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Monthly Archives: September 2015
The Long Walk
The pill will work the long walk is the key
Be patient now it’s guaranteed
We’ll be there soon and you’ll see
You will be master over this anxiety
Now pick up the pace or we’ll be late
It’s important that you meet your fate
“Bless me Father for I have sinned”
“Don’t worry my son, you won’t do it again”
© 2011 Michael Yost 06/24
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, betrayal, Bless Me Father, Choices, Consequences, Deception, Michael Yost, Poetry, The Long Walk, The Pill
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 Liar’s 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 03/13
To be continued?
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Accident, Anger, Anxiety, Bass Master, Blaming Game, Cinder Blocks, Just Write, Michael Yost, The Fish WRapper
The Curb
The curb came up abruptly and bruised my toe
I wasn’t watching, I didn’t know
My sights were upon the girl with the bow
Looking both ways I stumbled, I blushed
Slipped and slid through the cold wet slush
I just wanted to meet her, not to be crushed.
©2011 Michael Yost 04/20
In Jest
Where does it all end
Starting quite by accident
A word said in jest
Tone changing intent
Hurt washing over her heart
Flushed cheeks flooded with tears
Rushing to hold her
Pleading for forgiveness
Eyes fear betrayal
Words have been spoken
Water goes beyond the bridge
Is this where it ends
© 2010 Michael Yost 12/15
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, betrayal, Beyond The Bridge, Forgiveness, In Jest, Michael Yost, Poetry, tears
Again and Again Too
“The words have already been written.
What’s to write down anymore he wrote?
Who tells an interesting story?”
Iterating again he spoke
“The words have already been written.
What’s to write down anymore he wrote?
Who tells an interesting story?
Let’s see some new anecdotes.”
© 2011 Michael Yost 04/10
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Blame, Choices, Consequences, Expectations, In A Rut, Mental Health, Michael Yost, Writing
A Lady and a Porter
I hate when it happens.
My thoughts appear so muddled
I try and write things out
But becoming more befuddled
I need some brand new cards
At my empty table
Would someone please shuffle
Anyone who’s able
A lady and a porter
Stepped into the saloon
She took the table near by
This hot and dusty June
The right one came along
Don’t go on without me
Let me touch your golden hair
While I plead upon my knees
Can’t waste a moment now
Expressed my keen interest
Paid for the ladies drink
This beautiful tourist
I need a brand new player
Come sit at my table
I’ll allow you the shuffle
You do look quite able
Porter thanked me for the drink
But said no to the game
No common vulgar man
Can even know her name
© 2012 Michael Yost 03/07
A Blank Life
Tempted by an old addiction
A friend went over the top
Falling into his old routine
Now he’s unable to stop
Triggering deep seated issues
Feelings from so long ago
Getting high rather than crying
Going with the flow
What caused this aberration?
Bringing back the black hole
Stampeding over emotions
Smoke floating over the bowl
The blank in life surrounding
Only memories from the past
Keep coming to the forefront
Torturing tears of the harassed
© 2011 Michael Yost 10/01
Posted in Poetry
Tagged A Blank Life, Addiction, Anxiety, Blame, Consequences, Harassed, Mental Abuse, Michael Yost, Physical Abuse, Poetry, PTSD, Trigger
It’s a Dream
Tossing and turning sheets twisting around
Lashed to a pallet bobbing up bobbing down
Bed clothes and pillows cold soaking wet
Salt watered tearing eyes burning with sweat
Thunder then lightening jump with a start
Bullets and tracers you grab at your heart
You open your mouth in a silent scream
Crumpling to the floor realizing it’s a dream
Tossing and turning sheets torn asunder
Lashed to a pallet you begin to wonder
You open your mouth in a silent scream
Crumpling to the floor realizing it’s a dream
A dream
© 2010 Michael Yost 11/04
Beyond the Clouds
The sun has come and sadly set
Nearly four hours ago
Clouds have slammed shut the night light
Pushing out the full moon’s glow
Stars are waiting to sail their shine
Though the darkness has prevailed
Breaking through above the clouds
With their bright lights unveiled
Now the clouds are burned away
The moon and the stars share
There’s nothing more beautiful
Or nothing that can compare
© 2013 Michael Yost 03/29
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Beautiful, Beauty, Beyond the Cloud, Blame, Consequences, Michael Yost, Poetry, Sail, Sunset
Best Read with New Meds
Lazy eye turns and I see double
Tired eyes close, the start of the trouble
Drifting away, sleep seals my work
Minutes later, a sudden jerk
Awake now and ready to start
Writing half lines within my heart
It’s a price I pay with new meds
Wonder if it’s worth, sleeping instead
© 2012 Michael Yost 1/15
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Choices, Confusion, Consequences, Depression, Dreams, Drugs, Expectations, Faith, Fear, God, Humor, Michael Yost, New Meds, Poetry, Wonder, Writing
Quote
“Never trust a hug… it’s just another way to hide your face.”
The Doctor, Death in Heaven, Season 8 – Ep 12 8 November, 2014
Posted in Poetry
Alien Reconstruction
Welcome everybody to the introduction
Hopefully I’ll explain it all through my induction
Building a new existence through self seduction
There’s no time now for self destruction
Compiling the knowledge for instruction
Eliminating the extra work through deduction
Now it’s time to begin the inner construction
First finding all the hindering walls by deduction
Then knocking down all those obstructions
And leveling off all the reductions
Finishing my new existence by conduction
Forgetting the time of the alien abduction
© 2011 Michael Yost
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Anxiety, Choices, Confusion, Consequences, Deception, Depression, Michael Yost, Poetry
5 Pigs
A farmer had 5 female pigs. Times were hard, so he decided to take them to the county fair and sell them. At the fair, he met another farmer who owned five male pigs. After talking a bit, they decided to mate the pigs and split everything 50/50.
The farmers lived sixty miles apart, so they agreed to drive thirty miles each and find a field in which to let the pigs mate.
The first morning, the farmer with the female pigs got up at 5 A.M., loaded the pigs into the family station wagon, (which was the only vehicle he had) and drove the thirty miles.
While the pigs were mating, he asked the other farmer, “How will I know if they are pregnant?”
The other farmer replied, “If they’re lying in the grass tomorrow morning, they’re pregnant. If they’re in the mud, they’re not.” The next morning the pigs were rolling in the mud, so he hosed them off, loaded them into the family station wagon again and proceeded to try again.
This continued each morning for more than a week and both farmers were worn out.
The next morning he was too tired to get out of bed. He called to his wife, “Honey, please look outside and tell me whether the pigs are in the mud or in the grass.”
“Neither,” yelled his wife, “they’re all in the station wagon and one of them is honking the horn.”
ANON
Michael's Lair 