(homage to Ogden Nash)

See the buzzard soar, the swallow skim a lake, the kestrel hover;
observe the skylark pouring his little heart out in the sky;
admire the flapwing, lapwing flight of a flock of plover;
what birds do is fly.

At least they oughter,
because once birds get onto the water
they can't help looking absurd
– except the swan, for which nobody I know has an unkind word,
or, mostly, seagulls,
who fly with almost the grace of eagulls,
and in their silvery-white uniforms are impeccably neat,
even if my admiration for their manners is incomplete –
but, shucks,
look at ducks.

And for something really silly,
shaggy-winged, fluffy-headed, and disproportionately
                                                                ­                   neck-and-bill-y,
consider the pelican, for heaven's sake.
Surely Nature made a mistake,
or left the designing of it to a particularly inept committee,
it's so unpretty.
But once in the air he can soar like a buzzard, though maybe lower,
and skim over the waves with more perfect control
                                                                ­        than a swallow, and slower,
and dive for a fish like a living javelin, that clumsy pelican.
By helican!

No, for a shapeless, hapless caricature, created to be comical,
the epitome of what a bird shouldn't be, the penguin
                                                             must be the most epitomical.
As he does his impression of a Charlie Chaplin waiter,
you know he'll fall off the ice sooner or later.
But before a warning can escape your lips
he trips
(and slips).
Then, as he slides beneath the waves, ah! See the happy penguin fly,
A graceful bird in his greenblue underwater sky.

when i think of last summer
i smell the scent of chlorine filling my lungs
i feel the warm sun coloring my shoulders
i hear the lawn mower running next door
i love these things
because they remind me of you
but i hate these things
because they remind me of you
i can’t choose
what i remember
and what i forget    
i smell the aroma of your cologne
i feel your arm around me
i hear you singing all the songs on the radio
and no matter what i do
i can’t let myself
let go
of what was

maybe i’ll never know
what will be
maybe i’ll find myself
living in the past
i guess
the past is comfortable to me

You keep spewing out poems
Each so renewing and flowin'
Your words speak
Knowledge that reaches peaks
In every line
The meaning is so defined
Everything
Crafted so loving
Your writing far from beige
Reflecting how truly you are a poetic sage!

Nothing could disturb her stare at the wall,
Everyday, from dawn to night fall.
Motionless she sat, on a rocking chair,
Creaky now, and worn with wear.

Contemplating someone’s return,
Whose identity is her only concern.
Whether the Phantom,
Is still as she might fathom,

Or her imagination run wild,
She cared for me as a child.
Soon, into the past she’ll descend,
Eyes searching, as if to defend.

If not for the daily answering of nature’s call,
An artistic statuette carved in fall,
Sits gazing at nothing in particular,
Some say she looks pretty angular.

Enfin, family is family,
My Aunt, she’ll be for posterity.

Love is not being too realistic but not being too abstract
Love is far more the bow and less the arrow it's the ribbon on the present instead of the heart shaped box
Love is knowing when to give and appreciating more when you receive
Love is a single I miss you text at 2am
It's a million miles away thought
And a one thousand dreams in a minute
It's a deconstructed highway
In the middle of *** **** no where
Lost and out of gas
But romance needs no fuel
It doesn't need butane or a lighter
It doesn't spark when you light it
It just finds its own way
Straight through the heart

Remember
When we were kids
And a planetarium
Was a most wonderful place
Everyone simply obsessed
With outer space.
It was strange
And new
And beautiful
It was full of wonder
As was everything
A galaxy of stars
And empty space
We were flying through it all
To a new planet
For us to discover
Floating towards the future
It was like a dream
But as we grow up
We realize
Falling stars are chunks of ice and rock
Not wishes
And stars and the sun
Are ***** of flaming gas
The wonder fades
And you realize
Outer space
Would truly be a lonely place
Alone out there
But I guess it would still better
Than here
And you yearn
For that wonder to come back
But even if it would
Someone would take it away
They always do.
Growing up is sudden
And shocking
And changes you
Forever
And you wish you could go back
To planetariums
And outer space
But you can't.
We are all stars
***** of fire
That will eventually die out.
But some of us are falling
And hoping someone will catch us.