Short Betters Poems

A hundred or more there were...
With their betters they came--
Two then three then six then none--
Never will I be able to stand above him
Never


My Dad
7/9/'16...

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Ace
Top card
Trumping all
Beats the high King
Into submission
Forcing him down the deck
To acknowledge the lowly
And accept all have their betters
New game begins with different aims
Shuffle serves to level the playing field...

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From lips of thine I would review
The poems you've written, oral true.
Each breath, each sound, that carries words,
When rhymed together betters birds.

The high perfect' of human speech
I will detect, my ears will reach,
And with the soul of thought for guide
I'll hear YOUR soul and vibe with pride....

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This train is not the one I need, 
Though it's warm and inviting, 
It doesn't fit me.
The service I want is indefinitely delayed, 
Though I'm ready and waiting, and I've already paid. 

I stand with my bags, looking down at the track, 
For I've chosen my train and I cannot go back.
Although there'd be others; betters, perhaps,
The promise of maybe keeps me platformed and trapped....

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Longing to replace my old shoe
And then I met him without leg
Crazy I was for sunglasses 
Lately I saw a beggar he has no eye
You are wealthy and not even healthy
Shame on you, ho! Unto your wealth
A living dog betters a dead lion
Great men fall mostly to women
Biblical Samson suits the example
Six feet under the ground we walk
There ends our struggle and bustle
An irony of life 
And life’s irony...

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Cake is the thing which betters ~
The leanness of my soul ~
And frosts ornate the naked plate ~
And pleases one ~ and all ~

And sweetest ~ is the bite ~ that's warm
A sinful sugared slice ~
Though sorely adding to my form
I shan't abash the price ~

I've tasted as a chilly dish ~
Eaten at dawn and noon ~
Yet ~ never ~ in regret or wish,
I've left a crumb ~ too soon.

1/11/21

(a take on Emily Dickinson's poem 'Hope is the thing with feathers')...

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fake
I snuck into the party with an ID I hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.

In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.

In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.

I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery....

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