Not What I Expected

“Not What I Want” (c)Lawrence A Capozzolo

A gloomy day with no sun,
not what I expected for first sight.

Upon opening my eyes and what I felt in my head,
i think I woke up in a trench to a morning I would dread.

Breakfast will be the perk I need,
opening the door, greeted by milk looking to burst.

I’ll grab something, I think,
going for my jacket, my keys on the floor I see.

Looking up I see hanging there,
jacket torn — it’s a great ‘morn.

Now a windy day … appropriate to push me along,
opening the door, now airborne, soon I see it no more.

This day not what I expected,
praying for better I feel neglected.

Not asking for much,
surely someone thinks I expect more than I deserve.

I walk to my car – foot landing in something like tar,
the same color as my shoes I figure no one will notice.

This morning not what I want,
causing my ambition to turn to fluff.

A happy day,
not what I expected.

-SWB

… a “case of the Mondays” poem.

Let’s Talk Nature

“Lying Around” (c)Lawrence A Capozzolo

Let’s talk nature,
just lying around.

Let’s talk nature,
just sitting on the ground.

Let’s talk nature,
making all those weird sounds.

Let’s talk nature,
popping up all those flowers.

Let’s talk nature,

listening in on our secrets.

Let’s talk nature,
a windy thing is she.

Let’s talk nature,
her beats makin’ me dream.

Let’s talk nature,
the next top 40 record breaker.

-SWB

….. back to our bad poetry series (we haven’t done one in a while … then again, opinions vary about that).

The Marina

“Tied” (c)Lawrence A Capozzolo

Tied up at the marina,
waiting for a friend.

I see excitement,
just around the bend.

Loosening the ropes,
i turn into the wind.

My friend walks up the dock,
apparently ready to launch.

“Hi ho my friend”,
he says at the bend.

My eyes roll back,
saying “you’re too much of a nerd”.

Jack shoots back,
“you expect me to act like the rest of the herd?”

At that time the lake laughs at Jack,
with a wave soaking his shoes.

I tilt my head back laughing,
thinking God helped me with a little payback.

Ignorant to what was coming,
the next wave knocked my right on my back.

Jack being no slack,
jumped to help right after the watery attack.

Off in the distance,
we heard quite a yell.

A dad telling his kid,
“stop playing with the fire-boat hose, you’ve rung someone’s bell.”

-SWB

Harder than it looks

Remember seeing that person do that job that looked like a piece of cake … then you had to do it and you found out how much of a pain it really was?

Yeah, so, in reviving SWB I figured I’d keep a little of it’s “rantiness” going by writing poetry (bad, horrible poetry) – and that would be WAY easier than trying to generate some legitimate stuff.

How wrong I was.

While I do realize that some of my real attempts at poetry many seasoned writers may compare with the brown stuff that comes out of their pets – the act of producing poetic writings that everyone would truly consider excrement is actually hard.

Now …. people produce crap all the time, so why does this suddenly become hard for me??

After taking some time to think this though and discuss it with a few people that have a couple of brain cells left … I’ve determined it’s not just me. It’s a problem with everyone.

See, once we as humans make a conscious decision to produce total and complete crap, it becomes hard work. I’m not saying that humans can’t legitimately product garbage – we do it all the time. What I’m saying is that it is sooooooooo much easier if we don’t actually make an effort at it.

If you don’t believe this watch the tryouts for American Idol. Avoid eating popcorn while doing that as the kernels hurt when you gag.

…. anyway, that was my whining for the day.

-SWB

Frozen Ponds

“Core of a Cold Heart” (c)Lawrence A Capozzolo

Frozen ponds,
frozen hearts.

Many lies,
from days gone by.

A smile once worn, fades away,
once thinking it would stay.

Many needs, many wants,
on the hunt for a lost dream.

Walking frozen, cold as can be,
the warmth drying up inside of me.

A world that once was a place of the sun,
has been made devoid of any fun.

Friends of the past, frozen in that place,
almost now seem like a complete waste.

Rivers of thought now end in white crystals,
the only thing heard is a faint distant whistle.

A mini ice-age has come to town.

-SWB

The latest in our series of poetry from people who have absolutely no business in writing it.

Pretty bleak, huh?

Well, I’m doing my best to paint a picture of how many people see the world now (or how we’re feeling in Pittsburgh when it’s Spring, and there’s still ****** frost on the car in the morning … not sure which). Of course I could just be getting in touch with my inner-Poe.

I’ve always found darker poetry interesting because it can indicted one of three things: 1. You are crying out for help because you are depressed and hiding it (basically in a dark work where nobody cares anyway) , 2. You are getting useless destructive emotional crap out of your system so you can function as a normal person, 3. You’re a technical person … in which you are just documenting the fact that for you getting anywhere near normal is just a useless attempt at avoiding a nice comfy padded room, which is your destiny most likely in the near future.

…. a little bit of sarcasm there, maybe.

Writing does have therapeutic value – which is why the healthcare industry hates it. Stress is very lucrative. It incites depression and a multitude of other profitable health issues.

Imagine if we all wrote (and maybe found a few suckers to pay for the stuff) de-stressing us enough to very rarely be sick. I mean to a point where everyone’s blood pressure is down to perfect, heart disease disappears, our immune systems function top-notch and naturally rid our bodies of cancer and other diseases. Wow!!

Now think of what that would do to the economy. Tragic!

Your doctor friend down the street would lose his job, and have to take back his BMW.

Your BFF that works as the pharmacist at the local Big Bird store gets moved to cashier in the grocery department losing a ton of pay and has to take back her BMW.

The next down neighbor who sells the blood pressure meds and chemo supplies to the hospitals that over-charge for them loses his job and has to take back his and his wife’s BMWs too (he sold a lot of stuff so they could afford two).

Just because of you …. inspiring people to write and de-stress (instead of getting them to de-stress in a way that get them some kind of transmittable disease), BMW has now gone out of business. As the iconic status has disappeared, people are even less stressed because they don’t have to work ninety hours a week to afford their BMW to indicate that they made it in the world, and now have even more time to write, de-stressing them more and more.  An abumdance of medical issues fade away, and more jobs are lost.

People eventually are no longer sick, and the worldwide economy collapses … people go back to living in huts and caves realizing they are completely happy without any economy.

All because of you ….. a writer that inspired many to de-stress through words.

How dare you!

-SWB

A first … a really crappy poem paired with a really crappy mini-essay/commentary (or whatever you are calling it at this time). Did we do well?

 

Strange on the road

“Stagger Street” (c)Lawrence A Capozzolo

Along the road enjoying the view,
askew I stagger a bit.

The peds look strange at me,
like they’ve seen a deformed, mutated bee.

I wish I could tell them it’s only I,
oh … I wish, I wish, I wish I could see.

Guys in black with pretty silver plaques,
follow me now, saying they need to take me back.

“Where”, I say, “I’d really like to stay”,
my words failing to keep them at bay.

A trip, a blip, and ooodly-bop,
the sound my brain makes before it goes “pop”.

I missed missing a big dark thing with a bright light at the top,
maybe that wasn’t my brain going “pop”.

Oh …. that’s the taser bringing the white light,
from the guys in black trying to make me drop.

I guess they succeeded,
i just wish they would get the spinning city to stop.

-SWB

From our really bad poetry series – a wonderful poem about a typical day on Grandview Avenue in Pittsburgh :-).

… an no I’m not glorifying drinking, I just write the dumbest thing I can think of about the pic in the posting and proceed to write award-winning poetry (although opinions about the award wining poetry bit may differ).

Waiting for my coffee

“Coffee Shop” (c) Lawrence A Capozzolo

Waiting for my coffee,
i haven’t ordered it, but they should know.

Listening for anyone,
nobody has taken my order.

Maybe they don’t like me,
but I don’t seem that bad.

Not sure what the issue is,
i still don’t have my coffee.

No respect anymore,
it’s just easier to ignore.

The sun is shining in the window on my head,
hopefully it won’t turn red.

Someone noticed me!
“if you aren’t going to order something get the **** out!”.

Maybe I should have stayed in bed,
doesn’t anyone read minds anymore?!?!?!?

-SWB

Another in our bad poetry series … enjoy, or not.

BTW … the shot is the actually coffee shop I write in mostly – Crazy Mocha.  Excellent people and service – so check it out if you are in Sewickley, PA. Tell them that Screaming Weasel sent you. It won’t get you free coffee or a better price … but it will get you a very strange look.

My Winter 2010

My Winter

Staring out the window, the only sight … three feet of snow.

Our family pup alerting us the hard way, the snow gives him no where to go (and we’re running out of paper towels).

The boredom in the eyes of a young anxious child (energy building up to blow).

This year’s winter woes, payback for complaining about years without snows (we complained of no winters, didn’t we??).

Sledding a perk this year, if actually finding the hill wasn’t so much work (I’m getting too old for this !@#@).

A white comforter of snow padding my garage, now laying on my car (the insurance adjuster crying while cutting the check).

My new shoes once bright and shiny, now crusty, filthy, and whiny (even Payless is beyond what I can afford now … since they are trying to be “fashionable”).

Two family fur balls now swimming in the basement flooding from the winter’s thaw of revenge (they’re cats … they float).

Icicles forming on the stairs going to the bedroom, the heat finally giving way to the cold (the electric company forgot about us again … go figure).

The confused looks of those in my house, now turning blue (like I’m supposed to do anything about this white crap).

These are my memories of the snowy winter wonders from the Pittsburgh winter blizzard of 2010 (Brandy … I need another bottle of Brandy!!).

-SWB

PS – Mother Nature is sticking her tongue out at us and laughing.

A Strange Light

Another poetic creation from SWB:

A Strange Light

——————-

A strange light did flash in front of my eyes,

I had cut with my shovel into an electric line of quite some size.

—–

A blue glow embraced my vibrating head,

Making me yearn for a few aspirin and my bed.

—–

The sky started spinning with all it’s might,

Obviously controlled by that amazingly strange light.

—–

I started to fly at an amazing rate,

My friends running behind me as if for a meeting they were late.

—–

Looking forward, I came crashing into moving colors of orange, red, and yellow,

And from deep inside me a scream that seemed more like a bellow.

—–

The EMT looked at me and muttered, “what and idiotic little ditz”,

“For a while his brain will be on the fritz.”

—–

My trusty shovel thrown on he ground now melted and burnt to crisp,

My mind tossed and feeling now lighter than a little wisp.

-SWB

PS – Another useless poem with absolutely no meaning brought to you by Screaming Weasel. If you have wasted 3 minutes or more reading this, we thank you. If you spent any time actually pondering it ….. that just scares us.