why the teaching profession is indeed evil

poetry

forcing our words
whether created from inspiration or vomited out
of necessity
requiring we turn them in
as though ratting out our own parents

these words
we say as we staple our pages together
were written to be judged
so go ahead and mark your red all over
these pages
tell me my style is inappropriate
or i misspelled things by ‘accident’

then grade these words
and throw them to the wind
unless YOU decide MY words
are worthy of a refrigerator magnet

inspiration – once a necessity, now a mere luxury

poetry

mud
sweat
beers
the many words they help to conjure
rides and runs and
bitter cold
with blue sky – and snow
benches dedicated only be filled with you
– together
street lamps lonely and frozen
out of place
off the grid
mysteries
water balloons shot at distant trains
epic battles with snow balls
with fevers
overheating and overeating
the “phew!”
the proud
the in-betweens
and you

muse you are and muse you do
now life can be lived without you