Birth we forget, death is furtive,
We remember only what we live
Birth to death, life has much to give
If we do not forget to live.

Was there ever a poet so depraved
That in his bid for eternal admiration
Once a pun upon a rhyme he gave
Was so appalling it set generations
Of poets spinning in their graves
In wordless admurmuration?

The pain of want I cannot avoid
I hold my nose against the smell
I close my eyes some scenes to quell
I clasp my ears so not to hear
I turn away from what I fear
But still, I cannot hide my heart
To worlds of which I am a part.
And still, I am. I fill the void.

They say the best stimulation,
Lies in one's imagination.
True, this may work some of the time
Just like candy, roses and wine,
But nothing achieves excitation
Better than infatuation.

Sometimes, I think, Well,
And then again, I don't know
Was what the elders used to say
When I was young. Well
I didn't know what the hell
They were talking about then
Or now, but like them I knew
It didn't matter. It was just
Something to say, to fill up air
Saying something that
Never was. Using words
That never were.

Intelligent men
  Believe in God. Assuming
God believes in them.

-- www.CitizenPoet.com

Writhing slimey slick snakes of oil
Around the Gulf of Greed now crawl
What we sought will consume us all.
What before was venerated
Our pristine world penetrated,
****** bodies violated,
Writhing slimey slick snakes of oil.

I wish the Second Amendment
And the "right to bear arms" just meant
Hugging is our only intent.

-- www.CitizenPoet.com

***** claims a great benefit:
***** kills germs lickety-split,
But, alas, I've no proof of this
Since I can't get germs to drink it.

He's there, you know. Just before dawn
When half awake you smell coffee,
When you feel touched, but all are gone
When at night the hall creaks softly
And in the days and night that pass
You dimly hear his voice once more,
In the breeze, trees, the empty class
He's there. You're the one he's there for.