Feeling so guilty
In a religion so free,
But I'm a newbie.
A stranger among reams of proposals
the original thought bided its time
Counting sheep while very much awake
the sheep eventually sheared
As the thought turned inward
not the least bit frantic
In search of meaning
where none might be found
NOBODY! could get Nuttin' past HER!
The Ad read: "Finest Alabaster!"
She proudly displayed it,
But time soon betrayed it...
Turned..."Green!"...They just shipped: "Finest Plaster!"
a cartoon cutout
tiny bit of spoofery
keeping it real
eyes contact between eyes
what floodgates miss,
our two tongues
would fire's hiss,
I'm baking through
your bloom's clip,
~the love handling~
our hips
Paul Hogan now..A battler thats true' tall tails and long days,
The crocks could tell you.. Also' painter on the bridge
Over Sydney town, tested and tried.' Yet still not bested.' The taxman wanted to make him
Pay up' yet in the end?? Houges; just shot 'em down.'!
Yeah, I know ~ my poetic output contains a fair bit of junk.
But then ~ even God created something called a skunk.
In the works of all unparalleled thinkers,
you can expect quite a few stinkers.
Most attempts at art never attain great heights ~
most just immediately go ~ kerplunk.
I don't take myself too seriously.
If ever I did, it was only deliriously.
I'm a straight, middle of the road kinda guy,
with an IQ neither too low ~ nor too high.
And as to whether I'll ever do anything significant in my life ~
please stand by.
Dorian Grey
has lost all trace of his self-image.
Like many elderly male models,
there are now no mirrors in his mind.
Musty images of his centenarius youth
are hid in crusty shoeboxes.
Like many, he collects his social security,
munches slowly on a daily bowl of Cheerios,
then entertains himself
by watching cat videos on YouTube.
Sometimes, he pens the odd melancholy muse
as do many another, well versed,
superannuated
senior citizen.
Brooding at the bar, Wishy was being a little bit washy.
The whiskey had made his speech a little bit sloshy.
I said, "Wishy, I have no idea ~
what is it you want me to say?"
He moaned, "Trishy was never really Wishy's, now was she?”
Loud crazy-sounding hullabaloo in the center of town
Carnival? Fiesta? Mobsters? Balloon-shaping clown?
We could not wait for our parents to slumber
Creeped out of our windows, hid behind piles of lumber
Ran down there to see whatever mischief we could
The square was empty except for a lone pile of pine wood
Our parents’ cameras had shown them what we had done
They were soon there also, spoiling our fun
All I know is that I know something,
though I agree, it ain't all that much.
But those like Socrates who say all that they know is nothing
seem to me to be completely out of touch.
I want to feel your love for me
Don’t leave me confused and in agony
I want to feel the love from you
I’ll take hugs, kisses, and quality time on any day
I need to feel loved
I need to feel safe with you and comfort from you
Materialistic things will never keep me
Sex is nice but you’ll have to give me more than that
The things I need and really crave doesn’t cost a thing
A little bit of romance goes along way
I’ll take it on any day
Hugging me for no reason
Holding my hands is what I need
I want to feel loved and adored
I need a little bit of romance indeed
In order to keep the spark alive
Spoil me with a little bit of romance please
she’s a bit round he was quickly told
they forgot to mention she was truly old
she can play music and sing well too
Her teeth are straight, her hair is blue
She has a sense of humor tall as a giraffe
You should hear this woman truly laugh
She would be a terrific blind date for you
They never mentioned she was ninety-two
I know winter is breathtaking to behold.
with all the divine frosted snow filigree:
meadows in a blanket pristine white and cold,
usually, I would be walking with glee;
to relish each winter scene that will unfold.
But, today it is way below sub zero,
so, no way thanks because I am no hero.
So, I will write about the warmth of summer,
when flowers grow in bright seas perfumed and sweet:
and in my garden hovers a hued 'hummer,
and at my bird feeder ~~ birds of all kinds tweet;
am planting a new flower . . . snow-in- summer,
then, I am on the sand running with bare feet.
Above the cotton clouds sail across the sky,
as I pick bouquets of wildflowers and sigh.
Or perhaps, will write of a lovely spring day,
were everything is awakening and new:
and the baby animals frolic and play,
oh, the breeze is soft and the sky azure blue;
as forest trees with their green leaves dance and sway.
and out of melting snow violets debut.
I lay back so the sun can leave me sun kissed,
and no way does this mean . . . winter I dismiss.
A bit of snow is just enough
To make the traffic slow
And add some time to get to
Where it is you want to go.
A bit of snow can coat the path
And maybe make you slip,
So walking gingerly prevents
A broken leg or hip.
A bit of snow can form a pile
You need to shovel out,
But it’s to be expected;
That’s what winter’s all about.
A bit of snow, though, dusts the trees
And beautifies the scene.
If you live in a place with snow,
You know just what I mean.
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