Vocational Rehabilitation

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I don’t discount the grouch in each of us,
I’ll share the troubles I’ve got along with yours,
My lot has lost me kith and left me bust,
And scar my face and punch my gut with force,

I turned my inner eye to see my path,
And where it led was nowhere one should go,
I’ve tried to turn my way to miss that sad,
Result that leaves me naked on the road,

And something new (for me at least) arrived,
A helpful nudge from interested folk,
Suggesting something gives me extra tries,
Vocation rehabilitating work,

I’ve had one meet so far that gets me set,
I’ll duly chronicle what happens next.

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My First Literary Review

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I’d like to try my first review,
A little novel full of passion,
The novel little work’s not new,
I think it has some real traction,

The author’s Earnest Hemingway,
Although perhaps it really isn’t,
Although, it’s got a lot to say,
Not all of it is very pleasant,

The first part seems a quite benign,
Homage to that ol’ Willy Loman,
Suggests we everyday resign,
To silly crass commercialism,

The second part shoots from the hip,
And shows the characters’ relations,
Although we only get a glimpse,
Not knowing of the books intentions,

The last part struck me to the core,
I could not ever see it coming!
It sent me sprawling to the floor,
My soul was rent, my heart sent running,

The author’s careful with his prose,
With no intent to waste description,
And seems to think the reader knows,
The truth of plot and folk sans mention,

Not like some books which spines we bend,
I note the theme is not apparent,
Until we reach the very end,
I guess that’s like a painful present,

I cannot help but recommend,
This little tome for you, the reader,
An easy read from start to end,
A patient read, that’s not too eager.

The Work In Question

Alone Time

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The toilet is a quiet place to be,
Potential’s always there to be exposed,
And that is why we quickly get displeased,
When someone interrupts us out of clothes,

It seems so silly when you think of it,
Why should it matter since we all are there,
But down deep down you want to take a sit,
In simple silence no-one needs to share,

Today I sat and heard a rhythmic sound,
The stall beside me was now occupied,
The rhythm failed followed by the sound,
A male voice that grunted; he then sighed,

I truly wish that he had got a room,
I wish him well, but that’s my quiet doomed.

Writing About ADD

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I don’t know what to write,
Isn’t that the point of this?
Going on exposing this?
A scatter brained disease.

I come upon a word,
That makes me turn around a bit,
Before I can get back to sit,
The perfect word, “dis-ease.”

(And then I see the first line above:
Does the emphasis come on “don’t”?
Does the emphasis come on “know”?
And then I heave me a hefty sigh.

Heave Ho!)