The sun has risen, a poet’s alone.
He‘s perched on a porch,
atop his worn throne.
The birds whisper clues,
of nature’s good news.
And words start to flow.
At the top of the stair,
my love dreams there,
awaiting a kiss on her cheek.
Eyes soon to open,
we both will see,
this day has bloomed for she.
~*~
SCK072218
This story begins where most would end.
It’s not fiction, I won’t pretend.
The moon was high, my energy low.
The night came fast, my thinking slow.
~
I heard a noise come from my shed.
A scream so loud it could wake the dead.
I stepped outside not knowing why.
Should I return or would I die?
~
Each step closer my life’s less long.
My goal uncertain but temptation’s strong.
To turn and run or hide and wait,
the choice is now, if not too late.
~
Between my door and destiny,
lay the light and dark of uncertainty.
Betwixt the abstracts of would, could and should,
in a purgatory I there stood.
~
Clinging to the past and a peace of mind,
scenarios flood to times I’d find.
Reaching out to unlock my fate,
sights envisioned now bears the weight.
~
In the dimming light of one’s existence,
the future seen in our past’s distance.
Fear now a memory, the dragons slain,
tomorrows welcomed with forever’s again.
~
The truth often stretched resilience we test.
For problems to solve persistence is best.
And the shed’s but a metaphor for time unknown.
While the night the place where stars are grown.
~*~
SCK032121
Just a quick note to say all’s well.
The sun’s risen and spring I smell.
A bird sings from a leafless tree.
The song reminds of days to be.
~
Each moment’s precious, each one new.
I waved to my friend and off they flew.
Soon they’ll return to leaves of green.
Time flies, but faster unseen.
~*~
SCK031921
I want to be a jingle writer, write jingles every day.
I want to be a jingle writer, jingles all the way.
I want to be a jingle writer ‘cos there’s bills to pay.
I want to be a jingle writer, not much more too say.
*
I want to be a jingle writer and work from my backyard.
I want to be a jingle writer, poets work too hard.
I want to be a jingle writer, don’t understand avant-garde.
I want to be a jingle writer, no need to be a bard.
*
I want to be a jingle writer and put my tools to use.
I want to be a jingle writer, write short and loose.
I want to be a jingle writer; I’ll be no Dr. Seuss.
I want to be a jingle writer until I’m cut from the noose.
*
The End
When Steve was but a small boy the signs were becoming clear.
Movement was not forthcoming from that precious little dear.
He stayed there in his tiny crib until he grew too tall.
He laid there day and night just staring at the wall.
~
His parents were much concerned as the young boy slowly grew.
The only activity he seemed to like was when he had to chew.
His cousins would come to visit and they all went out to play.
But not little Stevie, in his bed he chose to stay.
~
Eventually the school days came and Steve was dragged to class.
Fortunately his memory was good and easily he did pass.
The next twelve years were much the same, for him fair’s good enough.
His parents wished him college bound, but Steve didn’t like that sort of stuff.
~
A few more years Steve stayed at home, until he got kicked out.
Poor Steve was confused and hurt his future so much in doubt.
While shuffling slowly to his grandma’s house he saw a big lit-up sign.
Steve read it very carefully and then he felt just fine.
~
Waiters wanted is what it said so Steve sauntered in to see what’s what.
It wasn’t what he was thinking though and got kicked out on his butt.
Steve was deflated as he felt his world come crashing down.
Sitting alone on a park bench he watched darkness fill his town.
~
The sun then newly risen, Steve slumbered peacefully.
Until poked by a cop named Phil, who wouldn’t let Steve be.
Steve then told Phil of his plight and how his life’s a mess.
Phil flung Steve in the backseat as he could care no less.
~
A furious Phil then told Steve he was just a lazy man.
And that he wouldn’t do anything if someone else can.
Arriving at the station Steve was ordered to quietly sit.
Phil came back the next day and said “I found a place you’ll fit.
~
Steve was brought to a room where screens filled every wall.
Phil told Steve what to look for and when to make the call.
Steve loved his new position, his super power he had found.
Soon a suspect spotted and promptly tackled to the ground.
~
If you’re looking for a moral, a lazy story you shouldn’t seek.
Perhaps the lesson’s there so I’m glad you took a peek.
Though the story may be fiction the condition does often show.
And when a cure for lazy is found I’ll be sure to let you know.
~*~
SCK031021
I woke today without a thought.
I tried to write as I ought.
The hours past, the writing naught,
perhaps a blockage I have caught.
~
But tomorrow is another day.
Will I write, I cannot say.
Will the blockage have its way?
Or will the rhymes come out to play.
~
Questions asked but answer’s few.
If not to write what will I do?
Will I feel sad and blue?
Or will tomorrow shed a clue?
~
I’ll let you know, wait right here.
I’ll try my hardest, this I swear.
Long or short, I don’t care.
Because it’s always best to share.
~*~
SCK030921
I really wish you could stay awhile.
I really do love the way you smile.
I love the way you walk and talk;
I really do love your style.
~
I love the way you touch my hand.
I love the way you take command.
I really do love our time together,
whether on sea, air or land.
~
I’d love to tell you what I think.
And the way I feel when you wink.
I’d love to hear all your thoughts,
really hoping we’re both in sync.
~*~
SCK030721
rhymesalot 