Introspection America Poems

Repeat of the four-year refrain
Pits demented versus insane
We who are pundits
Say please call it quits
And would toast their obits with champagne...

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In poetry, love and wisdom intertwine—a heartfelt love poem can carry profound wisdom, and wise reflections often touch upon matters of the heart. ????
Psalm 90:6
in...

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Groomed to never see it coming,
we wake the past in restless sleep;
Our two cents grounded in quicksand;
Poor spelling, no checking, it’s a virus;
It tends to...

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Such conflict is truly preposterous;
Yet every conversation is left unratified;  
I’m not a politician but I’m the connection,
Star-link is a very special set of...

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It is simple and plain
A few potholes along the way
It is West Virginia that’s to be expected 
It is a road just like any other...

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There’s not much to love in the land of
72 ounce steaks
Air-conditioned grace droning over
AR-15 soaked Saturdays
Remembering is not the problem these days

Rather it is forgetting...

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In the vast expanse of existence,
Your world, I find, fails to captivate my senses.
Unfortunate days, like wayward wanderers,
Don the garments of absurdity,
Parading their disconcerting presence.

Each...

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Tomorrow
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire

A beautiful night..
and light's are shimmering bright
It's air is moist
A moon a blushing
the stars quietly take their seats
the sea is refreshed neat and clean
everything...

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I’m with you,
I’m without when not.

That’s how much you’ve become.
Plastered fabric enmeshed into me.
Like drywall, yet to crack, but firm and white.

Bare bones make us...

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I offen soffen neether content nor intent,

       eether explicit or implicit about 

      ...

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Life happens
If your alive, this is an obvious truth
You will have successes and losses
Tramas, and sometimes dreams come true

People will let you down
Some will surpass...

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Ever since Biden marched in my stocks plump
My gains and nest egg make my shoulders slump
Unfortunately I've lost to that chump
My piece of American pie,...

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When I mark my ballot
I make certain of the ink...
it is always red to me!
Each stroke, a limb – 
each downward pressure
an attempt at stopping
the...

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Gift Shops
crowded
few sales...

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The beauty of a well worn saddle
If only it could speak of its earlier days 
It’s wear tells a story, marred by the rub of...

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