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Halloween 2011
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To things that go “THUMP!” To spooky, old houses We give you our thanks 'Cuz scary is fun |
1 - My idea of the sound a bat makes when flying.
The Door
but nobody came to let him in.
So he knocked and he knocked and he knocked at the door
and he knocked at the door again.
He wouldn't give up, he knew a great treasure was known
to be hidden beyond the door
So he rubbed his sore hands and rested, then he knocked
and he knocked 'til he could knock no more.
He sat down to rest and he started to think
“perhaps the great treasure is really quite small.
I've done without it 'til now after all;
we have all done without it since the great fall.”
But he'd been there so long, he just couldn't give up
So he stood and he tried it once more.
He knocked and he knocked at the great wooden door.
He knocked and he knocked 'til his hands were too sore.
Than he sat and rested and racked his brain: why is
no one coming to let me in?
Surely there must be someone inside to guard a treasure so Great?
If I can't get inside, how can I possibly win?
So he stood up again and wiped blood from his knuckles
and knocked on the door once again.
He knocked and he knocked and he knocked at the door,
still nobody came from within.
This place is abandoned, the treasure now gone
that's the only solution I see.
If no one will come to answer the door, than there must
not be anything in there for me.
So he walked away sadly, giving up on the dream
there was nothing inside like before.
And he never noticed the small sign that read:
“Turn the latch and come on in” that had fallen off of the door.
This poem still needs work, but I decided to go ahead and post this version since I haven't posted anything on this blog for quite a while. I can always add an updated version later.
Marching off to War
Red, bricks, red bricks, off to war. Win the fight! Win the fight!
Marching straight and so in step, they only know one way,
Bricks cannot bend, or see a path beyond the one today.
Who to fight? Who to fight? That remains the question.
For we cannot have an army if they never face aggression.
So let us fight the river rocks, their roundness so offending,
And then we can assume control of all the water vending.
Marching bricks, marching bricks, cannot bend or weave,
But maybe they could do it once, if they could just believe.
Marching bricks, marching bricks, let's pitch them in the sea
And let the waters round them off until they learn to be.
My Poetry eBook
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I have published an eBook of my poetry. It is available on Amazon for Kindle and compatable devices and on Barnes & Noble for Nook and friends. For more information, and links to purchase, go to my authors web site. |
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Pebbles
Yet the only one that matters is the one inside my shoe!
How many fish are in the sea? One million I would bet.
But the only one I care about is caught inside my net.
How many olives grew on that ancient olive tree?
Yet the only one that matters is the one that's choking me?
The Glass
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Sometimes, the glass half empty, Sometimes, the glass half full, And sometimes, though quite rarely, We realize both are true. |
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The Weekend Before Christmas
It's more hectic then a game of peewee football.
The jeweler is trying to unload more bling
With a hunky-boy Santa and angels on wing.
The clothing store offers discounts galore
On the rest of the sweaters, and very much more
While out in the center, there arose a great noise
When the toy store announces a raffle of toys.
So we buy and we buy, 'til our credit card dies,
Then head back home to bake fresh pumpkin pies.
Then wonder why we fall into this trap
As we head to our beds for a long winters nap.
Elderberry Wine
It will bring you back to a simpler time.
When man would tip their hats when walking past a lady
And lady's didn't go to a place that everyone called shady.
Elderberry wine, take a sip of mine,
It will bring you back to a simpler time.
A time when entertainment meant gathering with friends
To discuss news of the day or latest fashion trends.
Elderberry wine, take a sip of mine,
It will bring you back to a simpler time.
When meals were ate at home, and afternoons for tea
At least that's how it's pictured by nostalgia fans like me.
I Wonder (a list Poem)
I wonder what anyone would even have a barrel full of monkeys.
I wonder: how exactly do you worry a wart?
I wonder if my watch sometimes plays tricks on me by jumping forward when I'm not looking.
I wonder if people who mysteriously disappear end up in a place full of mismatched socks that disappeared from dryers.
I wonder what becomes of the great ideas that pop into your head in the middle of the night and can't be remembered when you get up in the morning.
I wonder why we listen to demons who want us dead and ignore angels who want us to live.
I wonder why we buy things we don't need, then complain that we're broke.
I wonder why the earth doesn't move out from under me when I jump up into the air.
I wonder what pepperoni would do for a living if pizza hadn't been invented.
I wonder what kind of fertilizer you use at a fish farm.
I wonder if you can do crop sharing at a fish farm.
I wonder: If water can burn (very polluted water), then can fire get wet?
I wonder if the people who work on cruise ships go to an office building for vacation.
I wonder why I wonder at all instead of just going with the flow like a piece of driftwood.
List poems don't look like traditional poetry, but they are fun to do.
A Puppy's Life Pantoum
Have something to eat.
Chew on a squeaky toy.
Now take a nap.
Have something to eat.
Lick the skinny kid's face.
Now take a nap
Before dinner.
Lick the skinny kid's face.
Chew on a squeaky toy
Before dinner.
Bark and chase the kitty.
Chew on a squeaky toy.
Run from the skinny kid.
Bark and chase the kitty.
Take another nap.
Run from the skinny kid.
Chew on a squeaky toy.
Take another nap
On the skinny kid's lap.
The repetition of a pantoum seemed a perfect format for describing the life of a puppy.