Oh! how it puts a poet in much pain. Counting syllable after syllable Just to come up with the perfect refrain. Five tercets, only a single quatrain In which to tell my most fetching fable? Oh! does it put a poet in much pain. How much longer can i suffer the strain On my mind, of wanting to be able To come up with the most perfect refrain? Many a page on which i left a stain Writing a refrain juicier than an apple. Oh! how it puts a poet in much pain. On days when my head is on a low plain I sometimes wonder if my mind's stable After thinking up the perfect refrain. Was there really ever something to gain In trying to write a good villanelle Either than the cries of a poets pain When he tries to make the perfect refrain?
However long the night, the dawn will break.
Ellen Melvin had a problem with his left ear
Which left him unable to hear Whenever he was near his hearts desire. This led to the rise of his ire So he cut it off to have one good ear.
Nothing will work unless you do.
Image by Ylanite Koppens from Pixabay They call it the black and white jungle
For you might not live for very long Here, were danger lurks in every corner. Always be ready for a battle And watch out for dangers in the throng Of this place they call the black and white jungle. You will need to be a Grandmaster Or in the very least, very strong Here, were dangers lurk in every corner. Safe, sound and secure in your castle Is the place you should always belong Not here in the black and white jungle. Perhaps one day; when you are older Looking back at days when you were young In this place were danger lurks in every corner. You will see everything clearer And realise there is nothing wrong In calling it the black and white jungle. This place, were dangers lurk in every corner.
The great and glorious masterpiece of humanity is to know how to live with purpose.
Bradley, Brandon and Butlet Bike beneath bridges burn't by being bold. Bradley, Brandon and Butlet Banter badly, By the back of black alley. Bragging brazenly, Because they Bonded with blondes. Boys believing babes Be the bane to their pain. Bastards! Busy blessing brothels. ...................................................................................... Bradley, Brandon and Butlet Brothers, from another mother Became blue beneath bland weather. Bradley; became bored Before bothering bottles. Bellowing; for beer in bars Beating bunks, before basking Blissfully behind brews. Brandon; broke bones at random. Brought, back-handed blows to foes But believed benevolence binds brothers. Butlet; brushed blushes aside Braked busses beside bushes And busted better then before. ............................................................................................... Bradley, Brandon and Butlet Breathe by breeding bread. Bred by bleeding blood Beware, the banner Of bad manners. But be-aware, that these boys Don't play fair. ........................................................................
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away.
Did i really,
Dream of you? Or was it simply A figment of my fantasy? Did i really, Caress your lips with my own? Did you and i really roam, These sandy beaches hand in hand? Did i really? See you through the moon, And hoped to see you soon? Though it was still afternoon And you'd just left; Was i right, To moon over you? Like a satellite Hoping you set my life alight. If indeed i did, Really dream of you. Then i pray That you eclipse my dreams And sweep me beneath the tide of reality.
Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues,
but the parent of all others.
When we were younger, And all we had was our hunger, For play. When laughter came easily, And everything else after Was but an afterthought. Back then who knew, We would get older, And have to look over Our own shoulders. Back then who knew, What the world was really like? That tag Wasn't just a game kids played. Where they tag you with labels, And attack you with claims Of what is right and wrong, Demanding you learn it like a song. Back then who knew, That there are those hiding resources, That the rest go on seeking. That the plastic gun in my hand Was a tool to silence your speaking. When we were younger, And all we had was a hunger for play. Who knew that the games we played Were but foreplay, Leading to the bedroom of destruction. Who knew? There would be those with an affection, To cause pain and disharmony. Back then who knew, That we would get older? And have to look over our own shoulders. Who knew, they would try to hold us down. Turn our smiles upside down, Till all we do is frown.
Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. Confucius