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My Poetry: I Have a Book I Carry
I Have a Book I Carry I have a book I carry, much older than myself. I always take it with me, wherever I may go. I’d never dream to leave it, just sitting on a shelf. It is just a little thing, of poetry and prose. Whenever I go out to eat, I always pull it out, And read aloud a page or two, alone or with a guest. They never seem to disagree, or throw a temper fit. But rather marvel at the thought, at what I might present. There is so much to tell you, about my little book, The lessons that it taught me, are many and sublime. I wish to share these treasures, with everyone I meet, So they may appreciate, the wisdom held inside. I have memories of reading, to loved ones who are gone, The lines that made them laugh and smile, and sometimes shed a tear, Will stay with me through all my life, as treasures held most dear, I would not trade this little book, for anything I fear. And this book is filled with more, of that which I adore, Little pieces of the truth, to help me understand; I…
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Writing poetry on demand
Here I sit, pen in hand Writing poetry on demand Some is good, some is bad Depending on what drink I’ve had Root beer, tea, or ginger ale, Each of these makes it fizzy Others make it sound so stale Weaving words makes me dizzy Rhyming is a lot of work Lists of words in your head Worth it though for a smirk When the poem at last is read. April is National Poetry Month. If you’d like to read poems by other budding poets, honor the folks at NaPoWriMo.net with a visit, and peruse their participants’ sites.
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Hot and Spicy
Hot and spicy, a fire in your mouth Watch the red rise on your face The tears form in your eyes Hot and spicy, some people really like it Not me, not me Hot and spicy, your head’s going to explode The burning might never end This feeling might finish me Hot and spicy, on inferno in my mind What to do, what to do Hot and spicy, quick get me some water Oh no, it’s getting hotter And this is only three of ten Hot and spicy, I’m such a spice wimp Yes it’s true, yes it’s true
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Forgive and Forget
Just a short poem today. The deed has been done, no one has won Mistakes were made, memories will fade Let the memories go, forgive your foe Holding a grudge is like walking through sludge You hurt no one else more than yourself And if you cannot forget, at least try to forgive And while you’re at it, forgive yourself
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The Fog
Writing in response to the prompt from napowrimo.net to write a poem about a picture. I have deviated from my normal style of poetry and am writing in free form poetry. I am using a photo from Flickr.com of fog and fields around a town. It can be viewed at https://www.flickr.com/photos/ritman/8945663517/ The fields are full of life. The land is in strife. The fog is invading. It covers the low areas first, then crawls up the hills, slowly creeping, silently sneaking, making its way into the village. The land is resisting. It rises sharply into the air as though to cut off the invader. But the fog will not be stopped. It breaks over the crest and into the fields. It will have its way. The town is cut off from the fields by a wall of white now. The fog is closing in. It will invade the town, noiselessly covering the streets, obscuring the sky, muting all sounds. Then it will leave, as quietly as it came. Nothing will seem amiss; it will leave nary a trace. Only those who saw it will know it was there at all. The town will return to its normal existence. The…
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The Birthday Cake
I want to have a cake for my birthday But I’ve never made one before It’s not hard my mom would say I’ll go to get one at the store I choose one that looks nice and yummy I even get frosting for the top I can’t wait to get it in my tummy There’s no way this idea will flop I take it home and mix it up Manage not to make a mess Even keep it from the pup What happened next you might guess I take the cake from the oven It looks like it’s been in an earthquake It’s split right in half, but I’m fun lovin’ So I called it California cake
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If I Had to Do It Again (part 1)
If I had to do it again If I had to start all over I would learn to use my hands Just as much as I use my head If I had to use my hands I’d put them to excellent use I think I’d like to learn a trade That’s the path I’d like to tread If I had to learn a trade I’d make something that people need I get hungry, I need to eat Perhaps I’d learn to bake some bread If I had some bread to eat I’d make so much that I could share I’d give some to each person in need Till everyone is fed Written in response to a challenge by napowrimo.net and the daily prompt.
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The New Apprentice
Dave looked at the man at the door He had never seen a wizard before “Aren’t wizards supposed to wear pointy hats?” He asked the man standing on the mat The man looked at the boy and said “Those hats are something I always dread They leave me with atrocious hat hair Straightening it is such a bear.” The wizard came in and took a seat, Pulled out a book, didn’t miss a beat “You’ve a problem with Bogles that’s easy The things they do can make you queasy “I have the perfect solution For all this Bogle pollution A dash of that a pinch of this Rolled up in chocolate from the Swiss “Just place it all on the sink Next to a glass of milk to drink The Bogle will enjoy the feast And take off for somewhere east.” The Bogle problem now is solved Things are better for all involved Dave had learned so much from this He is now the new apprentice. Written in response to the daily prompt.
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Phonetic translation of foreign poem
I ran a poem written in a German book by Heinrich Heine through spell check on my word processor and tried to turn what it came up with into a poem. This was done in answer to a challenge on napowrimo.net. Dear Taurus All this we say on hearing, have you the Beech Knave seen, when he lies down to scherzo Old Erich describes him sternly. Middle of the valley, lute fashions cooling sent from heaven stirs; loving much in her, he likens Mac’s sonnets to stroked ferns. Oft the wild lark will startle flutter in air, seeking not the world lusting rays. When downs he settles, Vogel sang for the ears of the earth. That dear sang the very summit bald, Taurus rushed bawdy and bleating, when dear Taurus deems at Walden to linger with such genial meeting Notes: While the actuality of the following have nothing to do with why I chose to use these words, they do seem to play right into the meaning of the poem Scherzo is a lively, playful piece of music, Jaroslav Vogel is a composer/conductor Walden is the name of the woods and pond where Thoreau stayed Erich Korngold another composer…
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Billy and Bobby
When there’s trouble you’ll always find Billy Trying to stop the fighting Billy thinks all the fighting is silly He doesn’t like to hear the crying His friend Bobby feels the same way He’ll take you downtown in a wagon So you had better watch how you play And try to let bygones be bygones Written in response to the daily prompt on conflict and napowrimo.net‘s suggestion of writing a nursery rhyme.