Roy W. Backes – Poetry

If I Could Only Get Out of My Own Way

I’m like the drawbridge
Lifted to allow the armada through.
I’m like the big yellow bar
And flashing red lights at
The railroad crossing, waiting
For the freight train to pass.
I’m like the tree laying across
The road, blown over by the wind,
Waiting for the chainsaws to arrive.

I’ve placed these barriers that
Block my way,
Impede my progress,
Make me wait.

I could easily go around,
Go through, go over these
Obstacles I’ve placed in my path,
Allowing me to get on with my life.

That is,
If I could only get out of my own way.

Roy W. Backes
© 2021

I Swear

My friends, you need to know,
I swear…….a lot.
I drop the ‘F’ bomb
Way too often.
I use the Lord’s name in vain
All the time.
But, then again,
I don’t really believe in the ‘Lord’
Any longer.
I never use the ‘C’ word
Or racial slurs.
I am often not the most PC person
You have ever met.

But know this,
If you are my friend
I will always have your back.
I won’t ever throw you under the bus.
However,
If you cross me,
I will curse up a storm each and
Every time your name is mentioned.

My friends, you need to know,
I swear…….a lot.
I drop the ‘F’ bomb
Way too often.
But know this,
Once you are my friend
You will always be my friend……
I swear!

Roy W. Backes
© 2021

Another Country Song lyric.

Gotta Get Up

She is a hard pounding woman,
My woman is.
A bottle of bourbon and a shotgun glass
She has no problem
Whooping my ass.
It’s Tuesday night.
I say as a warning,
Honey, I gotta get up in the morning

She is a hard pounding woman,
My woman is.
With some ganga and some paper
She can go all night
Till the sun comes up
Bringing the bright daylight.
It is only Wednesday night.
I say as a warning,
Honey, I gotta get up in the morning.

She is a hard pounding woman,
My woman is.
When it comes to lovin’
She just won’t stop.
She keeps me going long after I pop.
It is Thursday night.
I say as a warning,
Honey, I gotta get up in the morning.

She is a hard pounding woman,
My woman is.
With the weekend ahead
She pounds me hard.
All Friday and Saturday
I can’t drop my guard.
Come Sunday, I’m spent.
I need to rest,
‘Cause Honey, I say 
As a warning,
I gotta get up in the morning

Roy W. Backes
© 2015

Now

Now is a fleeting memory.
Now is constantly changing.
Now is already gone.
Now just became the past.
Holding onto “Now” is like….
Shit, it’s gone!

Roy W. Backes
© 2014

Death Row

I walk down the hallway
Of what we used to call
An “Old folk’s home.”
No hope in these hallways.
Everyone here has been
Condemned to die.
The threat of death is found
Around every corner,
Behind every door.
It infects the air.
It infects the bodies.
I see the Grim Reaper,
Scythe in hand, stroll
These hallways,
Popping in for short visits
From time to time.
All of these people,
Whether waiting for the needle
Or the chair
Or the body to just give out
Are sentenced
To spend their final days
Condemned to Death Row.

Roy W. Backes
© 2019

Reflection

The morning sun reflects
Off of the gray-blue lake
Like an emptied bag of diamonds
On black velvet.
It calms my mind and
Allows me to reflect.
Staring at the sparkling light
Is a form of meditation
Taking me deeper and deeper
Into the present,
Allowing me to access the past.
A past with few regrets
And many, many bright lights
Like the morning sun
Reflecting off of a gray-blue lake.

Roy W. Backes
© 2016

Thumbing

(Splash)  I’m tired.  I’m cold.
My feet are wet
(Splash, splash)
My calves hurt from walking backwards with my thumb out.
High beams, 
Bright (Hand covering my eyes.) headlights.
Come on, come on, come (splash) on.
Will I ever find a dry spot?
Headlights (low-beams. I smile.).
I’m not a rapist.  I’m a good guy,
I promise. 
(Splash)  You bastard!
Damn, it’s cold.
Headlights (Don’t forget to smile)
Try to look normal.
Shit! A station wagon (Splash)
How far to the nearest motel?
How much money do I have?
I’m tired.
Headlights (low beams. Smile.)
Please stop, please …..
Is he slowing down?
No …. is he?
All right!!
“Thanks, mister.”!!

Roy W. Backes
© 1989

Spring Song

Early spring
In the middle of the city.
Temperatures are mild,
The trees beginning to bud,
The perennials finally peeking
Out of the ground once again.
Among the city sounds 
Of construction and sirens
Sits a bird in my local tree
Singing her song, or
Calling her mate.
Either way the song is a joy
To hear after spending the winter
Locked inside, breathing
Heated air and listening to
The song of my furnace and fridge
Cycle on and off for months on end.

Early spring
In the middle of the city
Among the city sounds of
Construction and sirens
The bird song
Is music to my ears.

Roy W. Backes
© 2021

City Heels or Country Boots

In the shadow of high rises
Along an avenue with taxis honking
And bus fumes choking
I’ve seen her almost every day.
Dressed to the nines and
Always wearing a gorgeous pair 
Of high heels that show off
Her legs in a wonderful way.

Then one sunny autumn day
I saw her walking down the avenue
Wearing a beautiful and sexy
Pair of cowboy boots.
Now, every morning as I walk
The avenue downtown,
I find myself wondering
If she is going to be wearing
Her city heels or
Her country boots.

Roy W. Backes
© 2007

To Write

To write takes an artist’s eye.
To write takes an artist’s soul.
To write takes patience.
To write takes persistence.
To write takes effort.
To write takes great strength
To push aside and keep aside
That big granite block.
To write takes putting pen to paper
Or fingers to keyboard.
To write takes courage
To face the blank page
And write what it takes.

Roy W. Backes
© 2018