Log 211 ~Will Leaves A Note~

When I was in junior college for a bit, I wrote to some girl; let’s say that it’s a lesson I keep having to repeat, which is why I swore off poetry for quite some time and now, well, my second best friend can judge. Will Leaves A Note.

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

Log 211 ~Will Leaves A Note~

Dear Future Wife,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and I want to take you with me, My Love. Now I don’t have to spell out who I admire, but in my business well, it didn’t help him any. He got married twice and never tried it again, but I have you. Yes, I have you, and there will never be any secrets between us. “THEY,” say that brevity is the soul of wit. That was William Shakespeare if memory serves. Anyway, I tend to be longwinded in writing, at least. The things I say can often be, well, there are many things, so why not “Come with Me Now.”

I can’t even tell you now what today’s plan is because I want to be a gentleman. If you didn’t like me using songs, chances are we wouldn’t be here today. Only an epiphany I had, always apologizing for something that isn’t a flaw. The same is true for my writing baby girl. Do you remember the show “How I Met Your Mother?” I hated Ted and especially hated Robin. Well, Ted had this thing about women reaching for the check SIGH. As always I am one for tradition, I pay you shouldn’t even be worried about it ever. My thing has always been words; I realize the power that they have. The words I’ve written for myself have nearly had me fired, I’ve met cops, was kicked out of school for a while. Those same words with a handsome face, a pretty girl, a beautiful woman, or a wad of cash, well, we’re here.

You weren’t scared when I quoted the lyrics of Butterfly, a bit of Twilight, my many novels, or even the truth. Still, I pick up a pen, I touch a keyboard, I might text, and it frightens me baby doll. Besides being in love with you more each day and hating being away, I rather have you around whenever I can. Obsession, see you don’t even bat an eye with such talk. My dream told me so, yes, you know I believe in dreams. Last night it was so easy, the two of us lying on this couch/bed duo you in a hoodie and well? Talk for another time, but we were getting ready to watch WWE Royal Rumble. I don’t want to be afraid, though, when I write to you ever. Stay With Me before Will Writes A Note.

I Will Have No Fear

Looking Grim

I played with the thought, quite a bit actually but if you see the year yeah I survived, I made my way back to the land of the living… am I actually calling this living now hmm? Looking Grim, to be honest things have looked better often enough really

Better than… acting
As if you know the truth
Like life you’re attacking
But do you follow through
Or are you snacking
Leaving it to your stunt crew

Better than… showing
The whole damn world
Where we’re going
What’s the word?
Death
Cheated but defeated?
Blind and deaf
Yet we all meet it

Better than… knowing
Tricks are for kids
But we’re growing
Too big
Bigger you think
Than what’s to come
Kool-Aid to drink
Or you run

Better than… towing
Wisdom and knowledge
Where you going
For me it wasn’t college
Call me confused and lost
If you’re not going to die
Why carry the cross
Jigsaw’s my guy

Better than… lacking
The cure
Success is tapping
But I learned
What’s happening
And so I’ll burn

Because it’s more than a look
It’s me
That cooks
And I see
But was not shook
At what has to be

A blessing and a sin
My brother’s keeper
Better than… looking grim
A look at the Grim Reaper

Copyright © 2011, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Mime No More

This is what happens when you speak; I mean my penname is “Marquis de Joker” yeah I’m a clown but I don’t have any jokes, I am the joke, makes me a mime. Mime No More… might find out Saturday, my writing was certainly a joke with HR, maybe.

And he would have been sorry
if he could get a grip
of his love-struck heart; boring
But a pink slip
is gruesome and gory
This is it

With his name on the dotted line
He would walk right out the door
Or he would pretend this time
Only what’s the truth there for
Fine
He’ll ask God once more

Oops
right, he was too damn loud
Talked at all, big whoops
Because he’s a clown and how
For just one big group
Mankind… and he was bound

To want to be one of you
Because of “her”
Pretend, that’s what they do
Wouldn’t you rather…
Well it doesn’t matter; he told the truth
Why was there laughter

if he wasn’t funny
Not enough or too much
Well anyway there goes the money
Where is the love
Suppose he should die really
Because what’s to become should he see

It’s all there in black and white
Line by line and they didn’t have to find
pencil, paper, evidence in sight
Can’t you see his crime?
Guess it wasn’t very bright
There goes his job of being a mime
Sorry is the word that never comes out right

Copyright © 2015 Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.