POOR JEANINE PIRRO
AT ONE TIME A TRUMP HERO
NOW, JUST A ZERO
WAS VANDALS FOR SURE
I DO NOT LIE I AM PURE
TRUMP SOUNDS SO COCKSURE
UPON REFLECTION
WAS A TRUMP MISDIRECTION
LIKE BLEACH INJECTION
In the congruent eddy of life and time
That may twist and turn but will end inline
We may see the end in front of us
But will spin and bend with existence flurry
it will always abruptly end no matter the plan
Continue to drop until the last grain of sand
No mercy to even the best of us
With no favors can we curry
I've ran a race with all due zeal
I have stood tall and refused to neal
I'm inclined to beg no more
And inclined to see it through
Back, will my limited reality be pealed
In tacked, as my short comings be sealed
With no risk on to the unwanted be poured
And no more will be due .
On looking into the mirror, I saw
a thousand bits of myself;
a woman who like Janus, with twin faces~
one looking backward to the past, to learn
the other forward, to hope and plan.
Saw a warrior, brave and indomitable~
fighting adversities and hardships
not because she is unbreakable
but because she knows so well
that the sun will rise after every sunset.
a poets mind
is a pattern within a pattern
encompassing
the beauty of poetry
ALGAE TRUMP DID FIGHT
GOING TO BEAT ME, YEAH RIGHT
TRUMP ALGAE DID SMITE
When making a reflecting pool
Make sure it reflects something that’s cool
It’s not the pool’s fault you see
If what it reflects looks more like wee.
You want it to look all patriotic
But the man in charge is simply idiotic
Don’t blame the mirror for its reflection
Rather commence some introspection.
The pool’s current algal bloom
Isn’t the only elephant in the room
And while the narcissist continues to blunder
Your tax dollars he’ll continue to plunder.
The pool’s a lovely bubbling green
And accurately reflects one who’s obscene
Reflecting not what one wishes to see
But rather what’s truly within thee.
So if you are concerned dear reader
Maybe it’s time to get a new leader
One who’s not a lying fool
Then you’ll have a pure reflecting pool.
When I was young I wanted to be older
Was kind of shy and wanted to be bolder
Wasn’t in line the day God gave height
But got lots of words with which to write
When I was in school did only daydream
Wanted to be anywhere else and to sing
Now that I have time to do so
Lost the desire to sing from soul
But I still have the desire to fly
Within my poems written at night
Tis words I use instead to dream
If I want to I make my pen sing
Reflecting back my image
the mirror lets me know
what my mind doesn't recognize
all the years,
where did they go.
I cannot seem to justify
the number that I am
it doesn't fit a scenario
that I can comprehend.
My deluded brain
for now shall reign
I'll continue to pretend,
that what I see
ain't really me
most likely till the end!
I know my flaws are multitudinous
so I pray my best efforts are illuminous
so that underneath you cannot really see
the broken fragments that once made me.
The darkness that lives inside my chest,
clings to me like a safety vest.
Don’t want you to know that from my very core, I’m chasing someone who isn’t here anymore.
The time has passed and the years have flown
yet nothing seems to have grown,
since when I turned about eighteen
when everything had not yet been seen.
Each day feels heavy and set in stone,
each day I feel more alone.
If you had told me all those years ago,
that still today I have nothing to show for my torture, blood, sweat and tears
I’d simply shake my head and jeer
because there’s no way I’d have placed me here
drowning alone, drowning in fear.
a giant dog with a girl on his back
roses and daisies, a tiny train track
a duck with a pointed strange hairdo
his stance proves he is sneaking up on you
an apple tree, where the fruit is shaped like hearts
a polka dot vase made of shiny parts
a witch with her arms held out to the side
a rainbow cat who has plenty to hide
stars in the background leading the way
witch’s broom screams “there’s no time to stay”
a canvas I drew out in full, just last night
totally glad this cartoon dog does not bark or bite.
I hear the chirruping of birds.
It emerges from vast hidden spaces
from wherever the birds may be.
Their twittering sounds are scattered,
interspersed with cricket sounds
and the intermittent whimpers of a lonely pup
that seems to be a distance not too far away.
The birds refuse to show themselves.
They are like the happy people of my neighborhood
busy with their lives. . . .
The birds and my neighbors elude me.
The crickets keep to their camouflage in the grass.
The little dog's sad cries have now disappeared.
On this ordinary warm June afternoon
I begin to wonder where Robin Redbreast went.
It seems like it was yesterday - a brighter day -
I saw her in my very own front yard.
If she's singing now, I wouldn't know.
I do not know the song of a sparrow from a lark's.
I'd rather “feel” joy, not just hear it.
And I'd rather see with my own eyes
those crickets at their play (I'm just that way).
I'd like to have that little dog with me.
I'd pat his head and stroke his coat and say,
"Robin Redbreast hides from us today.
She may have gone away, but I am here, sweet dog.
I understand. I understand."
"Morning comes, thank God. Thank God. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the sound is rising, and the planes are humming in the distance. I am awake and ready for the day. I will pray, and with each breath, I'll find my way."
I sit and write and write and sit
small bird flies down, tiny tidbit
her movements funny, she entertains
a flash of red on a day that rains
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