~*~
We all pass one day.
So there’s a fifty fifty
chance we’ll meet again.
*
sck101516
~*~
We all pass one day.
So there’s a fifty fifty
chance we’ll meet again.
*
sck101516
*
I think calling Trump
an asshole is degrading.
Assholes are needed.
*
sck100916
~
That Stinks
If the world were my
oyster, I’d be shucked, since I
don’t enjoy seafood.
~
Shaping Reality
Pearls true round seldom found,
they are but nature’s waste.
More are found truer round,
when man made of cheaper paste.
~
Appraising Tomorrow
Diamond’s when new sell quite a few.
Yet these gems of old are barely sold.
~*~
sck092216
~
People who live in
glass towers shouldn’t throw stones
or be president.
~*~
sck081816
~
See-saws with one seat
Never get off the ground or
Give any pleasure
~*~
sck071016
~
Either or neither
nor, boxer briefs I’m unsure.
Maybe none’s the cure.
~*~
sck070916
~
Near two centuries standing tall
Perched upon its foundation wall
Stone and rock stacked one at a time
Cracks are filled with mortar and lime
.
Plantings and pruning’s since time’s begun
Nature’s matured, the house and it one
Repairs are always but never to date
A new one’s found just of late
.
It seems there’s a door that escaped my gaze
It’s probably been there for days and days
It welcomed a visitor though I not aware
There’s plenty of room but I’d rather not share
.
A bed was found of rags and fleece
A trap was set for catch and release
The morning came and the trap’s shut tight
Catching the culprit that roams in the night
.
The walk was had on path well worn
Evicting another, my heart is torn
Bound in plastic to hide from the eye
Soon they’ll welcome the bright blue sky
.
With a careful flick and gentle tap
Out popped an alien from its trap
Oh what to do, Oh what to do
The mouse I caught is a shrew
.
Research was done, panic’s at rest
Contemplations had of what will be best
Plans conceived to search for the door
Or wait for winter when the problem’s no more
~*~
Sck070616
~
First Finish
.
Glitter and Sparkle
need the light. The clear see through.
The dull never shine.
.
*
All Right
.
Even the Cubic
Zirconia is a clear
gem in its own right
.
*
Learning Needs
.
The last King perished
while summoning sustenance
from subjects unread
.
~*~
sck062916
~
Stars blinking sky high
Constellations dancing by
Airport views of I
~*~
sck062016
~
What is a haiku?
A seventeen syllable,
three line, one act play.
~*~
sck060316
~
A mean and petty old boss I once had,
made threats to all when he was mad.
“My pen’s mightier than the sword!” he’d say
“Bad recommendations will affect your pay.”
He was always looking to pick a fight.
So with my pen I poked him – to find he’s right.
~*~
sck053116
~
Steven rhymes with Heaven and Kittell rhymes with hell.
Now as a poet who likes to rhyme I know not where I’ll go in time.
But if a choice there is to be – I’ll surely go where the quill floats free.
~*~
sck052916
~
If Jesus went to
a gun show would he be in
a heavenly state?
~*~
sck051816
~
Stories are written every day.
Lips move, people say.
Eyes still seen when shut tight.
Ears and nose always alight.
.
The mind knows how to think.
Hands made to push the ink.
Yet words of late are not my friend.
Perhaps today this to will end.
~*~
sck051516
~
More’s not always best
Less leaves longings lingering
Enough is enough
~*~
sck050616
~
I work doggedly
But poetry’s doggerel
Doggone these dog days
~*~
sck041716
~
I’m breaking for a
Brain break before my brain is
Mindlessly broken
~*~
sck041816
~
My pens compression
Unfortunately suited
For stress and tension
~*~
sck040816
~
The well hanged and hung
Share not knotty trysts with twists
Yet each flop when done
~*~
sck040316
~
If you’re in no hurry to go
then I’m in no hurry to stay
I’ll pack up my belongings
and be out by the end of the day
.
You can’t ever keep a job
Or even wash the clothes
Our meals served at the drive-thru
That’s where the money goes
.
The few dollars that remain
Is always spent on ink
The few hours that we share
Always your time to think
.
You lock yourself in a room
There you laugh, scream and cry
While I long for the silence
When one of us will die
.
If not for crumpled notes
Our stove would be always cold
Your hot and chilled emotions
Once steamy have gotten old
.
We haven’t kissed in a week
There’s been no love for a year
I’ve now begun to wonder
If love was ever there
.
Now you say you wrote a poem
That all the world should see
It’s a poem of love and devotion
But this one’s just for me
.
If these words of passion
Are as true as you say
Rumpled sheets await
There’s no need to leave today
.
But if they’re not
as all other times before
My future will unfold
beyond your paper door
~*~
sck032916
~
To live another
twenty years is half life in
the middle ages
~*~
sck032116
~
Population grown
with four men per one thousand
women, less lessens
~*~
sck031816