As you embark on your study of the law,
which by all accounts has no real flaw;
Some kindly advice from a lawyer of old,
don't ever, ever believe what you are told;
Whereas, the above is no malicious deception,
Wherefore, the advice herein is the exception.

Amelia, our baby first,
in nine  months have grown a third;
no speech, no talkie,
all she wants is walkie-walkie.

Being our first we naturally debate,
on how best to educate;
dolls for girls and guns for boys,
what nonsense, toys are toys.

Will she a doctor, lawyer or housewife be,
I live long hope to see;
right now she is just naughty,
and breaks the dining cutlery.

Of food she is choosy,
and eats most daintily;
she is chubby and she is fair,
we only lament her lack of hair.

Every now and then a few steps she takes,
tip-toe grace does not a ballerina makes;
like all parents our hopes high burn,
to a swan, our little Amelia turns.

Knowing games played by Fate,
we have decided, now of late;
to take the profit with the loss,
to let nature takes it's course.

The things of value we provide,
the self-life chart she decides;
this happy burden, we dare say,
is gladly borne, day-to-day.

As we look on her behalf,
down life's long and winding path;
we can only say, with a sigh,
sweet dreams and goodnight.

The "One-Man Searching Game"
is played by the weak, the strong,
the hungry and the lame.

In the beginning,
there was a rhyme;
it sounded good,
grand and kind;
all we needed
was silence
and time.

But we hurried still,
when there was
neither a hunt,
nor a ****.

It was a search,
we made a find;
for those who
played the game,
it was one
and the same:-
searching, finding,
finding, searching,
always a beginning,
never an ending;
always traveling,
never arriving.

It's not a lonely game.
We have one man searching
for some mens' fears, and,
some men searching
for one man's dreams.
One half searched
for pillars and walls,
the others  
an open door.

It's a serious game.
Those who won
became nervous wrecks;
Those who lose
became stranger yet.

It's a funny game.
Some gave up
for loss of words;
some played on
even when no one heard.
For it's a One-Man Game,
on a one-man search.

It's an easy game.
Where songs
were being sung,
and heroes were
never, never hung.

I can go on and on,
With words new
and words long;
Ask the wise and the old,
you'll never be told;
though others called it
by other names,
how do you end,
a One-Man Searching Game?

A SECRET EACH

Round and about, other things exist,
Inside and within, a Secret sleeps,
Of a life by itself, by itself,
A life unique;
And yet to all life,
A Secret Each;
To be held within, but not doubting,
The stranger and his Secret,
The sea and the beaches,
The baker and his bread,
The graveyards and the graves;
All these and more,
All we hold in awe,
Tell us the parts that make the whole, but,
The whole itself asleep, for,
The parts, a secret each, are,
By themselves unique, with,
A Secret Each.

The sudden death of Paradise,
Mused the devil, in disguise,
Is going according to plan,
Separating God from Man.

Under the Tree of Good and Evil,
Silently sat the thoughtful devil;
Of the two, whom shall I tempt,
Better the woman than the man.

So started the long Journey of Man,
To see where it leads, no one can;
Perhaps the Story of God and Man,
Was never written, never planned.

One thing is certain,
Borne of Adam’s burden;
Giving the Original Sin,
To Eve’s next- of- kin.

In high Heaven, watched God from afar,
On two souls sleeping under the stars;
A man and a woman caught in a fight,
Between Darkness and Light.

In the house that Adam built,
Brick after brick made of guilt;
A prison man was thus sentenced,
With the devil in close attendance.

Longing to break free,
Man is asked to see,
A God not visible,
Doing deeds of miracles.

Back to Paradise, man can go,
He first has to clean his soul;
Nothing is ever too late,
Just believe and have faith.

But God built many roads,
Perhaps to lighten the load?;
Just get an early start,
And God will do His part.

As the years passed away,
The past is like a bouquet;
A blurry mix of colors and hues,
And just like yesterday's news,
We remember only a few.
But the past is never dead,
Some stay in our head;
Some we set them apart,
These stay in our heart.
Like still remembered dances,
And questions without answers,
The years reduce to traces,
Like so many unanswered prayers.
As the years passed away,
The past is like a bouquet,
Trying not to wilt today.

As Christmas draws near,
just so you get it clear;
it's to hail a birth of ancient days,
it's to sing songs of quiet praise;
it's to raise a toast and be amazed,
it's to amend your dietary ways;
more than enriching makers of beer,
more than just temporary cheer;
more than seeing sparkles of light,
more than seeing a fat man in flight;
so let me whisper a secret in your ear,
it's to celebrate the death of fear.

Time came and left its mark
on body, but what a lark,
I feel as young as when born
with the bubbles fore-gone.

Things I've learned and things I'll forget
things I've yet to know and regret;
there were times I feel supreme
and times with my pride redeemed.

Four and twenty but not for long
winters came before summer's gone,
leaving me bolder and wiser
to the pitfalls of all liars.

I've traveled and I've passed,
I've stumbled, got lost, but at last,
when it seems impossible to find,
though in haste, something to call mine.

Truth has done its foulest, dodged me at every turn,
till I've doubt it ever was, when will I ever learn?,
What it is, they never say, but it's alright,
they won't, they don't, cause they're just up-tight.

Love they say is a thing divine,
Love I always say is so unkind;
To fool the gullible and to fool the fool,
but isn't there a bit of us in every fool?

So take a heed and bite your tongue,
take what comes and let tomorrow be hung;
take it on the top and don't look inside,
for what you'll see won't be nice.

Make peace with all your tomorrows,
disturb it not and sub-prime your sorrows;
forget the yesterdays for they harm you not,
arrest the todays for that's all you've got.

Never let it be said, or whispered, of you,
that in seeing your tomorrow, in any hue,
of worrying about your yesterday, or last year,
you've lost your today, drowned in a tear.

I think I've been here before
and what's more
I am doing what I did before
only a lot more

What keeps the stars apart?
I have often asked;
Is it Science, or is it Art?
As I boarded the bus.

What makes fire hot and water wet?
I have often asked;
You don't know the answer, I bet?
As I got off the bus.

One and one is two, we know by heart?
But once we are alerted,
Science is just like abstract Art,
Just a lot more introverted.

What keeps friends together?
I have often asked;
Is it Spirit, or is it Matter?
No, just wear no mask.

Why is life so complicated,
I have often asked;
Everything is calculated,
To shatter like glass.

Maybe it is quite simple after all?
I have often been told;
Cure first the things that are small,
Like the common cold.

I say what really really really matter,
I have often answered;
Is see above the skin, but below the feather,
And bury the dogs of war we butchered.

It matters to me why
the sky is not blue today;
It matters to me why
my wine lost its bouquet.

It matters to me why
breathing is now harmful;
It matters to me why
we killed the Golden Rule.

Is it because we don't know
what is good from bad?,
Is it because we don't know
we have all gone mad?

Is it because we don't know
the sky is falling down?,
Is it because we don't know
Earth can again drown?

Sing the day at every dawn,
for the night may not come,
Sing the day at every dawn,
don't play deaf and dumb.

Savor the night when it comes,
for sweeter is the new morning;
Say a prayer when day is done,
blaming God is more appealing.

Are there lawyers in heaven?
who sells fish in a Seven-Eleven?
How do you prove guilt or innocence,
with the devil conspicuous in his absence?

Are there barbers or pastors in Heaven?
Until the End-of-Days, it is unproven;
If we are to do some speculation,
Better to do more charitable donations.

But one profession, I quite understand,
whether in hell or God's Disneyland,
that will not make a good living;
that's doing double entry accounting.

So where do accountants go, you ask;
now you really need an oxygen mask;
In hell, in heaven, or anywhere you look,
there's just no place to cook the books.

Someone may now ask about exorcists,
I hate to answer, but I just can't resist;
ask your grandma or grandpa,
they are in a real big dilemma.

In heaven, no demons to trouble you,
In hell, there are more than quite a few;
In heaven, all are good, so no originality,
In hell, who works for nothing for Eternity?

It's the night before
Christmas,
all is quiet and still,
a knock on my door
harsh as winter's chill.

No one is really there
I know,
just wind-blown leaves,
borne on icy air
with nowhere to go.

I look at the door
handle,
***** and rusty brown,
like a window decor,
stopping no thief or vandal.

There's room here somewhere
I know,
for wind-blown leaves,
borne on icy air,
with nowhere to go.

Poems that do not rhyme
show a lazy mind
Poems that do rhyme
stay fresh time after time

Some poems wake up your mind
some poems a waste of time
If you have time, that's fine
I like poems that rhyme

Poetry written by a nobody
We do enjoy totally
No need to wonder why
They rhyme, they rhyme!

There is a Professor Robbie,
who has a calculating hobby;
He delights in asking his pets,
with multiple inherent defects,
or not too brainy, to be exact.
If 2n is more or less than 2-n,
and 3x is same as 3 men, then,
the study of maths be banned.
With that Robbie will surely object,
for he makes a living on the subject;
He takes not too kindly our slow wit,
and chips away our esteem, digit-by-digit.
Equations after equations, he blast,
until one brave pet, at long last,
who sees more value in a candy bar,
than juggling numbers to solve algebra.
So Robbie, will you be ever so kindly,
spare the aging cells of these cuties,
singularly or simultaneously.
So loose no healthy slumber,
by chasing after prime-numbers;
And we who have trouble with dy or dx,
well, there is always graphic ***.
If you think this -- dX+2(x^2 - x*y^2)dy=0 -- is cool,
to make idiots out of fools,
do not be easily trapped,
into giving polite claps;
or stare at them with awe,
for they are nothing more,
than saying pluses can turn into minuses,
and at times even used as voodoo curses.
But Robbie will still caress them tenderly,
like they are his little babies,
annoying different people, differentially.

Bees fly for miles for nectar sweet,
Lions **** for the warm raw meat;
Fish swim the oceans just to live,
All ants scurry home and to sleep.

For reasons unexplained,
The evening came;
Love by any name,
Stays the same.

Love is for lovers to give,
Love is for lovers to receive;
Like a branch holding a leaf,
Nothing to steal or to deceive.

Change into your pajamas quickly please,
For here's a chocolate, before you sleep;
Dream the dreams you dreamed of dreaming,
Though some dreams have opposite meanings.

Sweet dreams are made sweeter,
Not by adding more sugar;
But in woken moments,
A dreamt dream happens.

I see a bird out my room window,
It is not free, but does not know;
It can fly from tree to distant tree,
Thinking it is wild and fancy free.

But it too must land on a branch,
Whether to rest or to have lunch;
We, like the bird, will always,
Live allotted lives & given days.

Doing our best and leave the rest,
Serious in words or in common jest;
Yes, like a puppet on a love-string,
I'll never be free from you, I now think.

The Angels are calling,
Peace is on the loose,
The warriors are sharpening,
The edges of their books.

Soft cool breeze,
Waft pass smiling cheeks,
Part-time brotherhood freeze,
The happiness we seek.

The sun is rising,
The moon is wane,
War is dying,
Profit is gained.

The Angels are calling,
The hand of God is within reach,
The dogs of war are resting,
Greening the ****** beach.

The words of love are soothing,
And flowers bloom too soon,
The storm of buried loathing,
Will bring darkness at noon.

The Angels are calling,
To stop the crushing wheel,
Men are not listening,
Made deaf by peace and good-will.

The sugar is in the sugar bowl,
Sweet charity is awake,
Cowards are getting bold,
Light the candle on the cake.

Behind every smile,
Is an unspoken sorrow,
Look ahead a mile,
To beg is to borrow.

This is a Democracy,
Stand up and tell some jokes,
Humility is hypocrisy,
Please behave like other folks.

Sometime or other,
Sooner or later,
Whether we choose to forget,
Or choose to remember;
When nights come too soon,
And days are no brighter;
He'll be there,
The Diamond Pedlar.
With unselfish care,
He peddles his ware.
His price is cheap,
For a good night's sleep.
For those who listen,
This is his yell:-
"If you have something to buy,
I'll have something to sell!"
Listen, and listen well,
For it comes all the way
From heaven, via hell.
So give back what you bought,
Rainbows are for chasing,
They are never caught.

Behind my old house
once grew a mango tree;
last year they chopped it down
to build a highway, toll free.

It never inspired much awe or poetry
it was like other mango trees,
under which I played since I was three
and was home to some possessive bees.        

When strong winds blew
it never bowed,
its branches somehow grew
that is until now.

The ground on which it stood
is now covered with asphalt,
and it will never be understood
as to who was really at fault.

And as for the bees
well, I never did like them,
but then you see
they were here longer than I am.

My neighbors and cousins
with whom I had lots of fun,
seek all sorts of reasons
why now we have none.

I can only say, for what's worth
when the Almighty does an inventory,
He may label planet Earth
"An old cemetery".

Throw a stone,
Let the ripples speak;
Throw your mind,
Your soul you keep;
Our mothers are sick,
Too many mouths to feed.

I skipped on the water
tumbled on a bubble of air,
Swung from a rainbow
fell down the stairs;
What a sight,
What a night,
As I traveled on a beam of light.

I drifted with the wind
got caught in some angel's hair,
Side stepped a looming cloud
tripped on a wandering Bear;
What a sight,
What a night,
As I traveled on a beam of light.

I caught a streak of starlight
trapped it in a drop of dew,
Shot it pass the good old days
but there were all so few;
What a sight,
What a night,
As I traveled on a beam of light.