Best Favorite Poems

Favorite Artist, 
A romantic, 
A dreamer. 
Choice for a favorite artist, 
that would be, 
Me.
 
~

I grew up in a family of seven children.
As the oldest I found myself entranced and driven.
Then, other times in a pensive mood
to be alone, in a quiet place, bliss...

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My favorite word. . . now what could that be?
To choose it, I have to think so carefully.
If I choose by its meaning, I simply can’t find
one word most important; this boggles my mind.

My favorite word. Oh, how can I choose?
What if I go by...

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Oh that’s you and me  

“You and me were always with each other,
before we knew the other was ever there”

Destiny carves its path through lives,
filling needs unknown until it happens
Bridging gaps of empty terrain
where love belongs eventually
as our hearts wait for that one we...

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From among the poets who fired my imagination
whom shall I choose, can’t bring myself to pick
and place from dozens, just one above all the rest!

          With all romantics in line, the one who has touched 
...

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Glads and the lilies that grow very tall
Petunia and pansies...I do love them all

My favorites, however, are not really owned
Not found in the garden, but growing alone

Kissed by the sun and tossed by the breeze
Running through clover or wherever they please

Not planned, unintended, still they...

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Myself 
All that I am

I could dye my hair to please you
  Yet I won't

A little mascara might
Make me attractive

Although the value of my gift
Cannot be measured in wrappings


I will not sing For you
But create a harmony and hope for consonance

And I will dance...

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Not complaining, choosing  to flow with the breeze
Not complaining, finding true thanks on my knees
Not complaining, no one promised me easy
Not complaining, grooving on a white daisy

I see you seeking cellular validation
A selfie world that's your own fabrication
Your mind is spinning, hope is on...

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When England’s fairest rose
strained to find a light
neath the monarchy’s shadows,
such passion did she incite.

Many are the years since
Lady Diana Spencer
met and married her prince,
believing that he loved her.

Unrequited affection
she tried to brush aside.
Poised was her reflection;
tears she sought to hide.

Princess Di’s quest for love
drew...

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My favorite President is yet to be
  He may well not go down in history
For he'll do what really needs to be done
  Antagonizing almost everyone under the sun

First he'll fix Social Security; it's running short of cash
  Upping retirement age to...

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I sing a song of three.
There’s Larry, Curly, Moe;
the Ego and the Id
and the Super Ego.

Three Kings of the Orient
are known as three wise men.
Showing up at Christmas too
in song are three French hens.

Rock, paper, scissors -
three gestures with the hand;
tricycles; three-legged races -
 things...

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Angel wings are not feathered but they are real,
Made from lighter stuff and stronger. 
They have a metaphysical feel,
And last an eternity longer.

The feel of an Angel wing is not a sensation like touch.
It’s on a higher more philosophical plane.
The usual senses are only a...

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Her mom died when she was young…and though she survived the ordeal
she still misses her when she remembers her…
some wounds will never heal.

She remembers how her mom loved pelicans…how they soared on the breeze like a kite…
How she loved all kinds of pelicans…
but her favorite...

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Santa Claus has travel worries at the North Pole,
With terrible winter storms brewing there afoot,
He knows Christmas is so close and so he must put
His children first now whom he loves deeply and whole! 
And so he must find red-nosed Rudolph to cajole
Him into guid’n...

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Thick or thin, it is the Friday night order in special,
Supreme or meat lovers delight, whatever toppings
You like it, does not matter for it’s 
The all American favorite, Pizza!!
Roll out that dough, cover it with Italians specialty
Sauce, cheese me to please me, I’ll never get...

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Ambition in its prime dwells within over time —poet

My special poet…
is one who gets their point across
without agendas or alliterations of a bitter boss
No need for perfect literates who sip on bitters
and pound out heartless ink to other bulls*itters
A black heart smells rotted and oldened...

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