Author: Roger Mugs

if i knew life would have turned out this good i think i would have approached my younger years and days with a little more gloom. seems i was too happy then too. holy crap when will this blessing end?

poetry

nights like these used to be so romantic
there was always something better
that could be
the food was terrible and the weather
just right
our hope for what was to come
probably in a chair nearby
and we hoped and dreamed
that this was misery we were experiencing

somehow making each moment more
worthwhile
telling ourselves this was suffering
and perhaps it was compared to the ecstasy
that was to follow

i cant help but wonder
whats it called when everyday is
exactly as wonderful as it should be?

when my job is to think about
furthering your kingdom
and here from another part of the world
living in another part of the world
doing another altogether similar thing
one more rejoicing over similar confusion
at just how lucky we are

will it end?

friggin temporary

poetry

stress relievers
come at the end of flights
not in pill shaped form
(although if the hallucination was strong enough)
and when i test you
i know all the more
you were what i needed

sun at my back
hope for a future
and healthcare
i trust

hospitals without
piss and blood on the floors

its here i belong

for now

and its worth it every minute

poetry

i spend hours with you
at a time
huddled
you know
on a cold wooden floor

watching you run back and forth
between me and an apparently
fascinating step
(or curb you insist on stepping on)

i hold you and entertain you
literally just watching

and this is my life now
hours and hours are not mine anymore
they’re yours

oi

poetry

lyrics like yours arent there anymore
for me to admire
and copy with rhyme
beat to perfect timing
since then things seem off
since we sat together
in the sun in our classroom
mocking the teacher
and dreaming of publication

西施 xishi

poetry

grainy
is what they’d say
because they’d miss
the short
fat
tiny spout
and see rather your texture
than your form
utility
over beauty

after all your sand roots
make you not less useful
just slightly more

absorbent.

lust after objects which really aren’t expensive but are still much more costly than they should be given that they were stamped out of a factory in a matter of seconds and the guy who came up with the design probably hasn’t recieved a penny in years because you’ve so overdone it. but lust like this should not be hidden, rather it should be embraced slowly, caressed, and then indulged through the removal of small paper money from your wallet to be placed in the hand of the man who owns the place and you box it up, take it home, and use it in the most dirty way possible (which admittedly is hardly dirty at all given that you’ll likely keep it perfectly clean and never put any more than one kind of tea in it for it’s entire life)

poetry

i fell for you today
not for your beauty
(though you are cute)
but merely for your
utility
and to say
i have you.

five hours earlier
i new not of my need
to caress your smooth
sides with my hands

and pour life from
your stout spout

anticipatoryicipation

poetry

summer down time for me
aint so much about vacation
er the cuttoff shorts which embrace
me thighs
rather
beer in hand and busy lunch
two weeks of slow before the
rush
begins again and life wont stop
until we’ve moved and started up
again once more in another town

where rain or shine
life is good
(and even in the rain there’s a little shine)