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I’ve been walking this long hallway
for over a year
Reading the gilded framed
poems lining the walls,
verse after verse of
beautifully written words

I have made some good
friends along the way
Met some wonderful poets
who I have learned from
as well as learned to respect
and admire (watching far too many leave)
these meetings I will cherish

I have also crossed paths with a few
who didn’t care for me all that much,
hated my dreadful reviews, (blocked me for that)
misundertood my attempts at humor
or didn't appreciate the love poetry
I tried to slip in amongst the fighting,
but that’s okay, it takes all kinds

I've counted the masks worn,
there are more than two reasons
aren't there?
Some smiling, some not,
all there for their own reasons,
which it is not for me to judge
or anyone else, though that doesn't
seem to stop it from happening

Still little by little I have
headed towards a faint light
The soft glow at the far end
of this prose tiled floor
Each day the light became
a bit stronger, brighter
That tiny glowing square
in the distance
bigger and bigger

My shadow leading or following,
longer or shorter
depending on if I walk facing
forwards or backwards,
hop scotching over the hate,
sneaking past the accusations,
hiding from trolls (he found me anyway)
and the finger pointed whining,
hoping to pass go,
(you can keep the two hundred)


All the while sadly realizing
I am slowly becoming
smaller and smaller,
barely visible to others here
Disappearing a little more
with each passing day
Till now I am nothing more
than a forgotten minute speck
at the furthest end
of this meandering corridor

An insignificant silhouette
of a poet who once was,
now slowly fading
out through the opening
to stand in the bright sunlight
And as I refocus my eyes
to my new surroundings
I turn to wave goodbye
to what I so enjoyed
only to see a sign that reads…

*“Thanks for visiting Hellopoetry, whoever the hell you were”

The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
And if you knew
That comm-u-too
Then you'd yoo-hoo
Yeah, you'd yoo-hoo
  
Left the station
For vacation
Five O' Eight
  
Left the station
For vacation
Five O' Eight
  
On a friday
With no rain date
Ain't that great
Now ain't that great
  
Got the voo-doo
In the boom room
Friday night
  
Got the voo-doo
In the boom room
Friday night
  
If you'd seen her
Then you'd greet her
"What a sight"
Now, ain't that nice?
  
On the new train
The Northern Blue train
It's all right
  
On the new train
That Northern Blue train
It's all right
  
You can catch it
'cept on Sunday
You got that right?
Now, ain't that nice?
  
The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
The comm-u-ter
It go choo-choo
Down the track
  
And if you knew
That comm-u-too
Then you'd yoo-hoo
Yeah, you'd yoo-hoo

A poem's a poem and nothing else
As they stand they will never be a tree

Even by God's decree

A poem's nothing more than the mangled thoughts
Spilling out of our heads
It's not the future that I see

Nor was it meant to be

Though I do admit
at times they tend to make me cry
And sometimes on the inside
they want to make me die

And again they give me hope
Even make me want to dance
And I come close to love and God
And they give me sense of balance

The world could do
without the poems
that funnel through our pens
But what a sorry lot we would be
without the freedom that it brings

So let the words flow like water
over Niagara Falls
Give our hearts the magic words
that make our spirits sing
Let us gain the unattained
Poems , and poetry is the name

I am the queen of what ifs
Sitting on a throne of could've beens

My fears are my loyal subjects
Escorting my dreams to the gallows

My ambitions are now prisoners
To my court of procrastination

I, the queen
Reign over all of this regret

The sloth is a creature which I can relate.
I do not rush, I'm always late.
It's laboured movements are a wonder to me.
A bit like mine at half past three.
He likes a snooze he sleeps all day.
The same as me if I had my way!
Sloths have beards and so do I.
They hang from trees.
I might just try!
I love sloths and I like their style
They're just like me with my great big smile!

Sometimes I meet,
With art so sweet,
It almost turns me vegan,
A piece of meat,
Could not compete,
With a painting done by Tegan.

Sometimes it seems,
She paints my dreams,
Or as close as anyone can,
If I had to choose,
Between this or *****,
I'd be a sober man.

I'd feel such grief,
With no relief,
If she chose to give up paintin'
And I'd fill the hole,
Inside my soul,
With whiskey and with bacon.

Sometimes I think
And wonder why
Birds must ****
When they fly

Why autumn leaves
Those colors make
But then fall off
So we must rake

Why is water
Always level
And why did God
Create the devil

Why do dogs
Lick their *****
Then lick their master
When he calls

Why do boys
Wear pants so low
That their **** cheeks
Have to show

Why do we
Need to grow up
Why use a glass
And not a cup

Why girls when happy
Sometimes cry
And fish live wet
But never dry

Why do hockey players
Always spit
And why’s a pimple
Called a zit

Why contented cats
Always purr
And then throw up
That ball of fur

Why feed the grass
To make it grow
And when it does
We have to mow

Why does ****
Stick in your hair
And why do will knots
Form down there

Why dogs we own
Our life will guard
But then they ****
In our yard

Sometimes I just
Sit and think
Why do farts
Have to stink

How do cows
Make milk from grass
And why do hemorrhoids
Pop out your ***

Why do humans
Together throng
But then they can’t
Get along

Why do chickens
Never ****
And why do Boems
Rhyme like this

Why tell us all
We are brothers
When we are born
With different colors

Why bird **** falling
From the sky
Never hits
The other guy

Why flowers bloom
If we take care
But weeds just grow
Everywhere

Why leaves fall off
But not the bark
Did insects come
From Noah’s arc

Do all predictions
Come to pass
Do chicken eggs
Come out their ***

Why do snots  
Grow in your nose
And why do I
These questions pose                
BOEMS BY JA 87                      12-10-2012

This is the story of Jennifer Rune
Thought she could carry a tune
Sang for a dollar, a dance, or a light
Down at the old Purple Moon
  
Handing her flowers and pushing his mite
Dapper man, Harry D. Sykes
He clowned around with her, dancing all night
Under the colorful lights
  
Saturday night they would line up the block
Waiting to dance, with delight
All the king's horses, with all of their gear
Wanting the queen of the night
  
Enter a girl at the old Purple Moon
Butter Jane Mary Moonlight
You'll never hear her name mentioned again
Look for it, don't look for it twice
  
One night a girl with a rose at the Moon
Promised ol' Harry a flight
Spinning in air while the room settled in
Floating with eyes upon eyes
  
Lifting her gently, they floated in air
Forever being in glide
Never not knowing they both were the one
For each other, for life  
  
Jennifer Rune cut a tooth at The Moon
What comes around went around twice
She's growing old at the old Purple Moon
Harry and Mary are tied
  
You too, can come to the old Purple Moon
It's down on Prospect, near Vine
Open 'til two o'clock during the week
Three o'clock Saturday night