Santa

Fathers are not happy being Saint Nick.
Wanting one more candy cane to lick.
Feeling oh so uncomfortable, all most sick.
In that red suit wondering, why it has to be so thick.

With a clock tic and a clock click.
The father must be, oh so quick.
Leaving the red piece of his suite on the brick.
So Santa’s family wouldn’t know it was just a trick.

The Little Things

The big things count for more, not wanting to be a pest. 
I am sorry to say that they are bigger than the rest. 
As always, maybe it is for the best. 
And I will always point trouble with in my chest. 
Trying to ignore this feeling within breast. 
So to the little thinks I stressed. 
Are just little things that need to be blessed.

The Fort

The light, cast shadows and trails of darkness,
It felt cold and but not like Christmas,
Holding myself silent, looking out into the blackness.


Damn it, why did I feel so hopeless.


Holding the flashlight, almost loosing consciousness,
Oh, why were we out this night, looking back I hide my shyness,
My little fort, my hiding place, I only feel disgrace.

You

YOU!

Why am I blue,

Though, it may be true,

That I am remembering you.

The memory that I once felt I must undo,

I cry into the clouds from where you once flew,

I remember you.

LaVerne

Oh, here is to my father,
He was loved by my mother,
Hailed by my brother,
Adored by my sister.

Once a hell raiser,
He could have been no other,
His tales brought laughter,
Not to mention, his humorous manner.

He was a man, he was a real charmer,
The wood worker, the carver,
The old man farmer, the share cropper,
The constant barterer.

A hero construction worker,
He was a problem solver, he was the fixer,
A real pack master,
LaVerne was his names given by his father.

Life

As dawn breaks,
A life begins.

As the sunsets,
A life ends.

Is it only what’s,
In middle that has any substance.

The Poet

I never claimed to be a poet; I never claimed to know it.
Course, I know I wrote it , But I always seem to blow it.
Plying a word little bit, moving a word around it.
Holding a vowel for it and rhyming with a consonant
Scratching it in pencil, accosting it like an assailant,
Braking the rules left and right of it, hoping no one noticed it.
Working as a rhyming surgeon, always trying another transplant,
Am I a self defined amateur poet, who never understood it.

McDonalds’ birthday

Screams the children, Cries of joy.
Sounds of the party,
Waiting for one boy.
Looking for the for the cutlery.
While singing happy birthday.
Cupcakes stand purple and purity.


Be not greedy, take just one goodie,
Do you have to be so noisy.
Swallow each bite, enjoy each morsel, for today 
Is your McDonalds’ birthday
You are now a big boy.

Take a Hint

I look into your eyes, I finely realize

That your lies, outweigh your thighs.

Please don't take it I despise,

And I hope you realize.

That I wish you can empathize,

I don't mean to chastise,

I feel that you are no prize,

So I have decided to downsize,

So I give you your goodbyes.

The Wryter

The writer’s talents are underwhelming,
His emotions are consuming,
He dreams of nothing,
He always wants for something.


He thinks he knows best,
So he tells the rest,
For he is just to be a pest,
But always looking to the west.


Is his life ending,
Is his life beginning,
Is his wife understanding,
Is he dieing.


He as a child, so overwhelming,
His likeness, so understanding, 
His plight so depressing,
His future so telling.


The writer tries looking to the east,
Looking for the signs of a new quest,.
But turns to the west, 
Looking for the signs that dad knew best.

The Universe

The ‘verse, oh so deep and wide,
I looked across the sky, 
and I can only, 
wonder why,
it made me cry.


The sky, so black and empty,
it is night,
and I feel no fright,
for it is broken by the little points of light.


The Sun, so yellow, so bright
it is day,
if I don’t look away,
I might
Loose my sight.

The Attempt

I am tired of being,
I am sad,
I am lonely,
I am tired of hoping.
I am mad,
I am cowardly,
I am tired of trying.
I am no maid,
I am not the one and only,
I am tired of no one listening.
I am just tired,
I am not sleepy,
I am fed up with the lying.
Am I dying.

The End

Broken hearted girl,
Broken hearted boy,
She was no pearl,
He was no toy.

Broken woman,
Broken Man,
She had no plan,
He was no man.

Broken hearted Child,
Broken hearted little one,
She filed,
He was gone.

Sleepy little river.

Lost in translation,

Frustration at its presence.


Over flowing its banks,
Uncontrollable fit.


Pushing back the flow,
Holding back its course.


Sorrow at its return,
No holding back.


Cupped hands, no savior,
Salty taste, and no grace.


Held back once more,
Only to return.

My Cat

Feline, four legged freeloader,
You a hairy intruder,
You flirter
You motivator
You Digresser
You food digester,
You court jester,
You orange trouble maker,
You trickster,
You Flee attracter,
Feline, four legged manipulator,
Oh, you know who you are.

Travel

Inflation,
Elation,
I always wanted this vacation,
Bright eyes in the moon‘s illumination,
Constitution,
Restriction,
Travel is always for this man of distinction,
Elevation,
Conception,
Landing never felt so much interruption,
From life and body of this man of distinction.

Ode, to Candy

Oh, Candied candy in a bowl,
How you speak to my soul,
Oh, can I have just one,
Reaching for the bowl,
My wife smacks my hand like a nun,
Telling my I may have none.

The Craving

Oh, cookies, cookies on a plate;

how you were made so great.

Smelling your goodness so late;

is just one single trait.

Oh, what a distraction from my mate.