Nope
by Ted L Glines

I ain't writin no poem tonight
nothin bout love and nothin bout fright
just gonna have a darned fine night
vegetatin in the soft moon light

Jus for one night -- don't care bout love
don't wanna write bout the heaven above
don't want fiends or a lil white dove
no rhymes which fit like a lady's glove.

Ain't writin no poem and you can't make me
don't give a hoot if the muse foresakes me
gimme a beer and heaven take me
trippin til the dawn decides to wake me.

Ain't gonna write no songs or rap
no rhythms to make you dance and tap
jus gonna dream and take a nap
and someone else can make you clap.

I may be a fool and I might be a dope
but I need some rest to give me scope
don't ask for a poem -- don't even hope
I got one word and that word is "Nope!"

Nothing
by Ted L Glines

She complained
nothing to do
it drove her crazy
and I thought
(to myself)
she simply does not know
how to do nothing
with pzazz
but I am older
wiser
and I have great expertise
at the fine art
of doing nothing
-- oh my --
my favorite activity
is doing
nothing
and I do it
with great zeal
as often
as possible
while shaking my head
at young people
dashing about
all stressed out
going nowhere
accomplishing nothing
just like me
but they have
strokes heart attacks
ulcers
suburban stress syndrome
smoking pot crack meth
killing themselves to escape
nothing
-- epiphany --
-- lightbulb over head --
I should write a book
“The Zen Art of Doing Nothing”
book signings
university lectures
expensive seminars at
Esalen Institute
“Blissed Out Nothingness”
and hire a CPA
to count my wealth
hire drivers for
limousine yacht learjet
maids for my three mansions
while tabloids
recreate me as someone
scandalous and decadent
who does nothing
with
glee

Night After Christmas
by Ted L Glines

Twas the night after Christmas
and all through the mall,
janitors were busy
cleaning storefronts and all,
while inside the shops,
see the managers scurry,
changing the price tags
in a frenzied hurry
to get everything ready,
doll - tie - and pail,
for the rush the next morning,
the big half-price sale,
while ...
on a bench outside Subway,
a little old man
sighes as he holds
his red cap in his hand,
with a tear running down
remembering the fun,
he's no longer needed
now that Christmas is done,
yes, he can go home,
stow away Santa's gear,
and wait through the lonely months
'til his Big Day next year.