Women In Magazines

The road to success is always under construction. It is a progressive course, not an end in itself.

Man! How I hate women in magazine’s-

I look at them
and want not to look away
For the monkey in my mind will stray
Back to thoughts of their beauty-
That make many a lady moody.

Man! how I hate women in magazine’s-

Smiling with their perfectly white teeth
Confident in their unblemished skin-

With not a pimple on their cheeks
Or a wrinkle beside their eyes.

Man! how I hate women in magazine’s-

Looking perfect in a world imperfect.
Making many a lady aware of the defects,

They possess decreasing their beauty
So they show themselves not in society-

Freckles in the face
Seen as a disgrace.

A pimple on the chin
Will never aid you win
The heart of a man.

Man! how I hate women in magazine’s-

Hiding themselves behind makeup
To mask their freckles
And their wrinkles
And their pimples

But never ever their dimples.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

The Best in Town

Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.

P. Vaull Starr

Tall young man on a big and mighty quest
To be first on top of the high hills crest
So that in the town they crown you the best.

Do you ever think of taking a rest
Up high on the tall trees in the birds nest,
Tall young man on a big and mighty quest?

‘Just like the beating heart inside my chest,
I’ll stop when my body is laid to rest
For in the town I must be crowned the best.’

‘I must scale the looming mountain biggest
In nothing but long pants and a tight vest
For I must meet the demands of my quest.’

Have the Gods up high in the blue skies blessed
You yet in your big quest to pass the test
Set by the people to crown one who’s best?

‘The Gods on me did choose to play a jest
When they bid the people to crown a guest
Who went not on a big and mighty quest
To be in the town crowned the only best.’

© 2019 The Poets Peace

An Ode to My Muse

You are the only problem you will ever have and you are the only solution.

Bob Proctor

When my creativity wears a noose
Around his neck I pray to you, Oh Muse!
Who since ages long ago played your lyre
To inspire poets to write satire.

You who artists describe with much fondness,
And is known by many as a Goddess-
Blessed with an incomparable beauty
Though they saw you not in reality.

Oh Muse! Hear the sweet cries of a poet
Who in the night, and the day wants to flirt
With you for you shot him with an arrow
Laced with love that was released from your bow.

He finds himself wishing that one day you’ll-

Sing to him. Oh Muse! Of the mighty men
Who in their fathers den picked up a pen,
To write the poems you wish them create
Wielding the forces you give them to aid-
In composing what could never be said,
Only felt within them it made them glad.

Never saw you. You and I never spoke
But when the time came for me to invoke
Your talent, you walked straight into my heart
To help me in crafting beautiful art-
So I know you’ll always come when I call
Even if I’m trapped behind a stone wall.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Not Always Quite

Happiness is like a potato salad – when shared with others – its a picnic.

I am not always, as silent as the night-
When sleeping snakes in the grass take flight,
And the owls in the forest come out to stare-
At the pack of wolves that howl to scare
Our mothers into tucking us to bed.

Sometimes I talk as much as I walk-
In the light of the sun having fun
With friends, exercising not our skill with the gun,
But with our open mouths as we do not balk
At speaking about our trials and tribulations.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

In tune with wind

We cannot truly face life until we face the fact it will be taken away from us.

Billy Graham

Listening to the soft sound of the leaves hiss,
As they blow in the wind to show their bliss.
I can hear the branches of the trees move-
In slow motion because they want to prove,
That they are indeed feeling much at ease,
For their senses are tuned into the breeze.

Looking at the moving branches of trees,
I witness birds sharing in on the thrills
Of this merry day that has much to say.
Though I need be going home, I choose to stay
Because this sight is a feast for my eyes-
That nourishes my mind and makes me wise.

Tasting the sweet flavor of the moment,
I witness it all before it is spent.
Long have I sat without making a move
In the lotus because I want to prove
That I am indeed feeling much at ease
For my senses are tuned into the breeze.

What’s that I smell? The scent of joy in air
As it oozes from my skin and my hair-
To mix with the sweat of the smiling trees.
The beauty in this moment, to my knees
Brings me; for to thank the Gods must I pray,
For gladly blessing me with this joyous day.

© 2019 The Poets Peace