Man’s useless requests.
We got to the Moon,
Remaining, Buffoons,
God knows what we’ll do,
With the rest.
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Writing in the clouds,
Normal, less normal, insane,Some people like to read,The Clouds that Poets write,But living in the Clouds,A danger signal is,For even famous poets,Cannot fully describe,The Mystery that life Is!
Autumn,
Crowd, the Eagle’s nest,How long will it takeTo get to Life’s crest?Flying higher and higherSome go thru lifeDesperately searchingWhat is way too high,Or too much.We must always be humbleAccepting defeatWhen it comesBut then get up,Brush yourself offAnd start up the hill,Again!In good faith and good will.We are the lucky onesFor in our Country,Liberty and opportunityStill…
Poets work like ants,
Looking for mountains to climb,Peaks of imagination, to clearTo do some good,To change the dance,To sing our song,Promote our stance.Do you think we still have a chance?Perhaps, maybe it’s not too late,The last thing you lose is Hope,So well hidden in Pandora’s box,But still the best we’ve got,We are Americans, we don’t give up!
Went on a writing
Told I was on theFringeDidn’t Care!Getting successfullySingedWas for me,Holiday, ware.
Poets are a strange lot
Feelings and poetic flashes,Quite a lot.Greatest satisfaction!Above all,Never political plotsPoets love humanity,Quite a lot!
As thoughts
We learn from themAnd try to unconfuseThe mind, make clearSo, thus we cheer,Learning,The greatest friend we have,The inner lightThat melts awayThe darkness and most fears.