A DAY AT THE SALON OF
Each poem is much like a head of hair
and each one has its special length and style.
Some need a little spray to hold them square.
Some need a bit of pomade and a smile.
Each word is like a strand in every way.
Sometimes we pull them when they won't comply.
Some have split ends, we find them every day.
So snip, snip, snip - and off to rinse and dry.
Each rhyme is like a precious little curl
upon the head of someone sweet and young.
It's simply loved by every boy and girl.
Once they grow up, to sides, it's merely flung.
Beware of too much literary breeze -
and free verse is a mohawk with some fleas.
WHAT BROKEN RULE?
The presentation doesn't mean too much
and sweet endearments only blow the smoke.
If we forget the SAE as such
the manuscript is trashed without a care.
The images we show account for points.
It's not enough to tell our stories straight.
We type so much it wears upon our joints -
its maintenance is high straight out the gate.
We can't submit the same to more than one.
Blacklisted, we shall surely sing the blues.
And typos? Phew! How quickly readers run.
I'd love to know who wrote these foolish rules!
These laws apply to poetry - and love.
If one thing isn't right, it's not true love.
NO WHITE FLAGS ALLOWED!
Today I woke up fighting with my brain.
He raised his voice, so I put up my hands.
If anybody saw, we looked insane.
In thoughts we dueled on shifting, golden sands.
With swords upraised, the sun upon our backs -
thought to myself, "Hey, Kimotherapy!"
The sun may slow him down and then perhaps -
I'll just give him a good phlebotomy!"
The sun stayed neutral, didn't get involved.
It all went on. It ended no time soon.
By sunset, the charade had just evolved -
swashbuckling fools fought fair beneath the moon.
A moonlit night, a duel upon the dock?
This poet needs some sun and writer's block.
THE UNFAIRNESS OF LIFE
Life isn't always fair, sometimes it's rough.
Sometimes the obstacles are all we see.
The winds of change can make a journey tough -
sometimes it's hard to get from A to B.
No matter what we're never free and clear
as long as we're alive we will know pain.
If we just do our best and persevere
the sun will shine and dry up all the rain.
The key is to enjoy a happy spot
without a fear of clouds about the town.
When we make situations what they're not
we're asking storms of live to hold us down.
Decisions to enjoy ourselves today
are what it takes to hold the rain at bay.
And who will set my frozen heart ablaze?
And who will cause it to expand and beat?
Perhaps the summer's gentle, healing rays -
will guide me to forgiveness, love, and heat?
The winter chill has caused me to succumb
to every icy path I've stumbled on.
My hands are shaking and my lips are numb -
and I'll be glad when winter's wrath is gone!
I pray each night beneath the cloudy sky
on skeletons of leaves, those lovers past -
that someday soon true love will come to me -
I vow to do my best to make it last.
In nature's time, the summer will return.
In mine, I'll pray for winter as I burn!
Pennies For My Dreams
To be as
free as freedom, what a dream!
which I indulge in all the time.
treasure I cannot redeem,
for the truth, not worth one dime.
homeless and the hungry, babies dead;
bill, the jobs no one can find!
"freedom" somehow echoes in my head.
that hope itself could be unkind?
day passes and I fear the next;
the killings; thoughtless tripe;
believe this world Iím in is hexed,
and as for
love I am nobodyís type.
I have a
jar yet have no change to spare...
stinks since I deny it air?
A Form of Indiscretion
should have given you so much
attention each and every night.
I think she
is addicted to my touch ...
fingers through her hair all nice and light.
it when I kiss her soft soft neck ...
I rub her
face and she goes right to sleep.
she shocks and looks like, "What the heck?"
fogives me, she has fallen deep.
the cutest sounds when she's content ...
sometimes and sneezes in my face.
along the line the manners went ...
her, now she's plum forgot her place.
watch me write, make jealous sounds again ...
convinced I'm cheating with a pen.
I Remember Love
what it's like to be in love,
one ended badly months ago.
September, all the stars above ...
came crashing down and just like so.
pining for a love so true ...
praying to get out once it was found.
that's just what foolish lovers do ...
just simply change themselves around.
forget the loneliness I felt ...
that my eyes began to roam.
So now it
is our turn to churn and melt ...
from now I'll pray you too go home.
know what love is all about ...
something that I can live without.
The Right Mindís Gone Fishing
here teed off at my TV.
In my right
mind, I know who is to blame.
I do not
know what you expect from me ...
out applications, signed my name.
I have been
out of work for many weeks ...
so what I'm
watching afternoon desire?
went out the window, so to speak ...
It's not my
fault that no one wants to hire!
will start the search again;
disgusted, but I will go on ...
I plan on
watching TV right 'til then ....
still teed my little friend is gone!
I still may
not be ready, I'll denote ...
I think the
TV hid its own remote!
overfed until they just collapse,
give out and break because they're weak.
belts are moving, so perhaps ...
have some new quota they must meet?
mouths are broken so they cannot fight,
they can't defend themselves too well.
it's painful, is it wrong or right?
language is ignored in Eggshell Hell.
try to run and break away,
their friends are hanging upside down.
and round they go. No eggs today?
severed heads fall thoughtless to the ground.
the Eggmen, time for breakfast, Folks!"
are golden, right down to their yolks.