It hovers in its growing stage
displays, perhaps a bit of rage
unbridled it can be and wet
just like a baby you have met
but what it really sets apart
from other godly works of art
it grows a horn perfectly suited
in which the poet’s soul is rooted.
So when your inner thoughts feel torn
just think of your own unicorn.
And don’t forget that all your words
have wings and fly about like birds
and comes the day the world should mourn
their poet was a unicorn.
it’s where his memories are storedfrom which he draws when he gets bored.As elephants are big in sizeit does not come as a surprisethat this small room is more a hallwhere incidents are standing tall,anticipating eagerlyin Schadenfreude and with glee,the time when grudges do convergeand give an elephant the urgeto raise his trunk in agitation,announcing…
and, as they say abroad,time just went by. It did.Kids grown and hubbies fatthe grind goes on, no medals here,could this be all there is, she asksand nods her pretty head,and all its wrinkles, all her lipo spots,at one who’s done the deed,lived, as they say, rambunctiouslyand was somewhat content to sitto let the world…
woke up one morning with a pairthat been stitched from angel hair.He moved them gently fro and toand like a feathered bird he flew!He should have been content with flightbut, boyed by arrogance and height,he climbed and climbed until he cameclose to the sun’s eternal flame.And if he knew about the skythat only birds, not…
-a poem about prevention –‘Twas a dangerous cliff, as they freely confessed,though to walk near its crest was so pleasant;but over its terrible edge there had slippeda duke and full many a peasant.So the people said something would have to be done,but their projects did not at all tally;some said, ‘Put a fence ’round the…
Inside your chest your heart screams STOP,you stand there, swaying in the breezes.Down in the valley you see housesand veggie gardens, a small river,emotion tugs and soon arousesthere, on the summit, a quick shiver.You wonder why you’ve climbed the mountain,left sacred beauty far below.You could have stayed there, by the fountain,and, as they say, go…
the whispers of true arthis voice subdues its pace.He speaks in melodiesintense, in soothing tone,and on a golden fleecefine words are resting prone.No ear can now ignorewhat man and God created,received by every poreall souls become sedated.Eyelids soon fail to carrythe simple load of lashes,at first they blink and tarryremember happy bashes.Each limb feels warm…
