meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

      Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2019 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   311507 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry

   


Read Poetry
Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out



Devious

Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Last Night

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

Words

Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

More Poetry >>

 
Features

  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook

 
   

I Am Sad For Mr Jagger's Girlfriend


Mick Jagger's girlfriend
is dead
He is distraught
over the loss of
his long-time companion.

It is a trend,
they say.
People of a certain age
are dying
dropping like
flies, fallen leaves,
too old,  they've been told,
they've lost their
usefulness.

Value is
bright and shiny and
belongs to youth.

Woe to the dulled
copper pennies
of life, woe
that they feel
a certain uselessness.

Out-moded, they are
yesterday's non-computerized
generation,
looking for meaning but
living well beyond their expiration
dates.

Inferred:
Its not too late
to kick the bucket,
blast yourself back
into the auto-matonic outer space.
Return your star dust
back to God.

How irresponsible of the
Un-News-Worthy Newscaster
to spew her doom over the
airwaves.
"They are dying in waves,"
she brayed...
"Well before their time
and by their own hands."

Are
ages 49 to 64
leaving because
they've been penciled out
of future's plans?

Reaching my left hand right into
the guts of the radio, I wanted
to shake the sunshine from
a voice trained
to be unnaturally
cheerful. Sickened by
her earfuls.

And so, the twenty-somethings
blubber and deplore their
joblessness or underemployment,
much too outraged and crippled by
their school time debt.

At least they haven't been
counted out of
the living,
yet.

I am sad
for Mr. Jagger's
Girlfriend.
Who had her own name.
Who had a birth, and many years in between a shortened life.
Who thought she'd out-lived
her usefulness.

I understand.
She deserves a better
epitaph than long-time
companion.


Copyright March 20, 2014 all rights reserved by
this author/ Meloo/ Melissa A Howells
site: Tilt-a-World





Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem

Comments

 Email Address

 

Vote for this poem