You wake me nearly every night
with your incessant guttural cries.
Tell me what’s wrong and how
is it the spotted owl is so wise.
I think you wake me on purpose,
you eerily laugh at my expense.
I say stop this ridicule, stop this
high pitched shrieking nonsense.
Anyway who cares about some
ruffled wide-eyed morepork
that’s frightened by the light,
who eats things like rats and mice
on a dark starry moonlit night.
The native Maori call you ruru,
it’s true I smiled when I heard.
You don’t have coloured feathers -
a poor excuse for a bird.
So go and trouble someone else,
find another place to hide.
And forgive me like I forgive you,
let’s both swallow our pride.
Written: 1991
Moreporks are native
New Zealand owls.
Make a decision, son.
– indecision is a decision,
but a poor excuse for one.
written June 14, 2021
I've been lied to, cheated on and destroyed
I've been told i'm not:
A good mother,
A worse friend,
And even a poor excuse for a wife
I'm 44 years old
I've lived this long to prove
To people that i am better beyond
Their expectations
I am who i am
You can't change me
So don't try
My thoughts are positive
My goals are real
My needs and wants defined
So if you call yourself my friend,
My relation
You have nothing to worry about,
But those who
Want to down me, drain my spirit
WATCH OUT-
There is only one of me
And i am free
Free from your hold!
Some things are just symptoms,
Take a look and don't invent some,
Poor excuse for the lack of truth,
When you let it gain momentum...
Don't blame it on society,
As the cause of your anxiety,
It's the lack of thought in what you were taught,
That will keep you from propriety...
If you look into the mirror,
And the images get clearer,
What looks back at you is in focus too,
And it draws you to come nearer...
But if there's no reflection,
Then its hiding from detection,
That's where it will stay until it finds a way,
To re-appear for your inspection...
Religion in poetry-
Is a poor excuse for lack of talent.
Something I don't suffer from.
Fortunately.
Changing schools was the rule
Never stayed long and get in the groove
Making friends never ended
Fitting in was always mended
So a loner I became
I don't remember many names
But I learned to love to learn
Still have a heart that yearns
For knowledge on many subject
Even on aliens that abducted
Went to college after I wed
When all my children were in school instead
Finished a college degree
When I held a grandson on my knee
Then I continued my education
Master's Degree in Christian Station
Ten hours on a PhD got so tired
Oh! I was totally mired
Thinking about going again on a wager
Work on a psychology major
With a minor in poetry
Where I can write and just be me
(Poor excuse for a couplet but will have to do. This is for Education Game passed to me by
my lovely daughter Doris Culverhouse who received the torch from James Frazer. I pass the
thinking cap to James Marshall Goff to write a poem about education.)