But Poetry unites,
Calling on good feelings,
Uplifting what is right.
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Why do we speak
Why do we dreamAs Life goes by?Why do we loveIf hate’s nearby?Why do we liveIf we have to die?It all seems so uselessSo terribly sad!Even the tears,We so lonely cry.
A big screen TV.
Where the notion of time does not exist,And political parties do not writeMy grocery list,Plus a kitchen, with veined marble counters,Where recipes flounder, missing the pointBetween dreams and bliss,Is certainly enough for me,And in no way, a living absurdity.
Our Country, Our Life,
A yellow pudding,Of Cowards, gone numb!When did we lose,Our honor, our pride?Our virginity, the candor,And obeyed All who Lied!
A word so forgotten,
That it’s not even kept upIn those who have sworn,‘The Truth and nothing but the Truth,‘So, help us God’Please….
Said the poet to the fly,
All I see,Is an empty carafe,Were once there were,Seas of expectancyNow, disappointment,Has the last laugh.
When I write,
It’s Everything, I feel.
Poetry tries to capture
Feelings
And most of the time,
Convey,
The true beauty of the Soul,
Helping us find love’s way.
Blessed be it!
Forever and a day.
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A pensive grey mood,
And I’m about to shatter,What’s the matter?Today, I can’t even communicate,Doors close by the dozen,And so does Life’s garden.Absence, shrinks the heart,Tears spoil the eyes,Tragedy tears you apart.But that’s Life,Says the fool, say the wise,For at the end,Helpless,We all compromise.
We think,
But we don’t,Our petty brains,Have not the span,To even comprehend,What is man?
I think an investigation,
On all congressional, RatsAnd while we’re at itJust for their, entertainmentBring in a few, real hungry Cats!
It doesn’t STOP!
Treacherously odious,Human conditionThat makes us want to fool,Hurt others,Even kill them!When they are our brothers.OH, despicable ones!That harm and plunderThe innocent,You are embedded with evilAnd the Devil’s thunder,Let all the weightOf truth and justice,Fall upon you,So you regret,All the evilThat in our HistoryDisgracefully, you’ve set.
To be a poet,
To go around sayingWhat you feel and found,What is painful, What’s profound,To be making sounds,In perpetual true-confession.
How curious is Love!
AttractionTo a perfect stranger,Of whom, so oftenWe really, knowNothing aboutYet becomes,More importantThan life itself,And without whom,It’s impossible,To be happyOr even enjoyLife,Ever again!