Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Oh how I wish to be a fish
And Swim the silver stream
splashing about with river trout
would really be a dream.

To be a bird you say absurd 
but I would love to fly, 
to dive to swoop to loop the loop 
Touching the deep blue sky.

Now fancy that to be a cat 
and play outside all night, 
to take the air without a care 
beneath the soft moonlight.

A dog maybe would more be me 
chasing a rubber ball, 
With one desire a nice warm fire 
where I could curl up small.

Or a giraffe oh what a laugh
With neck so long and thin,
Eating the leaves from slender trees
With spots upon my skin.

No wait a while a crocodile
With teeth so sharp and white,
I'd guard the swamp with jaws that chomp
So best beware my bite.

Hippos are nice and so are mice
a rhino would be good,
a shark an ant or elephant
A hog waist deep in mud.

But I am me as you can see
and you are you of course,
But if you could I bet you would
Prefere to be a horse.
Delicate tang spritzes the air with a sunshine kiss

Peeling so gently it's lady-like tenderness is an elegant tea party with white gloved fingers and daisies on the mantle

Her majesty will be pleased!

A romantic encounter of citrus delight and sun-bathed security in ever loving om and happiness

A candidate as sweet could never be asked for such a casual Sunday outing and for you my dear we are but a shared slice of raspberry accented pie

So powerful but yet so softly subdued...

Like piano ballads or string quartets it is here simply for our glorious consumption

An ode to you my Sunday sweet orange!

May my taste buds always dazzle upon your  arrival
This poem is the embodiment of how I feel while eating an orange on a sunny Sunday afternoon
 Mar 2013 Sam Greig-Mohns
kenye
Short and sweet
like the life of the diabetic

We're all hypochondriacs
To the human conditioning

We've been taught
to be themselves
not ourselves.

No child left behind while evolution is staggering
Tripping our own feet divided by class systems 
Get off my lawn

They're still asking,
"where do you see yourselves in 5 years?"
and I still don't know,
this short-term impulse control needs to learn longevity
but really I'm working on my punk rock opera
Next page