Poetry is a movement of art in motion...
Brought about by a well intrigued of notion.
God bless all poets-MJG.
Then moved to New York City to learn and become a Ballerina.
I easily got bored with that tippy-toed stint...
So's i took my (sleeping during dance recitals) well displaying hint.
I got out'ta that lame game.Since, i have started a career of circus jugglin'.Those damn flamin' pins kept on hittin' me on my soft, friggin' noggin'...
Afterwards i took up joggin'.
Later-it was hard on my, over exerted smoker's lung's, makin' it hard on muh breathin'...
I then took up throwin' knives, and billed myself as 'The Blind Folded Heathen.
Now's the Indian persuasational race to this, took a very serious offense to my very creative self billin'.
So's i started racing mini turtles upon a racing table....
But the shortage of money made me financially unable...
This in turn steered me toward's a very long unemployment line. Welfare checks trickled thru my mailbox, at a very slow pace...
This made me walk around with a very sad face.
So's i took up performing magic...
This in turn made me look and turn out real tragic.
Then i took up accordian lessons, but this i found it was way too hard...
So's i got a job at an indian casino.I could now cut a many a card.
But i could not master the tricky skill of shufflin' of the deck...
Me and a guy got hitched, but later divorced, 'cause he said that he felt a little too hen pecked.
I was a little top heavy...
Constantly stared at by a perverted like bevy.
Then i got's this job of strippin'...
Later i got hooked on drugs and was always trippin'.
I later took the money from strippin' and started selling cars on my
very own car lot...
I tried sellin' cars, but kept gettin' propositioned by the potential men customers, and so's i became a prostitute...
well?
I got good money, layin' on my back, but got hooked on drugs again
and thrown in jail...
Well, folks, i was destined to fail.
I next was broke again, and labled as one as a destitute,i next stopped at a bar, and took up pool...
I turned out to be good as a hustlin' shark, and i no longer was called a wandering fool...
I then took all my winnings, and parlayed it, so i could invest it in stocks. Once again, this made me poor...
Shit! This new repeated prospect, left me real angrily sore.
What would i do next?...
I'd write my life story, straight into written text.
Well, later my life story has made me a rich bitch...
This should have made me psychologically sound! With all that money, i stupidly got back on drugs.....
This, later made me feel lower than the lowest bugs.
This must have meant that i was destined to live in a prison or jail...
I'll die of old age in prison. Now, this is the end of my intersting and sorry old tale.
The moral of this story is, stay off drugs, or you'll end up, for life...
Locked up, with cock roaches and bugs as cell mates.
Will the bugs be your cell mates, for life?
Poetry by Michael Jeffrey Gale
Read 555 times
Written on 2006-11-18 at 20:29
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Brought about by a well intrigued of notion.
God bless all poets-MJG.
The Unemployed Gaucho Cow Girl From Argentina, Became A Ballerina.
I was a Gaucho cowgirl from Argentina...Then moved to New York City to learn and become a Ballerina.
I easily got bored with that tippy-toed stint...
So's i took my (sleeping during dance recitals) well displaying hint.
I got out'ta that lame game.Since, i have started a career of circus jugglin'.Those damn flamin' pins kept on hittin' me on my soft, friggin' noggin'...
Afterwards i took up joggin'.
Later-it was hard on my, over exerted smoker's lung's, makin' it hard on muh breathin'...
I then took up throwin' knives, and billed myself as 'The Blind Folded Heathen.
Now's the Indian persuasational race to this, took a very serious offense to my very creative self billin'.
So's i started racing mini turtles upon a racing table....
But the shortage of money made me financially unable...
This in turn steered me toward's a very long unemployment line. Welfare checks trickled thru my mailbox, at a very slow pace...
This made me walk around with a very sad face.
So's i took up performing magic...
This in turn made me look and turn out real tragic.
Then i took up accordian lessons, but this i found it was way too hard...
So's i got a job at an indian casino.I could now cut a many a card.
But i could not master the tricky skill of shufflin' of the deck...
Me and a guy got hitched, but later divorced, 'cause he said that he felt a little too hen pecked.
I was a little top heavy...
Constantly stared at by a perverted like bevy.
Then i got's this job of strippin'...
Later i got hooked on drugs and was always trippin'.
I later took the money from strippin' and started selling cars on my
very own car lot...
I tried sellin' cars, but kept gettin' propositioned by the potential men customers, and so's i became a prostitute...
well?
I got good money, layin' on my back, but got hooked on drugs again
and thrown in jail...
Well, folks, i was destined to fail.
I next was broke again, and labled as one as a destitute,i next stopped at a bar, and took up pool...
I turned out to be good as a hustlin' shark, and i no longer was called a wandering fool...
I then took all my winnings, and parlayed it, so i could invest it in stocks. Once again, this made me poor...
Shit! This new repeated prospect, left me real angrily sore.
What would i do next?...
I'd write my life story, straight into written text.
Well, later my life story has made me a rich bitch...
This should have made me psychologically sound! With all that money, i stupidly got back on drugs.....
This, later made me feel lower than the lowest bugs.
This must have meant that i was destined to live in a prison or jail...
I'll die of old age in prison. Now, this is the end of my intersting and sorry old tale.
The moral of this story is, stay off drugs, or you'll end up, for life...
Locked up, with cock roaches and bugs as cell mates.
Will the bugs be your cell mates, for life?
Poetry by Michael Jeffrey Gale
Read 555 times
Written on 2006-11-18 at 20:29
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
