Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

MISC PIX 2 002


WHAT IS FREEDOM?
By David Allen

Freedom
Now, there’s a word abused,
Misunderstood and misused
By the Far Left, the Far Right,
The loose cannons, the uptight,
The free spirits, the lost souls,
The imprisoned, the paroled,
The enlightened, the dimwitted,
Those without, those with it,

During July 4th fireworks
The patriotic jerks
Use the word without thought
“Support those who fought
For our freedom!” they scream
But no war in decades, it seems,
Was fought to preserve
Their Freedomland dreams.

Yes, we’re the Cops of the World
And as that freedom word’s hurled,
As we awesomely attack,
I am taken aback.
Are we bringing them democracy,
Or some new tyrant’s monstrosity?
Are we trading our children for oil,
Sending them to die on foreign soil,
While the rich pad their bank accounts
And our Middle Class fails to surmount
The inflated hills of credit card bills?

Freedom, yeah I wish I was free
From phone taps and cameras that shadow me,
From the x-rays and pat downs at airline gates,
From small-minded leaders preaching hate.
They say, “Freedom’s not free,” and that’s no lie,
It cost all of us much, the price is high.
You see, the freedom we have in the USA
Costs the freedom we’re willing to give away.

If you liked this, buy my new book: http://www.amazon.com/more-David-Allen-ebook/dp/B00N6W3DP8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1412297998&sr=8-1&keywords=%28more%29+David+Allen.

For signed copies, contact me at david@davidallen.nu

mailbox-package-16098367

       IN THE MAIL
       By David Allen

Fidgety,
he always found
it hard to keep still.
He had some kind of manic
adult attention deficit disorder,
racing around like some
multitasking, crazed old hipster
bebopping from one thing
to another,
unable to sit down
longer than a meal,
or slow down for the curves
life threw him.

So, when he died
his friends thought
it best to lay him to rest
by feeding him to the flames
and storing his ashes in a box
that is mailed back and forth
every month or so
between friends.

 

(more)

My second book of poetry, “(more)’ is now available in Kindle and paperback editions.  Order your copy today!

KINDLE:

http://www.amazon.com/more-David-Allen-ebook/dp/B00N6W3DP8/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=undefined&sr=1-2&keywords=%28more%29+by+David+Allen

PAPERBACK:

http://www.amazon.com/more-David-G-Allen/dp/1501018930/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1411007090&sr=1-4&keywords=%28more%29+by+David+Allen

Here’s a review:

5.0 out of 5 stars Wanting (more), September 2, 2014
By Jenny A. Kalahar “the_story_shop” (Elwood, IN USA)
Here are wonderful, literate poems of longing, wit, wisdom and resistance; justice, injustice, the absurdities of life and of growing older. There are lines full of sensuality at every stage of our existence, and of the waste and usefulness around us. Tinged with the atmosphere of the Orient, they are as luxurious as legs that go all the way up. Mr. Allen’s years as a newspaper man stain his poems with a rougher ink that sticks to your fingers long after you’ve turned his pages. There are losses – parents, loved ones, friends – but there are poems of finding and creating. Children, grandchildren, lovers, partners in crime and art all swirl throughout this collection, humming like a secret humming song. But unlike most hummed songs, these words do matter. They do. So read them now and sing along.

 

ANOTHER NIGHT

Posted: September 6, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

David's Bar 2

ANOTHER NIGHT

Woke up on the couch
Again.
Head aches,
Stomach queasy,
Bladder bulging.
Sit up,
Sends my head spinning.
Man, what happened to my thumb?
Feels sprained must’ve jammed it.
How?
And what’s this?
Front of my shirt like cardboard,
Something wet dried.
Takes me three tries to stand,
Feel dizzy,
Stumble to the head.
Ahhhh, that feels good.
You know, you just kind of rent beer.
Wash my hands, look in the mirror —
Jeezus!
Right side of my temple’s all bruised,
Throbbing,
Nerves send a ditto from my right knee.
It’s all scraped and scabbed.
Must’ve fallen somewhere,
Somehow,
Sometime.
Don’t remember.
Re awakens, comes downstairs,
Tells me I crawled into the house
At 4:30 in the morning.
Kept shouting
“Leave me alone,
I don’t want you to see me
Like this. Go ‘way.”
She says something about a guzzling tequila
Contest with the last holdouts,
Trying to eat the worm.

Hours later,
Cleaning the mess on the porch
I find the worm.
Looks like I won.

 By David Allen

 

My second book of poetry, “(more)’ is now available on Amazon Kindle. The paperback edition should be available in two weeks. Order your copy today!

http://www.amazon.com/more-David-Allen-ebook/dp/B00N6W3DP8/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=undefined&sr=1-2&keywords=%28more%29+by+David+Allen

Here’s a review:

5.0 out of 5 stars Wanting (more), September 2, 2014
By Jenny A. Kalahar “the_story_shop” (Elwood, IN USA)
Here are wonderful, literate poems of longing, wit, wisdom and resistance; justice, injustice, the absurdities of life and of growing older. There are lines full of sensuality at every stage of our existence, and of the waste and usefulness around us. Tinged with the atmosphere of the Orient, they are as luxurious as legs that go all the way up. Mr. Allen’s years as a newspaper man stain his poems with a rougher ink that sticks to your fingers long after you’ve turned his pages. There are losses – parents, loved ones, friends – but there are poems of finding and creating. Children, grandchildren, lovers, partners in crime and art all swirl throughout this collection, humming like a secret humming song. But unlike most hummed songs, these words do matter. They do. So read them now and sing along.

 

images (6)

 

ALKIE

My love lies passed out
     On the old living room couch
            Wine bottle’s empty.

………………………………………………………………

SOMEDAY 

Someday I’ll look back
     At all this chaos and strife
          And smile and walk on.

………………………………………………………………

MORNING 

The sun rose today
     Brilliantly bright and strong
          And then so did I.

 

By David Allen

bed sheets over head 1

CLEANED CONSCIENCE
       By David Allen

My conscience
is clean.
I washed it
last night,
rinsed it
with beer
and dried it
by pulling the
bed sheet
over my head.

assasination1            Princip_arrested

Gavrilo Princip assassinates Archduke Ferdinand and is promptly arrested

WRONG TURN

By David Allen

A wrong turn
A stalled engine
And a cup of coffee
Ignited the “Great War,”
The “War to End all Wars,”
That sparked the century of conflict
That left untold millions dead.

Gavrilo Princip
Leaned against the wall of a café
On Sarajevo’s Franz Josef Street
And wondered how the plot to
Start a revolution went wrong.
“It was a good plan,” he told a friend
While standing on the sidewalk in front
Of Moritz Schiller’s Café.
“Six of us of ‘Young Bosnians’
Lined the motorcade route
That damned royal son-of-a-bitch
Was taking to city hall.
We each had a bomb. Six of us!
How could it have gone wrong?”

The first Young Bosnian
Chickened out and ran from the scene.
The second threw his grenade a second too late
And it exploded under  a car following
Archduke Ferdinand’s convertible.
The heir to the Austro-Hungarian crown,
Emperor Franz Josef’s nephew, was unhurt.
The blast injured two in the second car.
The motorcade sped up , leaving
The four remaining Young Bosnians,
Trained in terror by the Serbian nationalist group,
The “Black Hand,” lost their chance for infamy.

“We were willing to die for a united Yugoslavia,”
Princip told his friend. “Serbia and Bosnia together,
Free from the Austro-Hungarian Empire”

Later, across the city, Ferdinand decided to
Visit those injured in the bombing.
While en-route, the Archduke’s driver
Took a wrong turn.

To his amazement,
Princip saw the Archduke’s touring car
Swing into Franz Josef Street,
He watched in awe as the car attempted to turn
And stalled, just feet front from where he stood.
Quickly, Princip took a few step forward and fired his pistol,
Killing both Ferdinand and his wife.
And the old world died with them.

Princip attempted to turn his gun
On himself, but an onlooker slapped it from his hand.
Nearby police then beat him senseless.
He was tried, and sentenced to only twenty years,
Because he was only 19 years old.
Princip died of tuberculosis in prison
In 1918, just a few months before the war ended
And the wheels spun into motion for World War I
And the rest of the bloody century.

WRONG TURN TWO
By David Allen

“See?” the student asked
When he finished reading
His history paper.
“World War I started
Because of a succession
Of mistakes.”
“A fine piece of history,”
The teacher said, smiling.
“But don’t believe for a minute
The war could have been averted
Had Princip not stopped for coffee.
Franz Josef was looking for
An excuse to invade Serbia,
The capture of the failed Sarajevo
Bomber would have been cause enough.
Hell, a bad night’s sleep could have
Moved him to give the word.
All of Europe was itching for a fight.

These poems were  a challenge for the Last Stanza Poetry folks. This summer marks the 100th anniversary of the start of World War I and we were tasked to write a poem about the war.  

ALL NIGHT LONG

Posted: August 5, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

DSCF0072


ALL NIGHT LONG

All night long,
I’ve been wishing on this fading star.
But my thoughts won’t go that far,
and your health, like the star, is fading.

It was the first star to come out last night,
bright against the fast darkening sky.
But now, I can barely see —
it’s gone from me.

All night long,
I’ve been worried that your strength is gone,
you’ve been fighting this for far too long.
Your health, like this star, stopped shining.

I should go back inside our room,
but I’m too afraid I’ll catch the gloom,
it’s too hard to be at ease
with this disease.

All night long,
I’ve been sitting here while you’re in bed,
wishing you were sleeping, knowing instead
that you lie awake, body hurting.

I can see no other woman as my wife
to you I pledge my all, I’d gladly give my life
If it’d mean a cure for you
That’s what I’d do.

All night long,
I’ve been putting my words to song,
singing for my love, but something’s wrong,
your health, like this song, stopped rhyming.

      By David Allen

 

Like my poetry? Then buy my book, “The Story So Far,” published by Writers Ink Press, Long Island, N.Y. You can find it on Amazon.com (http://www.amazon.com/Story-So-Far-David-Allen/dp/0925062480/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1397184666&sr=1-13&keywords=the+story+so+far) in paperback and Kindle formats, or by sending me $10 at:

David Allen
803 Avalon Lane
Chesterfield, IN 46017

 

 

 

 

athiests2

(god) DAMMIT

Sitting here
Drinking coffee,
Scarfing down
A cheese Danish,
Waiting for the atheists
To arrive.
A movie night
With the Okinawa
Freethought Society,
Gonna watch a flick
About how religion’s
“The Root of All Evil,”
By Richard Dawkins.
But it’s already 8 p.m.
And no one’s
Showed up yet.
Goddamit!
Where the hell
Are they?

                                  By David Allen

A LIE

Posted: July 29, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

 

 

IMAGE001

 

A Lie

once upon a time,
i found the secret
to the truth
and,
to protect my sanity,
i smashed it
with a rock
and destroyed all trace
of the liar.

                  By David Allen

 

Like my poetry? Then buy my book, “The Story So Far,” published by Writers Ink Press, Long Island, N.Y. You can find it on Amazon.com (http://www.amazon.com/Story-So-Far-David-Allen/dp/0925062480/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1397184666&sr=1-13&keywords=the+story+so+far) in paperback and Kindle formats, or by sending me $10 at:

David Allen
803 Avalon Lane
Chesterfield, IN 46017

 

leaving home 3images (19)

CHECKING OUT

And then the door slammed
and he stood there
in the middle of the room
looking toward the finality,
as if he could see the tracers
of her striding angry,
furiously from him.
“Fuck this!”
she had said,
and the shock
of those two ugly words
echoed inside his foggy brain,
already confused
and struggling
to make sense
of what had happened.
The coins and the change bowl
and paperbacks and pens
she had swept with an angry arm
off the top of the bookshelf
lay scattered on the floor.
In his hand he clutched
the orange she’d thrown
at his head.
“Is this it?” he wondered.
“Is it finally over?
Or is this some new torture,
the start of some new
chapter in this confusing mystery?”
Outside, an engine started and revved
and the peel of rubber told him
another non-supporting
character had just exited
stage left.

By David Allen

Like my poetry? Then buy my book, “The Story So Far,” published by Writers Ink Press, Long Island, N.Y. You can find it on Amazon.com (http://www.amazon.com/Story-So-Far-David-Allen/dp/0925062480/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1397184666&sr=1-13&keywords=the+story+so+far) in paperback and Kindle formats, or by sending me $10 at:

David Allen
803 Avalon Lane
Chesterfield, IN 46017