use before due date

Do I want to die
while eating a balogna sandwich?
Or worse yet
A tomato sandwich
With no balogna
and two heals of bread.

Face it
someday...
I'll be dead.

Bob Jenkens

poor-people-for-breakfast.html?m=1

my-disclaimer.html?m=1

it is what it is

I don't know
That you know this
About me

I'm just a screw up

Theoretically
maybe even genetically

I won't show
My chromozones
Are array

But
How does luck know?

Bob Jenkens

Are you writing a book?

I'm not! Not really. you might say living the book,  Not to be mistaken for a fairy tale.
I write poems inspired by my every day living. I know they sound dark truthfully
there hasn't been a lot of sunshine in my life. I published my first kindle book
"will write for food" just weeks before I was evicted from my home two years ago. My son Gavin is on the cover.
 The book consists of some of my favorite poems. Poems Like "Hidden from reality" that I wrote while I was in prison. The story of the publication would be the real story. I kind of do that throughout my blog
when I finally figure out how the pieces  go people will wonder why I waited to break them out.
why did I struggle and struggle and wait to the end to flourish? Isn't that what a flower does?
Only kidding I really expect to die right after Gods blessings rain down on me.
I published "what colors humanity" in January 2015 my dog sparky waggs is on the cover. I work as a roofer but I fight this over whelming anxiety everyday to help humanity come to reason. Thing is I can't seem to get along with my own family. I don't mean to disagree and I've told myself I need to fix myself first. My mom and sisters my daughter my son and I my dad my sisters my mom....Zoe! I don't know where to start a lot like my book. So I write it's what I do.
I need to take every poem and tell you write where I was when I wrote it for example:
I wrote "Hidden from reality" it was 1990 I was waiting for a visit from my mom. I was in Waterloo Michigan in a prison camp. I had been in prison 3 years at this point all over Michigan and mom is still coming to see me on the weekends. It was a foggy morning I had my Sony Walkman on listening to the radio Tom petty free falling was playing. Inmate numbers and names are coming from loud speakers mounted on top the Constantine fence.Fog so thick you almost can't see the top of the fence. I kept circling the yard waiting for my prison number to come over the PA to let me know mom was there. In the center of the yard was I really hear?
The fog is so thick it's like I'm in a cloud. Before she arrived I had to go in and write it down. I took it out to her on the visit and explained to her
I wrote this poem about you mom. She read it and looked at me and said "hows this about me"? I explained to her
"your the fog".
Hidden from reality...        

Right-write-written.html

the-american-judicial-system.html

Today it’s all foggy,
It’s what you might say is a limited sight distance.
I can barely see the ground,
As I walk with my head hanging down.
I’ve been in prison for what seems to be all eternity.
Tom Petty’s free falling is playing on the radio,
But all I see is cold brick walls and Constantine.
I walk into the center of the yard and like the earth I turn
On an imaginary axis.
Nothing is all I can see.
The fog is so thick has it set me free?
I’m not really here I’m floating in a cloud
I’m thinking to myself but it’s so quiet I seem loud
Throughout all this time I’ve been through allot
If only the fog would stay in this spot
It’s almost over, If only you would stay
Let me see the stars at night
but hide me from the day.

Bob Jenkens
I'm sorry mom I Love you!
Kimmy are you writing a book? I love you!

smile

Smile

My life was once so dark, I couldn’t even see.
The pounding of my heart was all that seemed free.
Then one day the strangest thing.
A smile seemed to appear.
All the birds began to sing and
Made the world seem clear.
I wandered around until I reached the sea.
Where waves crashed upon the shore.
There I seen you look at me and
Found that smile was yours.
Now I’m in another world and finally I can see.
Happiness does exist and a smile set me free.

Bob Jenkens



I wrote this in 1991 incarcerated with the Michigan department of corrections.
I wrote it to a pen pale a young lady from west land who wrote me to trust in God.
"I don't know why you are hear or what purpose this could serve in your life but God has
a reason for this to be in your life". she assured me God never gives us more than we can handle.
I remember when I was released from prison I began attending the specs Howard school of broadcast arts.
I moved to garden city which was right next to west land. I knew Debbie worked at Long John silvers and
that it was her birthday so I took her a card... I didn't want her to think I was a stalker so I approached
her in the parking lot and told her this had fallen from her car while her door was open. Of course I told her in the
birthday card that it had been me. I gave her my phone number as well so she could call me to tell me thank you.
Thank you Debbie for giving me something positive to write about and live for. God Bless.

same shit different day

Today I thought yesterday was gone
When it was tomorrow I couldn't see
Tomorrow I hope isn't as long
As I thought yesterday could be

Yesterday...
Today was tomorrow
And tomorrow's no different from yesterday

Still....What is today?
anyway?
And tomorrow....
Won't it be gone?


Bob Jenkens



I don't know what goes through my
head some times...

Under the president's breath

I heard the President say
Resort to cannibalism
And poverty will go away
We'll eat the poor
It's The American way

We'll import immigrant workers
To work for minimum wage
When they want a raise
We'll blend them into sage

We'll bake the National Guard
On a rack at 350 degrees
We'll never bring them back
To feed Their families

We'll burn up Social Security
Like a great big pile of leaves
And use our best technology
Turning Iraqis into gas
to power our Mercedes
Or were never gonna last.



Bob jenkens

/what-colors-racism.html


My prediction:
(Capitalism Will cave to terrorism and
The politicians will run away)


I wrote this in 2008 it seems to offensive to write I'm sorry if it offends you to.
I've changed it now and projected it toward our local Government.

Bob Jenkens

http://fbgfgc.blogspot.com/2015/10/humility.html?m=1

Bloody American stew

I’ve never eaten or ate a poor person.
But I know I hate them anyway.
I hate them on a rotisserie,
Turned until their blood and
juice are dripping with Justice
From our judicial system.
I hate to see them in line counting dimes
To buy some gas and make it to work on time.
I hate not to have five bucks to throw their way.
With nothing to say.
I’ve never eaten or ate a poor person
But I sure know what it tastes like.
Eaten or ate, alive or dead, whatever proper English is.
I’m just a poor person and I hate it!
Bob Jenkens



/everyday-people-are-dieing-unnecessarily.html







I don't live in Flint but I have to say the situation reminds me of hurricane Katrina.
people are sending stock piles of bottled water. People can't wash their kids in a bottles of water.
It's a life saving gesture but the people of Flint deserve action. They shouldn't be trying to point fingers or try
to fight over who needs to foot the bill.  The state Government that failed the People's should
pay for it all.... I'm just a dumb roofer. things look different from up here.

supercalifredulious is expealidocious

Fighting anxiety
With depression
and stress
all in one breath

With a side of questions
and no answers
Broken down
and bent
Having anxiety for breakfast
See if there's a pill
On the menu
Look for answers
On the specials
Grilled cheese
and split pea soup
For two



Bob Jenkens




I have this immense anxiety I have to do something for the poor people. Be their voice some how? I can't explain it.
I'm a dumb roofer I can roof a house by myself and love doing it. I write does it make me a writer? why do I feel like I have anything to write?
I write my experiences in life only I can't write it as a story. It might be frustrations from my consistent car troubles to love and political/religious opinion.
In the back of my head I'm always writing but I can't get it the way I want so it don't end up on print. Poems are like my notes. are you taking notes? Please do and somehow together we can make sense of this.
I use to be the kid in class who kept his head close to the desk directly behind a fellow class mate trying not to be called on by the teacher to read aloud in class.
I barely graduated high school at Columbia central in Brooklyn. I was 19 years old in prison when I started writing. before I was released I applied to the specs Howard school of broadcast arts. I wanted to be a dj. I wanted to have a loud voice and point out the injustice of our judicial system. I've worked as a morning show host a program director a news director. I don't think sheriff Germond knew I was an ex con when he invited me to his retirement Christmas party or if it would have mattered. What I liked about being a news director was writing facts. Anything on a police report you could report and not be liable to accusations of slander. "It was in the police report". Since then I've discovered police lie. You can't even imagine what reality is if you have any belief our system is just. It gives me anxiety cause I know different and I'm a dumb builder.
so the people who know the truth our politicians do nothing to change it. and our news guys? their automated now paid fiscally to hide the truth.
at some point my fear of standing up in front of class and reading has been conquered. I've never before had something so important to say. Our judicial system will beat up a poor white man just as fast as they'll beat up anyone else. Even the mentally incompetent they don't deserve to be in our prisons after they're bullied by our public defenders (Eric kisser John t glaizer) and a kangaroo court with a revolving door.





http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00IYQZX90susd

will write for food the movie

banana bread

I think what was once only speculated
has become a scary reality!
That hate
Is bread among us.
The song is different
From once what was
A reason
To hate myself
For what I've done
Compared to some it's small
But I hold myself accountable
By depriving my emotions
in knowing relaxation


Bob Jenkens

Early Febuary maybe May

is it justice or just us? (the poor people's)

You've stolen my dreams
You cast me in hell
I whisper aloud
Who am I now
No flesh on my bones
No dreams in my head
In hell all alone
what was that I said
Mean with no feelings
Is this what you think
Well I feel and I cry
It's your thinking that's weak

You play God with my life
a bandit with my dreams
but sleep well in the night
It's you who is mean
Cast him in hell
that's what you said
His dreams I will sell
that Man is dead
In hell you say (Laura Schaller)
and don't even care
In hell I say
I'll see you there!

Bob Jenkens