Category: Poems
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Doeth
Doeth the psycho wish forth kills?Nay he simply does.Doeth the baker wish for bread?Nay he makes.Doeth the poet hear rhymes?Nay he strings them along.Poetry doeth make a poet.
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Sad Fate for Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas And everything was dandyJust ask Andy All the people were upWith jobs to feed their pupsChristmas had left out the doorThe meaning was gone just like the poorWe squandered and squabbled They flibbled and gibbledThe meaning was lost to timeJust like that pantomime The fellowship was brokenThe stars were sad in Hoboken With no tales…
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I sought you
I sought after you, Long and hard, I craved your attention, I relished the thought of being together, I wanted to be near you. I heard your voice in the crowd, I saw your face through the thousands, I wrote you poems and stories, I was ignored, Or at least I assumed I was, It…
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Have you heard the Good News?
Have you ever seen the old wonder? Have you ever heard a child be wise? Has the youth been sore? Has the elderly been fresh? Have you heard the Good News? Is it in your imagination to seek the invisible? Is it in your heart to feel the soul? Does your spirit waver? Does your…
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The White Beach
Have you ever seen white sands? The ocean that touches it, The crowds that it draws, I was there, I sat in a chair, The Beach at my feet, It was there that, I saw Beauty personified, Her blonde hair, Matched the sand so perfectly, The sight that I beheld, As she stretched her hands…
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The War Cries of the Fallen
Within the icy cold, In the mountain range, A battle was fought, A tragedy happened, Fathers fought sons, Sons rebelled against traditions, The battle in the ice, Ended with no victors, Ended with no tales, For none that were there, Lived to see the next day, Only I who was a scout, Found the frozen…
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The Dance of the Wildflower
By Zachary Furr Do you see the wind? Can you see it dancing in the fields? It goes to and fro, The wild flowers, Seem like children, In its wake, Children clambering for attention, For they dance, For they sense their mother, For they are the wildflowers. Do you see that one? The uprooted sprout?…
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Be careful
I sent helpI got ridiculedPoetry is the descriptionOf lifeIf life is ridiculousA meaningShan’t be foundYour hope of loveIs fleetingYou ought to haveSaid nothingAnd been content

