Tag Archives: free verse

Ramblings on Turning 55

What will survive from this present time?

Will poets continue to write

Long into the night?

Or will rhyme of the human kind

Be replaced by robots who trot out rhymes

Of indifferent kinds.

 

Rhyme of the human kind will survive

And continue to thrive.

While for better or worse

Robots will write verse.

But who owns what a robot writes?

 

The red pillar box will go, although

A few will remain to show

That there was mail long before email.

 

The world will move ever faster.

I hope eccentricity will survive and thrive

When I am no longer alive

And that man can live on

When I am gone

For I am of humanity

I Am Tired

I am tired.

Should I compose a rhyme

To women and wine?

I have desired

Both women and wine

But all pens run dry

And I

Grow so tired

Of rhyme

Of women and wine.

Wet Grass

December has become January.

Alas last summer’s grass

Is a quagmire.

We all desire

The spring to come

But the grass

On which I stood

Remains as mud.

Love

After an evening of laughter,

Restaurants and wine,

You took off your robe.

Now I find

Girl’s heels in my wardrobe

You left behind.

 

Am I a mere magpie?

I have found earrings

And other such similar things

Young women leave behind.

But love would be divine.

Drains Gurgling with Rain

I pass by

Drains gurgling with rain.

How quickly rain

Drains away.

 

 

You and I

Are like the rain.

But rain

Does not die.

A Kind of Song

I awake by you,

(Your headphones in).

I guess they quiet

The inner din

Of your unquiet mind)

 

Despite my desire

To avoid your fire

I have held you tight

For another night

Finding in your kiss

A kind of passing bliss

Tasting of perfume

Cigarettes and regret.

 

When my Busy Thoughts

When my busy thoughts

For a moment, stop,

I become aware

Of the clock

Ticking away my day.

 

I may turn away

And write.

But old Time

Will not delay

The night

To accommodate my rhyme.

A Hyacinth’s Scent Last Night

A hyacinth’s scent last night

Brought such delight

To me as she stood,

Pure and white

In her box of wood.

 

 

Others unopened stood

In that box of wood.

They will flower and die

As will I.