Just Waiting

I guess that you must have spent at least a little time in the bars. I'm intrigued by the form, but it seems to work as you read. ~ Gee

I was intrigued by the form., but it seems to work as you read. I'm guessing that you have spent at least little time in the bars and befriended at least one cocktail waitress. ~ Gee

There didn't seem to be any. It truly was (and I hate to say this) prose with line breaks. The subject is intense and deserves a structured poem or free verse, but I don't see that it is either.
Forgive me, but I couldn't pretend with you.
I don't like it.

canada we say....The and in duh

I worked for the elders when I was a teen....then young adult
living at home....my dad loved me....my mom put up with me
both split with more adapted mates...
a car to use...women to befriend and date
but it took all the years till this past few months too see my
role as a male
in their eyes

but on the road to here
I met many
i was not hard on the trail like some
have too
but endurance enough
like missions or a tour
saw enough to just know

people that you would avoid
not thinking of the life they lived
in their grand debuts and debacles
and starry hues
they were genuine
and faded
walk of stars on a street
now jaded

how do you explain

exploits stories
their dimmed years
exhaled
they reached and swung
from the stars
when the riches were
dumped from pails
in the treasure houses
with extended hours

as an ode poem to they
be it california
carolina
canada
conneticut
cape cod
cuba
corpus christi
cansas

their ghosts
their mortality
the bridges
beneath them
smouldered
and fell
riches to ruin
wrack and pinata
they steered
the scene
behind convertibles
on harleys
buicks
all regal

settling in the haze
and smog
of post yarn wheeze
still capable handed
and quick sleight of
hand the matted foxes
out quicking the matadors

and as you write
the trick trigger finger
the sleeve that hung
up
the love held too long
something of their passion
that slipped free the anchor
to let them drift
in sargasso seas sunburnt
and weary
alive and leery
with true stories
that would fill the shoes
of the most ordinary
like a closet of clothes

I had met them
some I still know
the old shrill
the old hustle
hold their own in
a tussle.
of words
mind and wit

I know these people
like I know this character
in your poem
this person in your poem
I correct myself
direktor included

I did not get here today
nor stay alive through those
dark years
by my great mind
and self everything
and I sacrificed and held
onto much too long

My passion

like poetry

thank U
for writing about true others
like this

Mr Esker~

I like this, but, as Wes says, it does read more as prose, even with the rhyme

what it needs is some replacement of some phrases with imagery....

the lack of regular meter didn't bother me, I felt it read well.

Love judy
xxx