire to help the needy
the poor, the disenfranchised and even the seedy
they want to help everyone but we already know
we have the guns so we'll land the blows.

Poetic Kind

is it the kind that comes
when one plants words
as seeds on the paper
so that they may sprout
and- as the eye of the reader
passes by- bloom into
beautiful, pleasantly fragrant
flowers of adjectives, verbs,
nouns & pronouns?

or the kind that comes
when one speaks of Love
with such regret and loathing-
so passionately- the hatred
for emotion bleeds from
the paper onto the reader's
hands leaving them stained
blood red feeling as if
they never did enough
for their own Loves?

or the desperate kind
which fumbles around
blindly for truth but so
often ends in confusion
and as frantic feeling around
the room leads the writer
astray, the reader is
left equally lost and
discouraged?

or maybe it's the kind
which flows so smoothly
the reader is lost in it
by the second line and
by the end is wishing
it wasn't over yet
knowing the words
couldn't fit together
any more perfectly
believing- or hoping-
that maybe, just maybe
it ended accidentally...

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