Wolf's Moon
the bightest moon of the year.
blazing moonlight as phoebe's tear.
to me it tis the day I fear.
when there's no shadow to hide.

in the nymph tobacco consume,
and rings of smoke grace the tomb,
giving air to silent plume.
when quill and parchment collide.

so I dedicate to gods lupine,
a ring of smoke and sacred wine,
an love that to me define,
and knw why fair face phoebe cried.


Charon
Charon The lord of the dead
Chooses inkling trace
The teacher instead?
Not needing to race

As trust and respect,
both we shall earn,
if our paths intersect,
we'll both perhaps learn.

for as one known to the night,
a keeper of sacred quill,
this poem I quickly write,
as you welcome the kill.

so tell me my ghost,
my passage is paid,
raise a glass in toast,
and to the styx fade.

Eulegy -

Then we count the hours,
Pressed suits all in black,
Carefully arranged flowers,... See More
All the times you can't get back,

The sadness overtake,
Of the wrong heroin burn,
A gift is what they make,
No receipt and no return,

The master of all but feeling,
To the students holding breath,
WHen guilt asuaged apologies appealing,
Tis another form of death.

There is no life but ours,
and in freedom we choose,
To get us through lonsome hours,
and some the gift refuse.



Jack

My godson who I've not met,
Has a giantkillers name,
And beanstalk climber don't forget,... See More
And therby grows his fame.

My brothers son I hold dear,
as I do all his brood,
I write this for his wife sincere,
always in the best of mood.

May he be nible and quick,
And walk up the hill with Jill.
May he be strong tis no trick,
As is his parents will.

For this man as he stand,
Would do all that he able,
Will do his duty as gods command,
To help him write his fable.

Cookie Whore n Such Poetry

COOKIE WHORE


Even though Babo's a cookie whore,
and our relations are spatial,
a vegetarian and a carnivore,
yes we are bi-racial.


the story is the tale we speak,
in words and oft in deed,
it's to chocalate chip I am weak,
and to chips ahoy I'll feed.

Newman's own is so damn good,
and in entemens rejoice,
I would only eat cookie if I could.
and in my cookie coma voice.

that few things other than comedy britty,
and massive amounts of honest tea.
the cookie compulsion can be made witty.
with clever ryhmes of poetry.

Nature,

the days pass for their own reasons,
in mountains forests or sea,
love engerders the very seasons,
in deep entwined destiny,


every mistake a rebirth, an open flower,
in the bright sky the bird warble and sing,
but there is no mistake in this growing power,
held in the joyous rights of spring,


in autumn the leaves fall,
in resplendent billiance turn,
preparing for the chill of all,
and in their colors brightly burn,

the north wind comes skies turn grey,
snow turns white the hallowed ground,
for springs love and summer's day,
and autumns hope all reknowned,


that for the great lady earth,
is our heart, hearth, help and home,
the seasons pages all turn to rebirth,
and this tale, we tell of this earthly tome.


TEACHING

oft relying on powers of deduction,
few realize the skill of instruction,
the tired cliche " those that's can't - teach"
never had their lessons beseech.

we did not in this confession,
seek wealth in this profession,
but in the faces a wheels turning,
comes the joy of both learning.

it's for the knowledge we impart,
that in this profession we do start,
and to the detractors I will impeach,
the gift of learning within their reach.

too many ungrateful I have taught,
and seen the gift my effort wrought,
but when the painful lessons earn.
they remember "what did you learn?"


HOPE

Late it comes in the night,
the last remnant of Pandora's box,
Hope and Heart joined by rite,
as the grinning shadow mocks,

But for that hope and that heart,
that in that rite is joined,
the Pandoran escapees are torn apart,
when in the mint of hope they're coined,

for all the blackness and the fear,
viles thoughts and sullen rages,
the hope that beats without tear,
and the Pandoran exiles it encages.

For when those demons are released,
form a beating prison box contained,
the love born of hope is increased,
when unlocked all hope hath remained.

TO ARMS

To ARMS, TO ARMS !!! the captians shout.
AS the invaders teem to face the rout,
Armor donned and weapons drawn,
The comrades laugh to face the dawn.

War has come to our home,
and to our families despair,
this land is ours asd is this poem,
and to the battle we prepare

and we gather to this yelling,
and the pians of war withstand,
to give our enemies a tale worth telling,
and send them off out sacred land,

so come you warriors true,
and steel with steel for the fight,
our kinship bonds like blood run anew,
and send invaders to hell this night....

and with sword and shield skill,
we will these barbarians raze.
showing them our ways to kill.
as our pipers dirges plays.

wooing

when tired words near slander ensue,
I fear a generation that's forgotten to woo,
that sincere poetry in now oft replace,
with lines of ego one needs erase,

I give this bit of advice,
sagely wisdom oft worth the price,
no lover is worth it if course words delight,
when their worth reflected in tired insight,

erotic is easy for those who sprew,
that experience openly held to review,
I ask the young delerious in youth,
to try something odd it's called the truth,

in wooing say what's in your heart,
and if not as gentleman depart,
a poor purchase is bought in coin,
when all words come from the loin,

as I listen to this reprise,
notice the wooed does have eyes,
and speak so what if it fails,
it's to the gentle the victory prevails,

we all know what is the goal,
but it's not worth the light of a soul,
but in ladies deserve words so true,
when real men remeber to woo

we saw once in love with night,
the glowing memories of distant light,
the dreams that call for ancient wonder,
to that our imagination plunder,

so we wish on which star is first,
when sad days do their worst,
looking up on heavenly scope,
there are far worse things than hope,

and as the light our souls redeem,
we give ourselves a chance to dream,
that the wish is none too far,
when in our hearts we hold the star.

this newest poem was a hard request,
for in memory in peace they rest,
a small life in terms embraced,
in furture fancies mind retraced,

sending them off to school,
celebrating the yearly yule,
kissing the little pains and scrapes,
tiny lessons and hairbreadth escapes,

but again in sweet summerlands,
in time we the drummer withstands,
for we have true infinite rhyme,
to hold his hand one summer time.

seeing those that praise the rite,
to challenge them in flight or fight,
knows the door and must be weary,
leaving the womb of sanctuary,

for in the whiteness of the snow,
even deeper the tales of woe,
that in the whiteness much has grown,
and the future still lurks unknown,

now the rapiers blade is dull,
leaving the cudgel to make the cull,
tis a battle when fray confuse,
when the slayer is you they choose,

In wounded times and bloodied plains,
starting crimes and hurt disdains,
memory stirs and hurts to dwell,... See More
stealing the healing in private hell,

like the mandolin neatly tuned,
a funny request made of the wound,
to hurry up and make the scar,
find the truth in someplace far,

always those who not tasted it's pain,
sing the medicos blooded refrain,
it has healed but it's scar reminded,
for the minds eye is never blinded