First Sad Sunday in June

Sadness drips down on me
Remorse runs beneath my feet
Clothes hang on this manikin
Cold wind blows down my street

Wanna get ahead get a hat
Pull it down over your face
Cancel all your subscriptions
To this dog-eared human race

A mailbox could be for letters
The door is for your friends
The sky is painting a mural
On which the mood depends

If you dont get my message
Well you know Im in jail
Im down to rock n roll clichs
My thoughts are all so stale

The phone rings off the wall
That doesnt happen anymore
Little people sit in message banks
Waiting for you to liven and restore

And if I bought a time machine
Id go and get my money back
Minds travel up and down the line
Like its a disused railway track

Poetry by Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 107 times
Written on 2018-06-03 at 15:44

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Like Thomas I hear the blues, but it is poetry, and what better use of poetry than expressing the first sad Sunday of June. I bet this resonates with a lot of folks.

Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
This poem has the vividness of the American blues. I especially like the part about cancelling your subscription to the dog-eared human race. But of course, I am sorry if this be your current mood. Nonetheless, well done, as usual!