Beholding The Fall

The colors change,

because of the later season.

What remains,

awaits the winds seizing.

It floats and falls,

gently to the ground.

Thoughts arise,

although they're not profound.

As I see,

the results of passing time.

Why trouble me,

these thoughts upon my mind?

It's part of life, I know,

and I wouldn't really care,

if I was referring to the leaves,

but I'm talking about my hair.

It's Hard To Drive With Your Cat In The Car

I Can’t Sing Along With That - (poetry by the Droll Spectator)

I turned on the radio

to hear a lovely song.

I tried all of the channels

but something was very wrong.

I looked for some jazz,

some classical or rock.

But on every channel

all I could find was talk.

Inspired By Inspiration

I sought inspiration,

but it wasn't where I looked.

It was neither in the forest,

or written in a book.

Not amongst the noise,

or in the quiet of my mind.

It did not come when first beckoned,

or after quite some time.

I gave in to resignation.

It was not to be today.

When unannounced it came,

with ideas to convey.

“What shall I write about?

Please inspire and let me know!”

It replied “Just write about this moment,

and you’re waiting for me to show.”

Party Heads

I went to the writers block party.

All the writers were there.

No one seemed very happy.

In fact they seemed in despair.

“I can’t think of what to write about.”,

one by one they said.

They were all out of ideas.

Inspiration had left their heads.

I was ready to join in this thinking.

Ideas in my head were amiss.

Then a thought struck me.

I will just write about this!

Descriptive Word - (poetry by the Droll Spectator)

There is a word that’s found,

to have descriptive sound.

Invoking thoughts displaying,

images of what it’s saying.

It means sudden surprise,

to amazingly realize,

a word that has lasted,

like me,

it’s flabbergasted.

My Morning Adventure

Everyday’s a new adventure,

as I gaze upon my face.

What old familiar features,

will I find have been replaced.

Today’s surprise and wonder,

that causes me to fuss.

Is “When did my eyebrows

start to look like antennas?”

Mr. Procrastination - (poetry by the Droll Spectator)

There is no hurry.

It can wait.

It’s because I procrastinate.

Tomorrow is another day.

Why should I Rush

when I can delay?

Perhaps there is

a better way.

Maybe it will go away.

Haste makes waste.

Best to conserve.

Give it the thought that it deserves.

Who knows what tomorrow brings?

It could show us

better things.

I still must think,

I still must plan,

about yesterday's tasks at hand.

The Sad Party Clown

The sad eyed clown,

at the little girl’s party,

cried all day,

instead of acting hardy.

His sadness spread.

Onto the children.

it fell.

The girl’s mother said,

“This party's not going well!”

The clown then shaped balloons,

into animals ill.

Then it sang the blues,

in a voice that was shrill.

Then he told them stories.

With much gloom he spake.

Then he coughed and he wheezed,

and he sneezed onto the cake!

One by one the parents,

took their children home.

Until the little girl at last,

was at her party all alone.

The clown announced “I have a great surprise!”

Then he tore off his clothes,

which was only a disguise.

Then parent and child,

stood there with eyes wide.

For underneath the clowns disguise,

was the same clown that cried.

Bowing Out

From all I see and hear.

I want to just disappear.

Unplug and go offline.

In private spend my time.

No more public displays.

Just simply go away.

But that’s not what I am.

My nature is of ham.

I guess I won’t because,

How will I hear applause?

A Good Time To Be Lazy - (poetry by the Droll Spectator)

So much needs done,

but not today.

I’m checking out,

but not going away.

I don’t intend

to let anything phase me.

For this is a good time

for me to be lazy.

It is a luxury,

few can afford.

Neither can I,

but I choose to be bored.

You might see me today,

but don’t ask me when,

I’m staying in bed,

until after ten.

I have no clean dishes,

but I've already figured,

I won’t bother to cook,

I’ll have meals delivered.

The house is a mess,

clutter at my feet,

but this isn't the day,

to make things look neat.

Irresponsible me,

I won’t deny it.

I’m the envy of everyone

to busy to try it.

Call me slothful,

call me crazy,

you may think it awful,

but I’m being lazy.

Lasting Impression

If I could choose my fate,

what kind of writer I would be.

Either one of famous paperbacks,

or one studied in the Ivy Leagues.

Though it would be nice to be respected,

for literature that lasts,

I would choose paperbacks,

for I could use the cash.

Old Spot

There is a thing I possess,

and I have named it Spot.

I've had it for quite some years.

I recall when I did not.

But one grows used to change,

and indeed Spot did grow.

In fact I wasn't aware,

till others let me know.

Now Spot is with me all the time.

When I awake or go to bed.

For Spot is the bald spot,

on the top of my head.

The Light

There is a light,

that's calling me.

It's a light,

that I can see.

It says "Come soon,

don't wait till later."

It's the light

in my refrigerator.

I say yum yum yum,

num munch yum num.

Couldn't resist,

I had to heed it.

Even though,

I didn't need it.

The Wrong Way To Write

This isn't write.

It's the wrong way to right.

Yet on some sights.

It's a common site.

It may be alright.

To be an oversight.

But it's not correct,

to write right.