The baddies took over
And they grabbed everything
Their greed killed the planet
In the name of the king
Poems
Our world was an oyster
A succulent mollusk
In a seafood buffet
Of wayfaring solace
Our world was an oyster
A crustacean gumbo
In a shellfish mélange
Of moot mumbo jumbo
Voldemort and Sauron, off fiction's page and in the flesh,
their murderous affairs here putting treasons to the test!
Now as non-fiction goes 'tis this our very humans' best?
No, these vile villains perish poorly same as all the rest!
If I drop dead tomorrow, I'm hereby laying claim
to releasing of regret, to the dropping of all blame
I'm swearing now 'pon oath, of a newly deceased man
I'm glad of every outcome and happy as the clam
I'm making personal amends, trying with my might
to settle over goodness, be what's justifiably right
I'm going to my makers, for me atoms creating all
protons electrons grateful, solar flaring's ten foot tall!
How does a wordsmith rise to the top
where's the magic that each of them got
What say societies in choosing rhyme kings
why are some real, remain others in dreams
Who can tell me if my sonnets will soar
when a poem goes beyond infamous door
How can I transfer my unmatched earthly cognitive power
to a visual plain whence sensory organs decipher the load?
what will the response be to my bardic penning of sonnets,
yet regardless of notice I'll crack on being relentlessly bold
We only have one, one 'tis enough
our little towhead, of Lilly's DNA stuff
She's strong at the shoulders, broad in her mind
kind of heart, quite musically fine
Our little sis Annie's a thinker of thoughts
a fast-talking lover of what's well and what's not
She carries a godliness wherever she goes
and shines like new pennies in a feel-good show
Our blog is now almost complete
A trove of poems phrased from the heart
Some truthful standard issue prose
To compliment the work of art
The work was ours and ours alone
A treasure worth much more than gold
Some nuggets laced with inner thoughts
To vivify the good faith road
This is our body of fine work
As true and sure as DNA
Some brainwaves left behind in words
To laureate the poet's way
I'd like at least ten more
To while away the time
A healthy ten-year stretch
Before the final climb
I'll settle for a V
To make each moment count
No puttering around
Atop the scrabbled mount
I'd like a decade though
To crown the crests I seek
With flags of lasting love
Upon the highest peak
I can dig that, dear sonnet Jack
I can dig that, oh yeah
I'm digging that, my ode Mack
I'm digging that, hoorah
We'd go on poem flurries
driven by demons of gray desire
expressing our human thoughts and feelings
as sugary candies way past their expiration dates
neath a liquor store's cash register counter
'Tis an old art form, the sonnet
Shakespeare pushes quill to poor quality paper
while we mash the keys of computer metal
yet the end goal remains clear and unchanged
release a caged word before falling asunder
I can't change anything
about everything that's brought me to this moment
even though many things from my past
aren't good things
Yet I'm laughing a lot
I'm hugging a lot, I'm touching a lot, and I'm loving a lot
and this is a wonderful place to end up
as something good
