The eagle soars through the crisp clean air,
Heading toward its nest on the mountain top.
It stops to drink the cool water from the brook
It wipes its head with its wing,
Weary from its journey.
It sighs and shoots back into the air like a phoenix.
Our national symbol flies proud and free.
It reaches its nest safely.
Three eaglets are waiting there for it.
It takes them under its wing,
Shielding them from all harm.

Bit of fun, thought I'd have a go.

The trouble with writing this poem
What ever I do it ain’t flowin’
It just ain’t no use
So I’ll make my excuse
And off to the pub I’ll be goin’.

Then once I started.......

The pirate was missing his Mum
Which made him despondent and glum
So to cheer himself up
He brewed a fresh cup
Thought sod this and reached for the rum.

Ooops another popped out

E=Mc2.
Had he not found it someone else would.
But… the Pastoral, Emperor, Sonata seventeen.
Had he not lived, they would not.
They would never have been.
What would Mendelssohn have done then?
Schumann, Schubert, the list goes on.
How vacant would our lives be?
We would sing no Ode to Joy.

'' A style in art and literature characterized by deliberate vagueness or obliqueness.''
obscurantism

Mid night here
Too hot to sleep
AC'S not working
the electricity fails the public

I made many poets here
follow me
in composing
FREE VERSE poetry

Stan has thought of introducing
a Jun competition free style
28 lines
why 28 only he knows
may be a gene of
obscurantism

Snow man hates it (free style)
yet is the first one to post it .

In most spaces the blue won’t hurt you;
the endless sky
will seem an unending beacon
akin to a never-ending bird
or simply an overfull pail.
In other spaces it will function as an x ray
baring your insides to all passerby
whether you notice or not.
The smaller they get, the more they seem
like small chinks in a prison half invisible,
a parable glued to shadow.
In the very rare spaces you will move
as a tired stranger might
aware of this horrible enormity,
this dislocated enmity

Carry on inner child, across
the bridges of your youth.

Hopscotch down,

Jump over,

And skip pass life's growing obstacles,
showing your pearly whites. Laughing,

As you enter a realm
where the 30 and older crowd,
start to lose their sense of humor.

Carry on my inner child,
Bring the sword of peace with you.

Shield yourself.

And bow not to the nay-sayers
Or the heartbreakers

who spit,
Kick, and throw shit
in your face.

Your voice, echo in my ear;
I've stop listening to your words;
no more caring, many years;
your concerns, I've fed the birds;

Cardinals ate insects, in the frontyard;
bluejays roam, the backyard;
butterflies flutter, back and forth,
with yellow bees on grassy knolls;

Nature catches my attention, aside from you;
many pivotal moments, passed by;
you're as driftwood, in my view,
the bond we shared, goodnight;