Ode to a Rustic Escape

Here I sit in a darkened room
With no power to call my own.

Only just a few minutes and soon
I won’t even have my phone.

Left to live as the pioneers did.
I’m about to leave the grid!

No TV. No radio. No motorcar.
Oh wait! Another bar!

My Car Is Sick (a poem)

My car is sick
I have to stick
To buses and trains
Like I have no brains
For expensive repair
I’m in despair
Bring back my baby to me

My car is sick
Please fix it quick
Please make it better
Or I’ll need a sweater
For warmth

My car is sick
Maybe I’ll trick
The man next door
Into taking me to the store
For groceries.

My car is sick
Like a candle’s wick
That’s been snuffed out
And stepped on.

My car is sick
No more rhyming tricks
I think I’ll end it right here