When I have time on my hands, I know
just what to do.
I take out my computer and click away
on keys, as midnight colored word flash
before my very eyes.
I smack on my peppermint gum, as
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
On snow color paper as smooth as
glass, a poem begins to form.
Along come a know it all, as blind as Mr. Magoo.
Who read a book on writing poems and now knows
all there is to know.
They analyze every word !
Find every mistake !
And every misspelled word !
Dissecting my poem all apart, as if it was a type of insect,
in a Science project. Until I do not recognize my own
They are always right, I'm always wrong!
Another correction, another debate !
Wise guy; braggart; brains; wind bag; walking encyclopedia,
or who ever you are. I have some questions just for you !
Do you know why I write?
What I am feeling ? Maybe you think I don't have feelings.
Have you even notice that suddenly my smile
has turned up side down ?
Now, I am feeling blue, it all happen when I ran into you .
Unfortunately, after meeting a know it all, you may leave the
situation bitter , not better.
Maybe some do not have time on their hands to tell you what
you have done.
Not me! I make the time !
To the know it all:
Ever wonder why people vanish as if by magic when ever your
Maybe like me, they want to be around people that leave their
sails full, not half full.
With time on my hands, I write this poem about a Know It all,
that in the end did not know a thing at all!