one of the classics by one of Ireland’s most prolific writers. The poem about Charleston reminded me of this.
 
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:

 
 
I have a little boat
‘Bout which I sooner wrote
A paltry little ditty
That I think’s quite witty.  
To find a proper moat,
I took it to the city
To meet with Walter Mitty.
I found a little goat …  
To ride along with me---
In my little boat, you see.
We’ve since gone way too far
To and fro across the bar.  
At my little goat’s behest,
Since now’s the time he thought
We ought, indeed, to rest,
At length I acquiesced.

Have you published?
have I published?
of course I haven’t published
to publish you have to submit
to submit you have to write.
Most of the time I can’t write
and am pathologically incapable of submitting
except in the soothing
pseudo-anonimity of the web.
There is a story
can’t verifiy its veracity,
that all Kafkas surviving manuscripts are singed at the edges
He threw them in the fire
unsatisfied
but his friend
knowing his habits
rushed in and kidnapped them
and submitted them.

 
 
although I’d like to drive a red
Ferrari
 
across the broad Pacific Ocean on to grand
Hawaii,
 
I also hope to be
quite funny …
 
and if at first I don’t succeed at that,
my honey,
 
I’m left awash in woe—
  and sorry

 
 
I’m quite pleased to see
your lines of darlin’ poetry.
readin’ them has made me feel,
well, happier’n Alaskan ice
 
awarmin’ under restin’ seal.
I know that true free verse and such
cannot rhyme, at least not very much.
it does, indeed, appear
 
your ballsy cantos here
are not in present need of constant rhyme,
I’ll say … but only this time.
I can now to comfy bunk retire,
 
my mind aclutter, all afire,
brimmed full to grossly fat

I shall submit a few for you to look at:
Mistakes are lessons, not legacies.
Kindness is a melody we can all hear.
Give song to birth and freedon to the dying.
How much it your time worth, if you never share it.
The greatest gift in life is hope, the greatest peace in life is faith.
One who has the ability to touch hearts, truly hold a precious gift.
Let me know?

I think I’ve written the "f" word
a few too many times
‘cause now it just slides off my tongue
and doesn’t even shock my eyes
when I see it on paper,
on MY paper.
Everywhere I go
I’m afraid to read the "f" word,
or say it too loudly.
‘Cause you know,
I may get sensored
for saying it,
or thinking it,
or hell,
even thinking about it.
See, truth is I’m 31,
married seven years
with two beautiful children
and I in fact
don’t have tiiiiiiime for the
"f" word.
You see,
I’m not one for dirty language,