IN THE DARKNESS

I cannot sleep, my neighbor’s on a tear,
Darkness has fallen at the end of day.
Stop, stop your caterwauling over there.

I have to work tomorrow, you don’t care,
and you won’t listen to a word I say!
I cannot sleep, my neighbor’s on a tear,

I’d love to shut you up, but I don’t dare,
the officers would come; take me away,
Stop, stop your caterwauling over there.

I’d understand if you were dying there,
your rage against the night would be okay,
I cannot sleep, my neighbor’s on a tear,

The dying of the light is not so rare
to have you shouting all the live-long day!
Stop, stop your caterwauling over there.

You dirty mother, you’re starting to wear
upon my nerves, now at the close of day
I cannot sleep, my neighbor’s on a tear,
Stop, stop your caterwauling over there.

 

(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014

QUICKLY IN SEPTEMBER P.A.D. – DAY 16: THE SEQUEL to

 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

DRUNK AT WOOD’S ON A SNOWY EVENING

It feels I’ve gone ten-thousand miles,
I’ve shaken hands, exchanged some smiles;
I grow more tired, very slow,
I long to rest here for a while.

 The wind, it blusters driving snow,
the woods are deep and still they grow,
I need to stop and find my base,
or not much further can I go.

The frozen lake reflects my face,
so slippery, it slows my pace
and I made promises to keep.
but have no will to leave this place.

At Wood’s they have a good barkeep,
he pours me lagers, dark and deep,
and no more miles until I sleep,
and no more miles until I sleep.

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2014

QUICKLY IN SEPTEMBER P.A.D. – DAY16: THE SEQUEL to

 

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Lee Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.