I had a poem published in a magazine
that happened to be seen by my missus.
She’s now my in-residence poetry critic
and scolds me freely without punctuation,
enjambment or pauses, because I used the real name
of our daughter’s teacher in the poem.
It’s very unprofessional, she moans –
since when was I a professional poet?

In China, they like to eat duck
and donald, the imbecile schmuck
is now on the menus
of all the best venues
but this time his quack is a cluck!

The amber sun dips low to rest,
Its golden glow a soft caress.
Leaves pirouette in whispered flight,
A fleeting dance in fading light.

Beneath this sky of burnished gold,
A story ancient, yet retold,
Of nature's grace, a fleeting stay,
Of winter's call, that comes our way.

The trees adorned in fiery hues,
Stand proud beneath the twilight blues,
Their branches low, a quiet bow,
To honor autumns, then and now.

Andrew
We are all
God's child
He is the one
That made us
We have to be happy
To be alive
In his world
We must be grateful for all
The things we have
I am happy that we have
A roof over our heads
And a bed to sleep on
Andrew continue
Dreaming every night
Because dreaming is like
Breathing
Keep the good friends you have
Believe me
There is good and bed people out
There
Lets built our trust
On each other
Also let our friendship grow

WHAT WAS

What was a hole in an outside wall
Where years ago, a pipe had run
Is now a miniature garden of hope
Pale green petals seeking the light
Waving all the darkness goodbye
Looking out, almost a staring eye
Yet peering in, it’s a pretty sight
Anxious for little plants to cope
Perhaps their new life has begun
As before, there was none at all

I’ve walked a thousand empty streets,
Where every dream was half asleep.
They told me “fit in, don’t stand too tall,”
But I was born to climb the walls.
I tried to paint the world they drew,
But all the colors bled right through.
Maybe I’m not broken — just awake,
In a world that’s still half-fake.
It’s hard to find my place in all this noise,
When every echo drowns my voice.
But maybe I don’t need to fit at all —
Maybe I was made to break the wall.
Yeah, being strange can hurt sometimes,

My life is full of everyday choices
Constantly hoping to hear love’s voices

Not seeking further wealth or gold
But praying for hearts and hands to hold

Seeing family happy and safe each day
Is more than any words I can say

My life is granted with such zeal
Knowing that beside me lies my best deal

For all the things
we try so hard to hide.
Nothing could match
that midnight ride!

Onward driving
through the night.
A shooting star
flashed through the sky!

Reminding me of,
this eternal fight.
Which very well,
might take my life!

I said a prayer to fight,
the panic I felt inside my mind.
That star felt like a sign
and gave me hope to carry on.

On a different
clouded day!
My soul occluded
by a murky haze!

Buddha, I found you
pondering the stars and moon
I had lost my light

getting a rise after punching down the dough
making believe to pound out in apropos
inexcusable execrable immature actions
that compromised ways and means
to escape pallor of gloom
cast upon my self important
philandering mean mien
unbridled antics of ill repute
undermining the opportunity
of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
unlike laudatory exemplary entrepreneurs
servicing those amazingly graced
by the employees at 4118 Skippack Pike,
Skippack, PA 19474.