sweet and sour plums the
fruits all covered  in black ants
  an intense fragrance

When a poem isn’t a poem?
When the contents remain in my journals
Next to my lastest book 50 Shades of Grey
Unread, untouched, in need of a good editor my anthology

Each page form an ear, each smudge!
Weaken a page, chilling and aging
Egging not to be published

One small scented four leaf clover
Developed a teak of grease between a page

These are my stories
Of confession and addictions

Dead birds smothered in gravy
Dead men who never said I am sorry
Ladies who worried about their inner strength”
With each title; with each unbridled/biblical tones
My penmanship, your hidden poems

Through strength I brought forth in my journals
Hidden!  Suffocated! an anthology

The Looks at the many faces of people
We meet throughout our life time,
They always tell a story, some good, and some bad
I have radar eyes, and my instinct is always correct
If a stranger gave me the elevator eyes,  I will surely give
him the Amazon women warriors’ response

We have the pervert looks, along with the many faces of depression,
and lately the zombie-like robots plastic world looks,
While the lion and the tiger’s heads and eyes fixed on its target,
the critics silently stalks our poems looking for noun and pronouns and verb agreement

Because, their ego can never be satisfied,
However, do the lion have a story to tell?
Do his eyes see clearly?
It is a simple yes or no

Thorn amongst the weeds
As for what was sown among thorns.
It wasn’t the pumpkin vines: Little did I know:
I watched him daily watering the young plants;
Pulling the dried weeds, and
adding more manure soil to the garden
It took several weeks for me to see a garden full of beautiful
pumpkin leaves and flowers

Little did I know:  it was more than vines,
It came with those neuro-protective qualities,
and can also influence pleasure, memory, and thinking:
However, what’s is good for the goose
not necessary good for the gander.

So there I was a little Miss Goosey goosey gander,
Whither shall I wander? Upstairs and downstairs
Or hide behind the old shed, and indulging in high-caloric treats,
Not everyone who uses marijuana becomes addicted.
Nor everyone who writes a piece is a poet, but a good story teller.

A man left work one Friday afternoon. Being payday, instead of going home, he stayed out the entire weekend hunting with the boys and spent his entire paycheck. When he finally appeared at home, Sunday night, he was confronted by a very angry wife and was barraged for nearly two hours with a tirade befitting his actions.

Finally, his wife stopped the nagging and simply said to him, "How would you like it if you didn't see me for two or three days?"


To which he replied, "That would be fine with me."

Monday went by and he didn't see his wife. Tuesday and Wednesday came and went with the same results.

Thursday, the swelling went down just enough where he could see her a little out of the corner of his left eye.   (by Joke.Com)