Poem of the Week: What Wills, Thrills, Chills, Fills, and Kills the Cat

What Wills, Thrills, Chills, Fills, and Kills the Cat
July 21, 2015

Why do people think filth is where it’s at?
Simple: Curiosity wills the cat.

We know it’s bad for us, but we don’t care.
Our morbid need to know still wills the cat,

Pushing us ever forward to find out
Precisely what it is that thrills the cat.

The media know this all too well, too,
And do all that they can to thrill the cat

With juicy gossip galore left and right
‘Bout the latest smut out to chill the cat—

Racy, raunchy, tacky trash through and through,
And all just enough so to thrill the cat

Without the burden of healthy substance
That would dare cramp what style may chill the cat.

Rarely, if ever, does clean, wholesome stuff
Get any sort of chance to thrill the cat,

No matter how lovingly made it is
With quality enough to thrill the cat—

A solid plot, likeable characters,
And a message that hopes to fill the cat

With wisdom and wit to last a lifetime.
Such is what used to, for us, thrill the cat.

Just as times have changed, though, so have our tastes.
No longer do good stories thrill the cat,

And we’ve but ourselves to blame for it all
With our need nowadays to chill the cat

With that which we know is naught but rubbish
Rather than what we know will fill the cat

With warmth of heart and soul and sense of smarts,
Funding instead those who now fill the cat

With thoughts of violence and perversion and
Language hateful enough to kill the cat,

Defiling what’s left of our innocence.
Meanwhile, all those who’ve tried to fill the cat

Have been ignored and tossed aside like trash,
Their words never to fill or thrill the cat.
That’s how it’s been one year after the next
For far too long now, and it kills the cat

Knowing things haven’t been the same since the
Days when curiosity filled the cat

With hope, laughter, amazement, and wonder.
Will such a time return to thrill the cat?

Honestly, only if we stop letting
Our foul curiosity kill the cat

And learn to see for ourselves good from bad
Before curiosity kills the cat

And support that which has been made with care,
Not stuff made blatantly to chill the cat.

Only then will things evolve, so let’s not
Let our curiosity kill the cat.

More learning, thinking, knowing: That’s the stuff
That will once again someday thrill the cat.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

                          Amazon.com

                          Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: ‘Tis Time!

Hello, readers!

The following poem is dedicated to every talented yet frustrated aspiring author who has yet to have his or her work picked up by a literary agent for representation to a publisher. Hope you enjoy it, and thank you for reading!

Regards,
Dustin M. Weber

*****

‘Tis Time!
July 13, 2015

When naught but the old prevails,
When new stuff doesn’t sail,
Interests tire,
Support expires,
And the scene starts to grow stale

Like Kernels of dried popcorn
Uneaten ‘til the next morn:
Stiff texture, dull flavor,
And not much to savor,
Especially on teeth and gums worn—

In short, not much of a feast…
Or very appetizing, at least…
Just enough to fill,
Even if it’s swill,
The hunger pangs of the beast.

Why should one live on such gruel?
Why suffer a fate so cruel?
Is that what to give?
Is that how to live?
Come now! Don’t take me for a fool.

After all, with each passing year
Comes that which most marketers fear:
The time when trends
Come to meet their ends
And part with a bitter tear,

For even great sagas must end.
Such is the beast’s nature, friend,
And the wise know this well
And search Heaven and Hell
For whatever lies ‘round the bend

For a brand new generation
‘Cross each city, state, and nation,
All fresh eyes and ears
With which to see and hear
Pop culture’s new transformation.

It’s not that the old stuff was bad.
In fact, I could say I’m glad
To have seen and heard
Much of the words
Of the artists we’ve all once had.

Sadly, every artist moves on
And is forced to say so long
To audiences dear
From far and near
Who’ve loved his or her songs,
And somehow, in his or her place
Arrives a brand new face
With new tales to share
With those who care
To hold off spraying their mace,

And often, though not quite always,
The new bard makes new “good old days”
For the young at the time
So that down the line,
They can feel nostalgic one day.

How can such memories form, though,
When new stories get no chance to grow
To replace the old,
Which are no longer bold
Like they were many years ago?

How can new voices sing
When forbidden to do their thing
By those in charge
Who dare to barge
In and ruin everything?

“No, I won’t represent you. You suck!
You won’t earn me millions of bucks,
Unlike Ms. Bomball,
Though she’s no skill at all,
So as we say, best of luck!”

It’s all about the green, you see,
Not talent or quality—
Pandering to the masses,
No matter how classless
A given story may be.

Forget about meaningful morals
And heroes who earn their laurels.
If one won’t give in
To greed and other sins,
She’s doomed to lose such a quarrel,

And that’s what especially bites
And has made me lose sleep many nights,
For where went the days
When storytelling paid
And made legends overnight?

What happened to the days of Poe,
Carroll, Dickens, Doyle, and so—
The icons of old
Whose tales have been told
For ages and whose legacies grow

Even now, when those with their gift
Must struggle to set adrift
Ships of their own,
Cutting them to the bone
And leaving them rightfully miffed?

This current trend has to stop
Of keeping talents from the top
While the scum rises
And gathers the prizes
For their reprehensible slop.

Let the lesser-known, gifted folks shine
For their works, al so sublime,
For only they can bring
The age folks will sing
About, should they just have the time.

The smut’s had its day in the sun,
And that moment has been long done.
It’s time to move on
With new, good songs
To replace those of folks who’re done.

Stop claiming you’re being “picky.”
You’re not. You’re just being tricky
‘Cause what’s out there now
Has made folks have cows
On account of how such works are icky.

Stop holding back those with the gift.
Let them set their ships adrift
And sail to the light
And, in turn, make things bright
For those of us who’ve been miffed

At the stale, bitter stuff we’ve had
That has made the scene smell so bad
For years upon years.
Let’s all now see and hear
The stories that will make us glad.

‘Tis time to show some spine
And help talented folks shine.
We’ve suffered long enough
Through so much tacky stuff.
Let’s hail in a new age. ‘Tis time!

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

                          Amazon.com

                          Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: The Last Ingredient

The Last Ingredient
July 7, 2015

Can’t remember what,
Can’t remember when.
When did I begin?
When will this end—
End for good,
End once and for all?
All the time I’ve cashed in,
All the effort I’ve wasted—
Wasted on this,
Wasted on that—
That which I’ll never get back,
That I’ve let go by,
By the day,
By the year,
Year without cessation,
Year without a breath—
Breath of fresh air,
Breath of life,
Life long past,
Life I could’ve had,
Had to cherish,
Had to celebrate,
Celebrate with friends,
Celebrate with family,
Family who still support me,
Family still put up with me,
Me and this crazy lifestyle,
Me and these silly projects—
Projects with little prospect,
Projects of my own creation.
Creation is my thing.
Creation is what I live for—
For my own piece of mind,
For my own wellbeing,
Wellbeing now bruised,
Wellbeing now battered—
Battered but not broken,
Battered but mendable,
Mendable in due time,
Mendable with love,
Love from those who care,
Love for what I do.
Do I have what it takes?
Do I have the courage—
Courage to fulfill my dreams,
Courage to shine at last?
Last ingredient I need to succeed,
Last ingredient I need to thrive…
Succeed.
Thrive.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

                          Amazon.com

                          Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: Autopilot

Autopilot
July 2, 2015

You breathe and bleed like other folks.
You eat and sleep as well,
But inside your head,
You’re damn near dead—
A special kind of hell.

If your brain’s working, you can’t tell,
And yet, it’s heavy like lead
With a constant drone
Like an ever-ringing phone
With the information it’s been fed.

You can barely remember that which has been said,
Even words that were your own.
You mess tasks up as well
Where others fare well
‘Cause the humming won’t leave you alone.

Thankfully, there’s a way to once again own
Your mind from this sick joke:
Slow down and think well
In spite of the swell
Before your brain goes up in smoke.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

                          Amazon.com

                          Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Growing Up, Giving Up

Growing Up, Giving Up
June 29, 2015

Growing up means giving up, for there’s work to be done.
From childhood to adulthood, each year means less time for fun,
So enjoy your cartoons while you can with your books and video games,
For when you reach my age, children, your world won’t be the same.

No more time for daydreaming, save for sadly looking back
While slaving away to earn the cash to keep the clothes on your back,
Not to mention food on your table and your humble, sturdy shack
And coverage you need for when you endure that ulcer or heart attack.

Meanwhile, the time you once had for what you once enjoyed
Will be severed severely, thanks to daily chores, girls and boys—
Lest you long to live in swill, which really, I don’t see why
Anyone would want to, for if I had to, I’d die.

Anyway, the time you had for hobbies won’t be as great,
Which means having to give some up, leaving you to debate
Which ones you want to take with you and which to give the boot,
And by the time you’ve made up your mind, you can’t help but say, “Shoot!

I’m down to one or two interests. Now what shall I do—
Especially if I suddenly gain a new one out of the blue?”
Then the cycle starts over again, much to your chagrin,
Putting you in the same position you had just been in.

Who knows, though? Maybe by the, you’ll have things straightened out,
And you’ll know exactly just what you adult free time’s all about,
And you’ll have a pastime or two to carry on with and enjoy,
But should you come to pine for what you’ve lost…oh, boy!

Well, let’s just say I’ve warned you, for there’s no turning back.
Then again, you might find your love again down the track.
That’s no guarantee, of course, so keep your fingers crossed
In your efforts to show Father Time who’s really the boss.

Good luck to you, for you might need it. That’s all I can say,
Save for but this one last thing as you carry on living each day:
Life is indeed worth living—just challenging at times,
But you can make the most of it, should you keep sharp your mind.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

                          Amazon.com

                          Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Progress Lost

Progress Lost
June 25, 2015

Once I was ahead, now I’m far behind,
Trying to figure out where I’m going.
Have I lost my touch or only my mind?
Either way, this stalemate I’m at’s showing
In my work, no matter what it might be,
Making it seem so dull, lame, and choppy
That I can’t believe that it came from me,
Knowing how much I hate stuff that’s sloppy.
I seriously need to regroup now,
Get my brain in shape ‘fore I go too far
And produce worse material—and how!—
In my quest to at last procure my star.
Back to the books, for now more than ever,
I must undertake greater endeavors.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

                          Amazon.com

                          Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Real Women, Strong Women

Real Women, Strong Women
June 16, 2015

Real women,
Real deal—
Deal of a lifetime,
Deal worth having,
Having by your side,
Having to hold.
Hold on dearly.
Hold on loosely, though.
Though they’re worth everything,
Though they be a treasure,
Treasure their autonomy.
Treasure their independence—
Independence from solitude,
Independence from the home,
Home where the heart still is,
Home where their money goes,
Goes to support the family,
Goes to those whom they love—
Love more than affection,
Love more than words.
Words can’t hold them back.
Words shouldn’t hold them back,
Back from living free,
Back from their dreams—
Dreams inspired by those before them,
Dreams of greatness,
Greatness that isn’t men’s alone,
Greatness and notoriety,
Notoriety for talent,
Notoriety for wisdom—
Wisdom that this world solely misses,
Wisdom that we all need,
Need in our lives,
Need for our collective piece of mind,
Mind worth not wasting,
Mind worth preserving—
Preserving like women’s love,
Preserving with all our heart and souls,
Souls of lovers,
Souls of fighters,
Fighters for family,
Fighters for their place,
Place amongst humanity,
Place in the world,
World most unforgiving,
World of competition—
Competition between the strong,
Competition between men and women…
Strong…
Women.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

                          Amazon.com

                          Amazon.co.uk