Poem of the Week: A Writer’s Father’s Day Thanks

A Writer’s Father’s Day Thanks
June 16, 2018

For keeping me in line when I stepped out
And putting me back on the proper road;
For being a rock during times of doubt
When I could feel my sense of faith implode;
For showing me how to respect others
As I would’ve liked them to respect me,
Just as you’d taught my sister and brother,
Teaching me what humans are meant to be;
Fr establishing in me discipline,
Which still guides me in ev’rything I do,
I have you to thank for the shape I’m in,
Which could be much worse on this globe so blue.
Thanks to you, I know how to be a man,
Dad, and I’ll keep doing the best I can.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Twitter: @DustinMWeber18

*****

Image used in this post (c) 2018 Fathers-Day2018.com. The remainder of the content within this post however, is my own.

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Poem of the Week: A Writer’s Mother’s Day Thanks

A Writer’s Mother’s Day Thanks
May 11, 2018

For suff’ring me when I was at my worst,
For guiding me when I had lost my way,
Of all those I’d faith in, you were the first
To help me make the most of a bad day.
For teaching me right from wrong at all costs
And kicking my butt when I needed it,
Yet no matter how much you were the boss,
You still took care of me as you saw fit.
You showed me how to craft my moral code,
Which guides me even through my darkest days,
And thanks to that, my dreams shall soon explode
To benefit us all somehow, some way.
Thank you, Mom, for everything you have done.
I promise you that my war shall be won.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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*****

Image used in this post (c) 2018  MooneyMooneyClub.com.au. The remainder of the content within this post however, is my own.

Poem of the Week: Rambling about Dreams

Rambling about Dreams
December 17, 2017

Had a dream the other night, and not a pleasant one.
I was at a bowling alley with my family not having fun.
The place was crowded cheek to cheek and deafening as hell,
And the bowling we did was abysmal, as I’m sure you could tell.

Why I dreamt it, I’ll never know, but one thing I do know
Is that I’m glad it was a dream and that I’m spared the woe
Of having to live it for real, for I’ve enough grief and pain
To deal with in the real world threatening to kill my brain.

I don’t remember doing anything lately related to bowling,
So why would I dream about it? Just who or what is controlling
My train of thought when I’m asleep? Are these visions of mine
Perhaps from a life I’ve lived elsewhen that I’ve somehow left behind?

Are these visions of a future that has yet to come
Or the memories of some other soul caught, too, in a mental slum?
Are they trying to teach me a lesson or merely telling a tale
Meant solely to entertain me? The truth here might help me prevail

In my career, for who knows just where inspiration lies?
Maybe these dreams are for my own good and come to me so that I
Can craft new stories with them that folks have yet to hear and see.
That notion at least sounds promising, but something else troubles me:

What if these dreams are reminders of the schmuck I used to be
And a lifestyle I’m not proud of and have tried to leave behind me?
The events may have been reforged, but my old persona remains,
Portraying my faults, and if that’s the case, maybe I’ve something to gain.

There’s the birthday dream, after all, in which I kicked a hole
In the speaker of my birthday present: an expensive stereo.
There’s the dream where I worked at a department store and wouldn’t help
Any customers because I was such a prickly, nervous whelp.

I’ve even had many dreams in which I was made to relive high school,
Getting lost, losing my locker combo, or otherwise playing fool.
All these dreams remind me in one way or another
The problems I’ve tried to leave behind me in some way or other,

Even though the memories remain, much to my chagrin,
No matter how much I move on from them or the situation I’m in,
For in my dreams, they haunt me and may stay with me ‘til I die,
Which is why I try to purge them in my efforts to find out why

I dream, for surely my dreams mean something to me somehow
In the grand scheme of things…or I’m just having a cow,
Trying to read something from nothing in the long run,
And I should give up right now while I’m sane ‘til my name’s done.

After all, all this pondering’s been annoying even me,
For is there really one thing that all my dreams are meant to be?
Each dream needs to be treated like its own unique entity
In the instance I should analyze it learn what it means to me.

Each dream tells its own story, no matter the genre at hand,
And only by dissecting it by itself will I come to understand
The meaning of the dreams I have as they come to me at night,
And once that at last happens, there’s no stopping me, brother.

On that note, then, dreams, come on out, wherever you are,
And riddle my mind with wonder, whether you be near or far.
Paradise or purgatory, Nightwish or nightmare,
I’ll be ready for you, so come at me if you dare.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Work in Progress

Work in Progress
October 29, 2017

We all strive for perfection. On that you can rely.
One thing remains, however, that none of us can deny:
Reality ain’t perfect, right down to humanity.
Knowing that, too, it can be a pain to be the best one can be.
Impossible is it for anyone to live and not make mistakes.
No matter one’s competence or intentions, life rarely gives us breaks.
Perseverance and wisdom, then, are paramount to success—
Resilience in adversity’s face when we’ve obstacles to address
On our own or with someone in our corner to help us along the way,
Growing with each step we take as we do each night and day,
Recording our successes and missteps, learning from what we do wrong,
Each time performing better at each task as we march along.
Such is the way we achieve our goals from the cradle to the grave.
Success, after all, befalls upon those who see forth that effort’s made.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Frustration of an Undiscovered Author

Frustration of an Undiscovered Author
September 26, 2017

Month after wasted month, year after wasted year,
I reach my hands up high for something more,
Yet no matter how far I reach, nothing ever comes near,
And I wonder if anything really is in store,

So I try hopping up and down, bounding higher with each jump,
Flailing my arms frantically all the while,
Yet no matter how feverishly my furious fists I pump,
I always fall back down in a frustrated pile.

I even cry out to the heavens, hoping someone will hear
That I’m alive and around and worth the time,
Yet all my screaming and shouting only brings me to tears
As I likewise lose this desperate voice of mine,

And once again, I’m left all alone, just as I was before,
Asking why no one sees any worth in me.
Why am I so unwanted? Why’s dealing with me such a chore?
I’m actually worth something, dammit! Can’t you see?

I’m not some braindead peasant. I’m not some clueless schmuck.
I’m more worth investing in than you think,
But ho! You keep you blowing me off and wishing me “Best of luck!”
Not telling me directly why I stink.

It’s either that, or it’s one excuse or another that I’ve already
Heard before from others just like you.
Sooner or later, though, you know one day, you’ll need to be ready
To take on somebody promising, fresh, and new,

Unless those whom you serve already are somehow immortal
Beyond their work, but I doubt that’s the case,
So come on already! Stop casting me away from your portal
As if I’m some kind of talentless disgrace.

Anyone can pick me up, after all, and make something of me
In the instance you refuse to do so, friend,
And when they do and my name becomes immortalized, you’ll see
That success for you had always been ‘round the bend.

Better things have happened for blatant schlock that’s polluted the mainstream,
Bob-bob-bobbing in it like buoyant turds,
And even if I don’t become a legend once I fulfilled my dream,
At least I’ll at last chance to be seen and heard,

And who knows? People just might like me. Wouldn’t that be a treat
After all these years I’ve spent trying to break free?
I’ll finally start a brand new life, too, living on Easy Street
Rather than carrying on through that which’s fallen on me.

All I need is someone on my side to see I’ve got what it takes
To at long last make my dream a reality,
For apparently, I’m forbidden to do so on my own, for Heaven’s sake,
But will somebody help me? I guess we’ll see.

I’ll just keep on doing what I’ve been doing this whole bloody while,
Albeit with a new approach to my crusade
In hopes that someone will hear me and greet me with a smile
And see to my success finally being made.

I’ll show you, then, that I am worth something and prove you the fool,
And the last laugh will be mine at your baseless doubts,
And I’ll throw your “Best of lucks” back at you as you wallow in a pool
Of shame towards the flippancy you used to spout.

Better days are around the corner. They just have to be.
Things can’t get that much worse from this point on.
I just have to keep trying, though, if success I want to see
And all my naysayers I want to prove wrong.

***** 

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Empty

Empty
July 28, 2017

Empty.
Nothing there.
Puzzling, pondering, stalling.
I’ve got jack squat.
Irritating, frustrating, embarrassing…
Forget this!
Bedtime.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Visions of a Working Class Writer

Visions of a Working Class Writer
July 16, 2017

Born and raised on pizza, burgers and fries,
And other simple stuff that my folks could buy
As they slaved away to keep a roof over my head
And clothes on my back as well as our daily bread.

We never had cable programming on our TV.
Heck, we couldn’t even tune in to Fox to see
The kind of shows they had on any given night—
Just roaring, flickering noise set to screens of black and white.

Any luxury we had, we clung onto like it was gold,
For only Heaven knew the kind of future we’d behold,
Had any of us progressed beyond our working class ways,
And even now, I’m dreaming of what I hope are better days—

Days where I no longer have to break my back or my feet
Hauling heavy boxes while traversing winding streets,
Where I no longer sweat through my clothes within the first hour
And the first thing I do when I get home is take a shower,

Days where my head doesn’t throbs to where I must take a nap
To sleep away my pain like a cat in its owner’s lap,
Where going on adventures actually means something
And being paid for my creativity at last becomes a thing.

Alas, I haven’t hit that point, though I can already see
The kind of lowlifes with which I’d have to cope that await me:
Purists who sneer at that which doesn’t flow a certain way,
Money grubbers who just care ‘bout how much one’s work will pay,

Egotists who scold those who don’t “get” things right away,
Artsy farts who praise style over substance any day,
Snarky twerps who mock others’ works behind their backs,
Soulless attention gluttons and other mindless hacks,

Mindless, trend-following drones who don’t know their history
And fail to remember how things once upon a time used to be.
Such and more are the scumbags who await those who, like me,
Dare to dream big and make it, and yet I still aim to be

One of the greatest in my field, my name forever ringing
Throughout history for my contributions, the masses forever singing,
And I know I can’t stop until that dream at last becomes real,
No matter whom I cross paths with. Such is my present deal.

There is another thing, though, that I aim to keep in mind:
The humble, happy boy I once was shan’t be left behind,
For no matter how big I get, I’ll remember always
Exactly whom I used to be prior to seeing brighter days,

The upbringing I had, and the things I’ve lived without,
And no matter how much longer it takes, I shan’t pout
On the day my dream comes true, for should I spit in the face
Of success when it falls upon me, I’ll be put back in my place.

Such is a fate I can’t afford to face anymore.
It’s now or never with me to see just what’s in store
For me in my journey to finally realize my dream.
Who knows? Even with the fools, things might be better than they seem.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Let Grit See You Through

Let Grit See You Through
April 25, 2017

Letting go of the past can be quite tough
When the memories won’t leave you alone,
For the road of life oftentimes is rough
With events that cut you straight to the bone—
People who’ve hurt you for no fair reason,
Happenings you’ve tried to leave behind you…
Yet no matter the day, year, or season,
It comes back to haunt you out of the blue,
Making you wish you could go back in time
To fix whatever wrong you may have done.
Alas, that’s not how time works, friend of mine,
For the direction it goes is but one.
Thus, there’s only one thing that you can do:
Screw your heels in and let grit see you through.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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                         Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: A Message for All Aspiring Novelists

A Message to All Aspiring Novelists
April 18, 2017

No one likes being rejected and tossed into the muck,
Having noses turn up at him or her and wished “Best of luck.”
No one likes being cast out from where he or she wants to be
Or denied that which he or she’s been fighting for. Believe me.
No one likes to struggle, especially when it comes to
Simply getting through the day. This I can assure you.
Even when there’s a pot of gold at the rainbow’s end,
Crossing said rainbow can be a chore. On that you can depend.
So much of a chore it is, too, that time and time again,
Too many people throw up their arms and walk away in the end,
Never to realize their dream, whether they deserve
To live that dream or not, all because of how their nerves
Have become shot over the course of months or years at a time,
And in the case of the worthy folks, it really is a crime,
For who’ll ever know the stories they could’ve shared with the world?
Certainly not the commonplace man, woman, boy, or girl
Or anyone who’d benefit from the messages within,
Even if said benefit is merely escaping the sin
And vice that’s been gripping the world for far too many years now.
Trust me…we all could use some escapism these days…and how!
We all deserve new stories with each year that passes by.
We all need something new to feed our hungry ears and eyes.
Otherwise, the old tales, good and bad, will grow stale,
And as they do, so will our minds, lest new storytellers prevail
To provide us with new substance with which to enrich our souls
And awaken within us the will to carry on into the fold
And accept each day as it comes, no matter what’ll be in store
When it happens to arrive, so long as it isn’t an utter bore.
After all, life’s one big adventure that we all undertake,
And it’s up to us to make the most of it with what we make
In terms of goals and other decisions and the choices that lead
Us down one path or another, and what better way to heed
This message than gleam inspiration from the stories we learn
To spark our thoughts and ambitions and help our hearts’ fires burn
With the passion that keeps us going every hour of the day.
That being said, why let rejection keep getting in the way?
The dream is still worth having, even though it may not seem so,
So keep your chins up and your noses to the grindstone and tally ho!
Keep your wits about you, too, and learn what makes a sale,
And may courage, creativity, and wisdom help you prevail
In the seemingly never-ending saga of chasing a dream
That might actually be more attainable than it might now seem,
For stories are more important than even you may ever know,
And only a sharp mind and a strong heart will help you see just so.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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                         Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: Dried-Up Cash Cows

Dried-Up Cash Cows
April 12, 2017

Many a person with backbone and tons of imagination
Sharing their vision of the future with millions across the nation—
Sometimes admittedly ugly, but even then, plenty of fun
With many an original character out to send trouble on the run
As he or she goes on adventures, frequently enough through lands
So bizarre and fascinating that one look evokes an “Oh, man!”
From the mouths of those who perceive them and all the denizens
That dwell within the region, even when evil comes to bring an end
To the realm’s peace and prosperity with deeds and actions so depraved
That it takes a hero with grit and gusto to burst on into the fray
And bring the villain and his or her mooks to their knees with tenacity
To the gracious relief of the locals. That’s what the ‘80s meant to me.

Alas, though, what’s happened to those franchises we used to know
And love for their vision, no mater how we’ve ridiculed them so?
What else? We’ve dared to reinvent them, knowing just how much power
They have over those who remember them, recalling every hour
They’d spent watching and listening to their glory back in the days,
Only now, their current incarnations often fail to amaze,
As they rarely capture the spirit that made the originals great
And feature heroes we once knew, yet to whom we can no more relate,
As they’ve been reduced to shells of what they were once upon a time,
No longer the charming, gung-ho type with a passion for fighting crime,
But rather morose and moody, as “gloom and doom” as we are,
Just stock brooding bruisers like other protagonists today, which, by and far,
Makes them only blend in with all the others and not stick out at all—
Something they used to do quite well, even ‘mongst their kind ‘fore their fall.
The villains don’t fare much better and are just ramped up a thousandfold,
Turned into murderous schmucks as charmless as the heroes, truth be told,
And are every bit as dark as the plans they hatch against the world
As well as generic and depressing—so much so that they make me hurl,
For the flair that had made them brilliant at the risk of making them “cheesy”
Is no longer there, thus making them bland and lifeless, which makes me queasy,
And with the fun gone from these characters, so is the fun from their plot
Leaving us with lazy, unimaginative stories sloppier than snot
That follow the same tired formula as most modern shows I know,
Mostly unrecognizable in more ways than one, much to my woe,
Save for the occasional swerve or plot twist that only serves to derail
The story as we once knew it, hence furthering the fall of the tale
And further driving us away from that which those running the industry
Wants us to reinvest our time and money into. Yeah…not for me.

Don’t get me wrong. The franchises I knew from my younger days
Entertained me thoroughly back then, but I’m ready now to part ways
And embrace something new that’s equally well-written as that which I once knew.
As for this soulless, recycled, cash-grabbing hash…no thanks. I’m through.
Start getting some new ideas, Hollywood, if you want to survive,
For living on dried-up cash cows is no way to stay alive.
New generations need new stories. That’s how it’s always been,
And you’ve been able to do just that without issue way back when.
Recently, though, what have you given today’s young folks to hear and see?
Mostly inferior versions of what you’d once made for kids like me
That haven’t done squat to take you out of the rut you’ve put yourself in,
And quite frankly, you’re nuts if you think I’ll stew with you in your own sin.
Get with the times, then! Otherwise I’ll just create my own thing
And change the tide while you keep failing and survive the bitter sting
The masses have already been suffering for far too long as things stand.
Goodbye, then, dried-up cash cows, for a new day is at hand.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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