Thursday, December 29, 2011

A Different Path

By Rick Williams

here I sit.
I can't quite shake the feeling;
Wondering long,
"Where'd I go wrong?"
and staring at the ceiling.

Much more I'd earn
if I had learned
way more while back in school;
I'd likely be
well off and free
had I never played the fool.

The money goes
to all of those
that prove that they were scholars;
If high school's tops
and the learning stops
we'll never see big dollars.

I can't go back
to change my track
and right my stupid wrongs;
Instead I sit
and reflect a bit
writing melancholy songs.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Waving 'Bye to Youth

By Rick Williams

Remember when
we had smooth skin
and our hair contained no gray?

Our minds were clear,
we had no fear,
and our days were filled with play!

Fun came first,
and we immersed
ourselves in it a lot.

We'd play the fools
and break the rules
without a second thought.

But now we're old
and much less bold
and we have much more to lose.

So we move slow
with sounds of woe,
and praise our pees and poos.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Limericks of Coworkers

By Rick Williams

There once was a driver named Bill
who seemed to have only one skill:
Doing everything slow
was his usual M.O.
The chance of him working was nil.

He coughs like he's dying of T.B.
He smokes like a chimney, you see.
If he laughs at your jokes
he will cough 'til he chokes
and his face will turn red as can be.

Tenny is trailer-trash grade
whose lifestyle is naught but charade
his upperclass cars
are old beaters with scars
When he hired on the boss was well played.

The right-winger he pretends hard to be
is all so his bosses will see.
He has zero clues
of political news;
He's brown-nosing I'm sure you'll agree.

Katie, a new girl that was hired
because Scott, under work was so mired
she has a nice smile
and she knows how to file
So I hope that her skills are admired.

Sometimes when she puts up her hair
I see her tattoo and I stare
I wonder, "Are there more?
Does she have tats galore?"
But inquire such a thing I don't dare.

There once was a guy named Metheny
who lived his whole life for his weenie.
When he'd find him a chick
she would point at his dick
"It's cute but a little too teeny."

There once was a tall fellow named Brandon
who spent all day with papers he scanned in.
Sometimes he'd clean,
or even run a machine;
and occasionally run software he planned in.

Friday, August 26, 2011

A Tribute to Bruce

By Rick Williams

A lot of things have been repaired:
Machinery, pipes, and wiring,
but after years of working hard
Lansciardi is retiring.

He has been our "go-to" guy
when things at work would die.
It seemed he could fix anything.
If not, he still would try.

It didn't matter if he was clean
he'd jump right into messes.
He'd clear a plugged-up toilet
or work on oily presses.

Installations and upgrades
were also things he'd do.
No matter how complex they'd seem
He could see them through.

He taught a lot of people things
that they had never known.
He was a patient teacher too,
and taught without a groan.

We always knew when he was near--
his whistle could be heard.
That's how he announced himself
without a single word.

Many times he worked so hard
and he was stretched so thin
he needed clones to help him finish
so his next job could begin.

I'm sure that there are things at work
he'd just as soon forget,
but he'll miss things too--I'm sure of that
but won't too soon I'll bet.

There is one thing that might be good
about Bruce leaving us,
and that's the blame game we can pull
whenever we get cussed.

I can hear it now--just wait:
"Who didn't get this done?"
We'll be able to point a finger
"It was Bruce--Yep, he's the one."

It's time that he slowed down a bit
and treasured things in life;
He'll get to count his blessings
and spend time with his wife.

It will be weird after he leaves
on that you can rely,
but he has worked his years;
it's time to say goodbye.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Cranial Cobwebs

By Rick Williams

The cobwebs in my aging brain
are continually conspiring
to make it a monumental strain
to dredge thoughts I'm requiring.

Maybe it's the years of use
that have taken a heavy toll,
or maybe I've run out of space
in my cranial dust bowl?

At one time it was easy to see
the corners of my mental room
but now it's dark and dimly lit
filled with haze and gloom.

Although my head seems packed
with murkiness and sludge
it still seems plenty able to
opinion-ate or judge.

I have to focus hard on things
to do them well enough,
but that's another problem
because focusing is tough.

Some things I remember well
like who sang what and when,
the characters of movies
and other roles they're in.

I remember all the trivial stuff;
it easily comes to me,
but ask what I must do today
and blank I'll likely be.

There is short term memory
and long term so they say,
but I really wish I could recall
the stuff I need today.

Sue gets frustrated at my lack
of remembering certain tasks.
Like what to do or what to buy
the first time that she asks.

I feel so badly when I fail
it's not for lack of trying,
and when I say I don't recall
it's not that I am lying.

If I could really concentrate
I'd probably be okay
but that ability, like I said,
was lost along the way.

Perhaps I burnt too many cells
with fun like drugs and booze,
but what if I stayed pure and good
and still had missing screws?

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The Commute

By Rick Williams

Each weekday I commute in my car,
and luckily I don't drive too far.
To help pass the time
I'll make up a rhyme
While I'm captive like bugs in a jar.

Most of the year there's no light,
so I drive under cover of night.
There's not much to see
during the morning Grand Prix,
but the endless red brake lights in sight.

It's funny the things you DO see;
One guy surprised even me.
He ate cereal from a bowl
while continuing to roll
at full speed--as he steered with his knee!

I sometimes see makeup-type stuff
being applied when it's daylight enough.
They drive while they paste
all that stuff on their face
and their hair they will comb, brush, and fluff.

And then there's the lane-changing bunch...
Into the tiniest gap they will scrunch.
They don't gain much ground
and you'd think they'd have found
that they're flirting with causing a crunch.

At full speed on the freeway one day
multitasking in the midst of the fray,
I saw a guy with a book
and he occasionally would look
through the windshield and again look away.

I see tailgating constantly too.
Some are close as a mere yard or two.
No matter the speed
they just feel the need
to not ever lose their place in the queue.

Some folks ride along and will use
their commute as a chance for a snooze.
When they arrive at their place
of employment they face
the sequel of the "waking up blues".

I've heard of some people doing more
while battling the commuting war.
They learn something new
like a language or two.
It's useful time they can't seem to ignore.

I suppose that there are those that will look
for any possible excuse in the book
to leave their home life,
bitchy husband or wife
for a quiet, peaceful drive off the hook.

So in the morning go and stumble outside,
and climb sleepily into your ride.
Don't forget to show up
with your large coffee cup
Lest you arrive at your work looking fried.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Rural Summer

By Rick Williams

Driving barefoot, hardly dressed,
the heated air feels good.
Open windows, blowing hair;
living summer like we should.

Dusty ribbons of empty roads
cut pathways through the land.
The air that blows throughout the car
though hot, still keeps us fanned.

Unconcerned with blowing hair,
and squinting in the sun,
we're singing with the radio
to add to the driving fun.

Every time we crest a rise
we ease up on the gas,
but the lonely road goes onward
through the fields of dirt and grass.

In places where the asphalt ends
and the road turns into gravel,
a rooster tail of dust blows high
and follows as we travel.

The rising plume that follows us
shows others when we're near,
and also lets any others know
if their traffic "coast is clear".

There's another reason to drive fast:
To stay ahead of dust.
Keeping it outside the car
when driving is a plus.

The scents that waft from sun-baked fields
like hay and fresh-turned earth
are the country smells of summer,
and we've cherished them since birth.

After driving on these dusty roads
we're gritty, dry, and hot,
so we head down to the clear, cool river
our favorite summer spot.

Out there off the beaten path,
away from prying eyes,
skinny-dipping the day away,
under clear blue skies.

Rural life in summertime
is simple and carefree,
but we don't want the world to know
or crowded we will be.

Friday, April 8, 2011

I Saw a Man

By Rick Williams

I saw a man who was painfully thin
his clothes were dirty rags;
he was standing in a garbage bin
digging through the bags.

Briefly then, his gaze met mine;
his red-rimmed eyes were pained.
If they ever held a shine
no trace of it remained.

I saw a man with mismatched shoes;
his dirty ankles bare.
He clutched his paper bag of booze
and peered through stringy hair.

He stared down at the littered ground
as if it wasn't there;
oblivious of things around,
lost in his despair.

I saw a man upon the ground
in dirty blankets rolled;
he slept and as he did he frowned
outdoors in bitter cold.

He has no place to call his own
and has to search for food.
He spends his empty days alone
no friends he can include.

I saw a man that spends his nights
inside a cardboard box.
Enduring insects and their bites
he has no doors or locks.

Sometimes when he'll go and roam
to find something to eat
he'll come back to his makeshift home
and find only empty street.

I saw a man in an alleyway
huddled near a warm air vent;
at his side a small dog lay
sharing space on the cement.

Whenever there was food to eat
he fed his puppy first.
Although they lived out on the streets
alone it would be worse.

I saw a man that wandered nights;
he found it best to stay
away from all the noise and lights
and sleep during the day.

He rested in the doorways, dark
and hid from public eye;
he'd sometimes sleep in city parks
under the open sky.

I saw a man hunched in the rain;
he once had pride and wealth.
From drug use he could not refrain
and it cost his job and health.

His energy, once strong, was spent;
he had nothing to give.
Begging handouts he stood, bent;
doing what he could to live.

The stories of these fallen men
are varied, yet the same.
They know they can't go back again
their pasts can they reclaim.

The human need to cling to life
is all that drives them now.
Their days are filled with pain and strife
but they survive, no matter how.

Friday, March 25, 2011


By Rick Williams

I feel it's time
to make a rhyme;
I think it's overdue.

I feel the need,
and I must heed;
so here's from me to you.

Friday's here!
A day for beer
that's not my daily kind.

A treat for me;
I like to see
what new taste I can find.

We both employ
our hot tub's joy
almost every night.

But Friday's best
to soak the stress;
No bedtime is in sight.

Yes, the Friday "feel"
has great appeal;
It's the end of our week-long woes.

A time to drink
but not to think
of where the weekend goes.